The Echo of Silence

An imaginative composed by Teesha (Year 10, St Peter’s Catholic College for the Writer’s Collective Cross Campus Elective)

I’ve been staring at the wall for long enough that I’ve forgotten where I am, Dr.
Austin’s voice is a distant whisper from where my mind currently was. The only thing
keeping me entranced was the warm hand in mine. The man I’ve loved my entire life.
“Miss, are you feeling okay?” And finally I was forced to acknowledge the situation.
Suddenly the doctor’s face was in mine, and suddenly I was feeling chilly. My skin
cold as ice, and my heart a blizzard—even though I’m sure the heater was on blast. I
could see that curious green burning into my face from my peripheral, and I silently
prayed my hand wasn’t sweating as much as I thought it was.
Green.
Hills and forests.
Emeralds, Jadeite, Nephrite, grasses, palms, green diamonds-
“Yes,” my voice croaked, as if it were coming to life after being neglected for too
long. I tried to remember my train of thought and bumbled a response, any response.
“I’m fine, sorry.” Much to his credit, Austin stayed fully professional. I know he knows;
I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t, but at least he’ll spare me the sympathetic looks. My
heart still thumped as swirling green continued to bore into me, but I pushed it aside.
“I’m aware of how painful a topic it is, but we need to talk about Jayden. The
accident has very clearly affected you both a lot.” Jayden, my sweet boy. His name
used to bring bile to my throat, the syllables arsenic on my tongue—but as of
recently I’ve just felt numb. Perhaps the scariest part of the situation, was not how
my boy was gone forever, but that I was talking about it. I was talking about him
without so much as a stutter. The scariest part was how grief cleared away over time
and the only thing I felt now was a cold emptiness.

I’d rather break down again, I’d rather scream and cry; because at least I felt alive
while I was breaking. This numbness only proved that he was never coming back
and that I had accepted it. I finished breaking and now I was broken.
The hand in mine felt more like ice by the second, I’d also lost my husband the night
Jayden passed. I know because I watched the carefree boy I spent 27 years falling
in love with die when our son did.
We were so young.
We were so ignorant.
Looking at his expressionless face as we were taught how to mend the relationship
we were losing proved that. He had no light in his eyes, no sparkle to that Nephrite.
As long as I can remember; he’s always been the light in my life. But I never
wondered what I’d do if my only guiding light was snuffed out, and now I can’t find
my way in the dark. I never wondered what would happen to us if that carefree smile
wavered, and now it won’t come back.

We spent so long basking in the sunlight, cheating on chemistry tests, reciting
wedding vows, going on dates, resolving every argument with a hug and a movie
night, and enjoying the happy parts of life that now we have no idea how to deal with
the ugly. I feel a light squeeze on my hand and finally, his eyes meet mine.
Green.
Green.
Green.
The look in them is indescribable, far from what I remember.

Sunlight on his freckled skin, and soaked shirt clinging to his skin, I watched my
husband play with our son. Rolling my eyes from the kitchen window as they ran
through the sprinkler without a care in the world. He let Jayden win their last 3
games of soccer and kicked the ball to our laughing son’s shin, offering a bet.
“If you get the next goal, you can have cake for dinner.”
Jayden’s eyes lit up— bright green, just like his father—and I paused with the dish
I was scrubbing, there’s never a boring moment in this house, I don’t mind the happy
distraction.
“What if you win?” He challenged back, slurring his words with the baby voice he
hated having.
“Hmm, you’ll have to see.” My husband returned to his position and got ready to run,
Jayden stood in front of his goal and took the challenge with confidence, both of
them counting down from three and charging towards the ball. But Jayden wasn’t
getting pity wins anymore—no, his father snatched the ball before he could reach it,
running to the side to avoid his young son and scoring a goal with perfect precision,
the type that got him a spot on our national team. He’s always loved soccer, so
much.
“Ya know what happens now?” He picked Jayden up while he screamed, laughing
like a hyena. “I hope you feel like a swim.” Jayden half laughed and half screamed
as he was carried over the pool gate, his dad holding him above the water and
getting ready to toss him in.
“Stop that!” I called out, startling both of my boys. “Lunch is ready, and I will not have
you come in and eat dinner dripping all over my wood floor.” I barely contained a
laugh but put my hands on my hips in what I hoped was a stern look.
“Alright, be there in a sec!” Which I would later find out was a lie. Jayden tried to get
free and kicked his way out of the grip, which resulted in him falling in the pool. My
husband jumped in immediately after to get him.
That day they ate their lunches outside on the patio, dripping a pool of water beneath
them. I heard my husband promise to Jay that he would get me back and throw me

