Silence by Deborah Lytton Page A

looking at me. Losing the starring role to Quinn after all that work. My fear that I will never sing again. And the surgery that promises to make me whole again, the promise that feels like a giant question mark hanging in the air over my head.
    I don’t know how my voice sounds. If I am using too much volume—am I screaming at him? Or if I am speaking too softly—maybe he can’t hear me at all. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter, because I am saying these words aloud. My fears are revealed. My loss is revealed. I don’t have to pretend. Not with him. Suddenly, the way my voice sounds doesn’t matter at all.
    He listens without responding. He just watches me with his mesmerizing eyes and his calm spirit. And I am present. Here and now. Then he reaches out and gently places his hand over my eyes. Closing them. He lifts my hand. Turns it over.
    Then, grains of sand. Cool. Smooth. Pooling in my palm.
    I open my eyes. Look at Hayden, curious.
    “What did you feel?” he asks.
    “Sand. Cool as a shadow. Soft and heavy at the same time. Like time was passing and standing still. Both at once.”
    Hayden nods. “Close your eyes again. Breathe.”
    I close my eyes. Breathe.
    Smell the salt in the air. Freedom.
    Hayden’s coconut shampoo. Excitement.
    The scent of the peanut butter, tangy and sweet. Comfort.
    I open my eyes again. This time, beaming at him. I’m beginning to understand.
    Now I can feel the wind blowing my hair, lifting it off my neck. Making me warm and cold at the same time. The same feeling I have being close to Hayden.
    “Look,” he tells me as he gestures to the sea.
    I see sparkles of light dancing on the water. The waves moving, like life always moving. An ocean of possibilities stretches out in front of me, leading to worlds beyond.
    Then I notice something else. Dolphins. Three of them. Their backs arch out of the water, shiny and silver. Gliding through the waves. I am blessed to be here. Blessed to experience this day.
    I turn to look at Hayden. He is watching me.
    “What day do you see the doctor?” he asks.
    “April tenth.”
    He says nothing else, just turns his eyes to the horizon once more. As if all of the answers are out there somewhere, waiting to be found. We sit side by side without another word. Until the sun sets like a ball of fire melting into the water.
    And then he drives me home.
    That night, I lie in bed, reliving every single moment of the day. For those hours, I could breathe. I was present, alive. And I could communicate. Even without telling him things, he seemed to know, to understand. I could hear his voice in my mind.
    I know only one thing.
    He is the white feather of hope drifting through the darkness of my days.
    And if I can hold on, I just might be able to fly.

A pledge of time
     
    —  Hayden  —
     
     
    I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked sitting on the front step, her shoes untied and her face set with determination. How her eyes lit up like a little kid’s at Christmas when she saw the dolphins. Listening to her talk, seeing her smile, just being with her.
    Stella sees me—the real me, not the stuttering, stammering me. Even before her accident, she saw me. She didn’t turn away when she heard my voice in the theater. She didn’t ignore me and walk away. Stella wants to be with me; I can tell from the look in her eyes. And I want to be with her—she makes me forget everything that came before.
    She has seventeen more days to wait—seventeen days of silence. After that, she will know if her life will return to the way it was before, or if it will be silent forever.
    I can help her. I saw how she responded to the sand in her hand, to the ocean breeze in her hair. She’s open to life in a way that makes me feel something I have never felt before. Hopeful.
    Hope is like stepping out of a prison cell into a grassy meadow on a spring day. The darkness becomes a distant memory, and it seems anything is possible.
    I finish my