I got inspiration for this while I was practicing at choir. This girl is not based off of me however because my voice is far from angelic.
Aurora fidgeted excitedly awaiting
her turn to take place on the stage; she was waiting to sing. She had loved singing ever since she was able
to talk. Her mom said that, before she
could talk, she would hum and tap her feet to any music that was playing. Now she sang at every opportunity she had;
she was in her school and church choir, where she would try out for every solo. She normally got the solo considering the
fact that her voice was angelic, at least that was what so many people told
her.
Aurora was signaled onto stage; the
pauper girl with a stunningly gorgeous voice.
When she left the stage at the closing scene she could have sworn some
of the audience was crying. Why wouldn’t
they be crying she was a star and her voice could grip their hearts in its grasp? She grabbed her backpack and headed to the
bathrooms to change, she was sure her parents would want to take her out to eat
since she was so stupendous. She dropped
her costume off at the fitting room where the costume designer, a boy at her
school, congratulated her for her performance, then headed into the crowd.
Aurora’s parents were waiting for
her at the front of the auditorium with a bouquet of flowers in her mother’s
arms. She strolled over to them acting
casually and even though she knew the flowers were hers she acted surprised
when she got them. Her mother got upset
when Aurora talked about how good she was, she called it being prideful, but
aurora called it being truthful. The
family strolled out of the school arm in arm talking about the possible dinner
places. “I still think tonight sounds
like an Olive Garden night,” Aurora’s mom said.
“You always think any night feels
like an Olive Garden night,” Aurora contradicted. “This is
my bug night and I think I should choose.”
“Your mother has told not to be so
prideful, Aurora,” Her dad scolded but Aurora just smiled.
“You know I was great and you want
to congratulate me don’t you, you just don’t want me to get a big head and run
off to Hollywood to become a star. But
don’t you worry I won’t forget about my poor darling family.” She said in a dramatic tone, but her mother
pursed her lips and her father rebuked her even more.
“You won’t be going anywhere until
you can learn to throw away that pride and consider others as well. Did you congratulate any of the others in the
program for their wonderful job, or the people who worked backstage to make sure
everything went smoothly?”
“No,” Aurora said in a quiet voice.
“No, and how many people
congratulated you?”
“Dad, everyone congratulates the
star of the show it’s common sense.”
“Then I guess I’m not common.” Her dad stated flatly, by then they had arrived
at the car. The irritation that had
formed in Aurora’s throat grew stronger but she chose to ignore it and stuck
her head in the bouquet that was in her arms. “Don’t these flowers smell wonderf,” she
couldn’t finish her sentence because it felt like her throat was swelling to
double its size. She dropped the bouquet
and grabbed her throat struggling to breath. “Aurora, what’s wrong sweetie?” She could hear
her mother’s frantic voice and her dad saying something over the phone, but
they both seemed so distant and kept getting farther and farther until all that
was left was blackness.
Aurora awoke and stared at the wall
next to the bed she was in for about thirty seconds before she remembered what
happened earlier. She didn’t know how
long she had been out but she figured she was in a hospital bed. Once she was able to move her limbs and sit
up she confirmed her suspicions. She
scanned the room but it was completely empty except for the stuffed animal that
had been set in a chair by her bed. It was
a bear, but not like a teddy bear, it was realistic and when she reached out to
touch it felt as soft as velvet. She
pulled the bear onto her bed and sat there hugging it waiting for someone to
come in.
My mother entered within five
minutes with a nurse and they both smiled at me. I smile back and open my mouth to say
something to them but nothing comes out.
I swallow a couple times hoping that my throat was just dry but deep
inside I knew the truth. Tears fall down
my face as the nurse hands me a pad of paper and a pencil and my mother looks
at me sympathetically. ‘How long?’ I
wrote frantically. My mother sighs and
tells me to wait for the doctor to come and explain everything. She walks over
to my bed and takes me in her arms. The
nurse left leaving us alone and all I can do is cry; my mother strokes my hair
trying to comfort me.
