Silent Echo (18 page)

The short car ride home with her parents exhausted Portia beyond reason, especially since none of the Griffins even moved to get out of the car once they pulled into their driveway. There were so many questions, so many tears. Tears of joy for the gift of their daughter’s voice, and tears of sadness for the pain she and Felix were feeling, for the injuries of Dean Fein. None of it was like the fantasies in which she had indulged as a child.

When they finally entered their house, Portia had delighted her parents with an “I love you both so much” before heading up to her room. Ok, so maybe there was a little fantasy there. Hopefully her parents would be distracted enough by the declaration to forget about all the doctors’ visits they had been planning in the car. At least for now.

Burrowing her head into her pillow, Portia couldn’t help but think about the Kübler–Ross model that had been presented to them in last year’s Psych elective. The model offers five stages of grief through which a person travels upon hearing devastating news. Portia felt like a Ping-Pong ball, bouncing from one stage to the next, moaning into her pillow and taking a modicum of comfort in the sound she was producing.

I’ve been dreaming
, she thought.
There’s no way any of this could be real.

Stage one: Denial.

There’s no such thing as a Siren or a human syrinx or any of the stuff that Ms. Leucosia was ranting about tonight. I mean, I feel fine. Sure, the whole voice thing is a little weird, but it doesn’t mean that I’m a freak.

This brief stage of denial was so comforting to Portia.

I’m not going to outlive everyone I know. I am a normal teenage girl who is going to go through adolescence just like everybody else. I will go to college, fall in love, get married, grow old with somebody, and die of old age with deeply wrinkled skin and a mind riddled with senility.

Portia pushed her face further into her pillow, willing her thoughts to be real, to negate anything Leucosia had told her that night.

Coming up for air, she caught a quick glimpse of the picture she kept on her night table of her and her parents. That’s when the anger set in.

Stage two: Anger.

What the hell is going on here?! Why is this happening to me? Because my parents are nauseatingly in love with each other? What kind of reason is that?

Of all the people in all the world, why am
I
being singled out? I’m a good girl. I’ve loved and respected my family and friends. And now I’m being told I’m going to outlive them all?

Sure, it’s natural for my parents to go before me, but how the hell am I going to explain my lack of aging to them? How am I going to stand by and watch all of my friends, maybe even my own children, die before me?

Adding to her fury was the realization that if anything Leucosia said was true, her whole identity would now have to become a secret. Living a lie was going to be a nightmare—she had already had an unpleasant taste of it when she had regained her voice. How was she supposed to guard every word that came out of her mouth now? Every action? Every sound? The anger rose up in her as she thought about the burden that had been placed upon her.

But just as quickly, the fury segued into panic, which led to the next stage.

Stage three: Bargaining.

Oh, please God, or whoever it is that is controlling this, please don’t let this be true. I will be good. I will never use drugs or drive drunk. I’ll even take premarital sex off the table if you just give me a sign that I am actually normal.

Please just let me age at a normal pace. Let me enjoy normal friendships and romances. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Just please, please let me be normal.

And then:

Even just a few more years. Let me have a few more years of an ordinary life so that I don’t have to bury the old Portia just yet. Is that too much to ask? Just a little more time?

But Portia wasn’t even certain with whom she was bargaining. She had always struggled with what it was she actually believed in, and now any theological infrastructure that she had developed over her short life had been blown to bits.

Stage four: Depression.

She sobbed into her pillow. Overcome with the grief of knowing that the Portia Griffin who existed before tonight might actually be dead forever, Portia’s tears came fast.

Why should I even bother trying to make a life as this thing that I don’t want to be? Didn’t Leucosia mention there was one way out? Maybe I should just drown myself now, before having to endure any of the pain that’s waiting out there for me.

This stage was the most inviting. Portia indulged in the deep depression throughout an entire sleepless night. She alternated between crying and moaning and just lying listlessly in her bed, staring into space. She indulged in imagining how she would do it. The bathtub, perhaps? A vertical cut to an obvious artery? Or should it be horizontal? Maybe a hefty dose of pills before getting in…But wait, are Goddesses immune to prescription drugs?

