Her True Voice

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.