in the pool next, and they laughed—thinking I couldn’t hear. Light freckles dusting
both of their cheeks as they threw their heads back and giggled like little girls.
Sure enough I received my punishment for being mean the next morning while I was
half asleep but seeing those smiles as they tried to sneak in latched claws into my
heart, enough to make me pretend to be asleep so my husband could honour his
word and throw me in the pool. He winked; we both knew.

That memory felt a world away from the cruel reality we lived in now. Without fail, he
ate every meal either outside, in Jayden’s room, or when I wasn’t in the kitchen.
And not because he’d just gone for a swim.

As the session concluded, Doctor Austin bid us farewell, and the walk back to the car
was deadly silent aside from the jingle of the car keys. I nearly felt inclined to say
something, but I’d rather stay where we are than make things worse, even if the
current situation isn’t preferable. I lost my son, is it selfish to say I don’t want to lose
my husband too?
“How are you feeling?” His voice broke through my thoughts, putting everything in
my head on hold with alarming efficiency.
“Alright. You?”
“I’m fine.” Despite the lack of detail, for once it didn’t sound like I was being brushed
off. “Any ideas for dinner?” He added as he started the engine and pulled out of the
carpark. His usually smooth voice sounded tethered, like it was barely holding on.
“I think I’ll make pasta.” My voice was quiet, but I know he heard it from the way our
eyes met in the rear-view mirror. Pasta is his favourite, a lowly attempt at trying to
demonstrate that I still love him, but I can’t tell if he received the message.
“That sounds nice.” Was the last thing said until we got home, I spent the rest of the
car trip watching his fingers tense around the steering wheel, feeling like a child in
the backseat for simply trying to give him some space.
“We need to talk.” I finally broke the silence as we were outside the front door. His
hand paused, resuming unlocking it after a single missed beat.
“Yeah, I think we do.” He wasn’t mad, but I might’ve preferred that to the pain which
was palpable in his voice. So close to breaking, so far away but only a whisper away
from the boy I consoled when we were teenagers.
We each took a seat on the couch, I sank down next to him and was glad that he
didn’t tense up because of that, or at least glad I didn’t see it if he did. He refused
eye contact, staring at the wall with weak determination to hide his emotions from
me, but I knew all too well. As much as he tried to hide himself, I grew up alongside
those smiles, as well as the tears.

I inched ever so slightly closer and wrapped my arm around his broad shoulders,
letting my head sink into him as he accepted the motion and cradled me in his arms.
The contact must’ve been the final push he needed to give in, and I sat with him as
heavy sobs wracked through his frame.
“Shh,” I cooed, encouraging him to let everything out. I whispered brief words of
reassurance to him as he cried and tightened our embrace. It’s dangerous how
glaringly similar he is to his 16-year-old self. I remember these same tears when I
held him after his mother passed. The same situation, just in a different light.
“I’m sorry,” his voice trembled. “I love you; I promise I still do, I just needed space
after-”
“Stop.” I interrupted his ramble as my right hand carded through his hair soothingly.
“I know, you don’t have to say it.” Silent apologies tumbled between us as we sat
there in the same position for apparently over an hour, despite only feeling like ten
minutes.
I wanted to stay strong for him, but when that evergreen forest tore into me, every
piece of my heart I’d glued back together shattered right in front of me, sending
shards of glass into my lungs.
I cried too, ugly, asthmatic sobs as my lungs tried to keep up. Once we both let
everything out, we laughed for the first time since the accident. The rain had poured,
and the clouds were making way for the sun.
“Your shirt...” I pointed to his soaked through dress shirt, which we’d both cried on
for the duration of our reconciliation.
“Yeah,” he smiled, just enough for those familiar dimples to return. The ones that
made him look happier, as if he hadn’t aged at all. “Thanks for covering me in your
gross, salty tears.”
His eyes sparkled in the same way I always remembered, and suddenly I was hit
with the realisation that maybe we’d be alright after all, so I allowed myself to smile
as well.
“I love you too.”