Around seven minutes after the
nurse left my room the doctor walks in. “How’s my patient?” He asks with a
smile on his face. It almost makes me mad at how he can see so much sickness
and still walk into a room with a patient in it and smile like everything is
okay. I frown at him and look at my mom,
she understands my gaze. “My daughter
was wondering how long this she will be in this,” She seemed to search for the
right word, “This condition. You told me
you would explain everything once she wakes up.”
“Yes that is what I said, well,” He
turned to me as he spoke now, “You had a severe allergic reaction to the
flowers in the bouquet you were given.
If you had known you had an allergy to flowers and had medicine with you
then your voice would have been back by the end of the week.” He slowed talking
and his voice dropped as though what he was about to say next would be
difficult. “We could only do so much; when your throat swelled it damaged your
voice box. It is very rare for this to happen but it is very likely that you
will never speak again.”
The next day I lay in bed hugging
the bear that came from a mysterious person, when I asked my mom who it came
from she told me she didn’t know. I
looked it up online and learned that it was a simple brown bear and there were
only one hundred stuffed bears like it.
The thing is huge, like the size of a medium sized dog. I emailed all my friends and relatives to see
if they got it for me but no one said they did. I began to wonder if it was
meant for me at all.
Later that day I check my email for
the hundredth time but there is nothing new in my inbox. It makes sense because all my friends would be
at school with it being a Friday. I won’t
be able to attend school again since the teachers aren’t required to learn sign
language. I won’t even be allowed to go
to social events without my mom, my phone, a pencil, and a pad of paper until I
have learned sign language. I’m supposed
to start tomorrow but I am not looking forward to it.
Tomorrow comes too soon and along
with it comes my sign language teacher and another one of her students. My teacher looks to be in her thirties with
short brown hair and, oddly enough, the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Her student is a shy girl who can speak but
has lost the ability to hear; she needs to learn sign language so she can understand
her interpreter. All of us head into the
living room where my mom had put some refreshments and we get started.
I lay in bed that night completely
and utterly frustrated with trying to learn sign language. Every time I wanted to ask a question I had
to write it down and by the end of the session my hand was cramping up severely. I am, once again, hugging the mysterious bear
whom I have named chocolate chip and thinking of my singing. It had hit me last night that I will never be
able to project my melodious voice again and all I could do is lay there
sobbing. Tonight I feel more at peace
over the issue; I realize I had been very prideful about it and it was a wall
that separated me from some of my friends.
I thought they were just jealous, but really I had bragged about it so
much to them that I became annoying, now I can’t even explain how sorry I am.
The next few months pass by and I
picked up on the sign language more quickly than I thought. I received a new teacher whose name is Andrew;
he is deaf so I am forced to translate for my mother when she talks to him. Even though Andrew has an interpreter he refuses
to use his help when he is at my house which helps me to practice. My mom is having a hard time learning to sign
but my dad, like me, picked up on it quickly.
The days passed quickly for me, I had
finished sign language lessons last week and mom has been trying to keep me up
to date with my school work. She has
been extremely busy lately because she is still learning to sign, she works
three days a week, she is homeschooling me, and she is caring for our family. One thing my mom refuses to give up is the
church choir, I refused to let her. I
will go with her sometimes and sit in the church pew and listen to the harmony between
the many voices in the choir.
One Sunday I was in listing to the
choir practice and found myself signing along to the words; not singing,
signing. The choir leader asked me if I
would sign along to some songs when they sing them at church. At first I told him no, because I wanted to
leave my life with music behind me. The
more I thought about it the more I felt I should agree. The next time I saw him I told him that I
would try one song and if I didn’t feel comfortable then I wouldn’t do any
more.
The day I was supposed to sign
along with the choir came and for the first time in my life I had nervous
jitters, not excitement jitters, nervous ones. I was debating copping out of signing when the
choir director found me and told me it was time. I walked up with the choir and as they sang I
signed; I saw many people in the pews had tears running down their faces but I
figured it was because of the singing.
When the song was over we walked off the balcony and made our way back
to the pews. I couldn’t help but smile,
this was the first time since the incident with the flowers that I had
performed anything on stage. The feeling
from doing this was much better than thousands of my singing performances
combined. I knew that I would keep
signing along with songs because the signing that I did was my one true voice.