Any iChat invitations that interrupted her reflections went unanswered. Finally, at about three in the morning, she glanced at her computer to see who had tried reaching her. She wasn’t surprised to see that Charlotte, Jacqueline, and Max had been trying her all night. It was a slight comfort to know they cared, but she was still shattered.

Feeling so disconnected from them all, she posted a new status.

“Bad night, everyone—Felix’s cousin might not make it. As for me, let’s not talk about the voice thing at least until tomorrow. I’m wiped.”

She hit the enter key and continued to lament the life of misery that awaited her.

By the morning, she was on her way to the final stage.

Stage five: Acceptance.

With the rays of the morning sun she felt a new hope rise up within her.

It’s going to be OK. Whatever is going on with me, it’s all going to be OK…

Getting up to brush her teeth, Portia looked into the bathroom mirror and caught a quick unexpected glance of demonic Portia smiling back at her, a carbon copy of her reflection at Haute.

It was then that she knew that Kübler–Ross had been a waste of her time—particularly Denial.

Placing her hands over her evil reflection, who did not even attempt to mimic the gesture, the young Goddess knew that there was no denying it.

Everything Leucosia had said was true.

♪

Somehow Portia managed a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes. Glancing at her clock, she noted that it was only 6:30 a.m. and wondered if it was too early to iChat Max.

He responded immediately.

“Hey,” he said. His left eye was completely swollen from the altercation with Felix, and his bottom lip was about twice the size that Portia remembered it to be. Still, he looked beautiful to her, and to make matters worse, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She wished he would put one on as she was finding this glimpse of his body to be extremely distracting.

“Hey,” she typed back.

“Portia, no more typing. I was there last night. I heard you. Talk to me.”

“Hey,” she said aloud.

“That’s my girl.” She liked the sound of that. “Wanna explain now or do you just wanna talk?”

“I just wanna talk.”

Especially since any explanation I have would send you running for the hills.

“OK. What do you wanna talk about? I can handle anything from why Salieri was undoubtedly Mozart’s murderer to why Ayn Rand is not as much of an objectivist as she claims to be. What’s your poison?”

Portia smiled at this bizarre menu of topics. What came out, though, was:

“Felix’s cousin might die.”

“I know. I read your status before. I’m so sorry. How is the family holding up?”

“I guess OK. You know, Felix and Dean have the same birthday. He goes to Canada every summer; they’re like brothers. He flew out with his family last night. His grandfather isn’t holding up too well. He bought Dean the bike, you know…”

“Jesus. That’s a lot to deal with.” He attempted an encouraging smile. “So are you gonna try to go and visit, too?”

Portia thought about the confrontation with Felix.

“I don’t think so. Don’t think I’d be a very welcome guest right now. Anyway, I’ve obviously got some of my own stuff to work out right now, too, so I think I better stay put.”

“Yes, that sounds about right. And about that,” Max ventured, “I know you don’t want to get into any major conversations now, but I just want to say one thing about your new, and might I add, totally mind-blowing voice.”

He sat up further in his bed, a fresh spark igniting his eyes.

“When I first saw you, Portia, I literally could not breathe. I swear to God. I mean, the way I attacked you in Rathi’s class? I may as well have pulled your pigtails on the playground. And then—well, then, I mean, that night at your house, I’ve relived that night in my head so many times that I’m, like, afraid I’m gonna wear out the memory or something. And all that time you were silent. I mean voiceless, never silent. I felt you speaking to me in so many other ways, right? So imagine that—this girl who I already thought was perfect just became even more unbelievable. I mean, getting used to speaking Portia and singing Portia is going to be absolutely no problem for me. So if for some crazy reason you thought I’d back off, I’m asking you to cross that off your list of worries. I’m not going anywhere.”

While Max poured out this proclamation, Portia forgot about everything else. His unconditional feelings for her were a welcome silver lining to the storm cloud that had hovered over her these past weeks.

“Max, thank you. For saying all that, I mean. I, um, wasn’t really sure how this conversation would go, and you made it a helluva a lot easier than I imagined. But I think I need some sleep now. Helena said I could skip school and take a mental health day. Try to take good notes for me in Morrison’s class, OK? That B- is really bugging the hell out of me.”

Not to mention that it wasn’t even my paper he graded…

“Mmmm, I don’t know if I can promise that. I’m not the best note taker, but I’ll definitely copy somebody’s notes for you. Hey—I’ve gotta babysit the boys tonight. My aunt and uncle are having a ‘date night.’ It’s crazy what goes into planning dinner and a movie once you have kids. Anyway, I could use some company. What do you think?”

Portia relished the thought of doing something normal like babysitting. Especially if it meant being with Max.

“Maybe…” she said, knowing that she would definitely be there.

Always keep them guessing, right?

She signed off and for the first time in a long time, enjoyed a few hours of dreamless sleep.

Morpheus had obviously decided to cut her a break.

♪

After her long sleep, Portia and Helena spent the day together, lunching, shopping, and most importantly talking. Joshua met them for lunch and just made Portia repeat things over and over again, pointing to different objects around the room and having her name them out loud.

They lamented Dean Fein’s precarious condition, and Portia even offered up a few details about the strain between her and Felix. She hadn’t planned on getting into it with them but had just gotten caught up in the moment.

By the end of the day, she was spent. As much as she was looking forward to seeing Max, she could have done without the babysitting part of the evening. When her mom dropped her off, she prayed that the boys would go easy on them.

As soon as the door opened, though, all hopes of smooth sailing were dashed.

Ryan, the five-year-old, answered the door after Portia rang the bell about a hundred times.

“Ryan,” Max called out from somewhere beyond, “you know you’re not supposed to answer the door before I—oh, hey.” Max looked completely disheveled, weaving his way toward the open door with Jonah, the six-year-old, dangling from his shoulders.

“Jonah, get off of me. I already told you we are not watching
Gladiator
. If your parents found out I showed you that movie, they’d kick me out. And I wouldn’t blame them, either.” Max shook the boy to the ground as he leaned over and gave Portia a peck on the cheek.

“Eeewww—don’t kiss a girl, Max,” Jonah warned.

“Yeah—don’t kiss a girl,” Ryan echoed.

“Ok, guys, I’ll tell you the same thing in about twelve years, and we’ll see how you feel about that then.” He turned to Portia. “Help me!”

She walked into the foyer of the house, which was littered with Dunkaroos wrappers and half-empty juice boxes. The boys had chocolate frosting on their faces, and their shirts were stained purple with grape juice. It was an absolute disaster.

“What’s going on here, Max?”

“They’re out of control.” He was legitimately clueless.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t giving them Dunkaroos and grape juice at 6:30 at night, they wouldn’t be bouncing off the walls. Why don’t you just inject them with sugar and caffeine?”

“That sounds cool, Max,” Ryan said, “Can we try that?”

“OK, boys,” Portia commanded, her voice resonating as if she were speaking through a bullhorn, “let’s clean this place up and take a bath. Then we are going to have a
real
dinner. I’m talking, like, beyond Dunkaroos, you know. Afterwards, when you’re done with bath and dinner, I promise to tell you a story that will blow your minds.”

The authoritative tone of her voice warned the boys that there was no room for their usual negotiation here. Max stared at them in astonishment as they began picking up their mess.

“Can we use the dino magic bubbles in the bath, Max?” Ryan asked.

“Sure thing, dude. Go up with Jonah and start picking out your pajamas. I’ll be up in a minute to pour in, like, a whole bottle of dino bubbles.”

The boys started running for the stairs.

“You’re such a baby that you still ask for dino bubbles,” Jonah taunted his brother.

“Shut up, Jonah!” Ryan landed a dead arm on his brother’s bicep.

“Hey!” Portia interjected. “Keep it moving and hands to yourselves.” The boys laid off each other and marched up the steps.