“It’s been a week since she spoke last,” Dr. Enismen enunciates each syllable as if mocking my condition… or whatever he wants to call it.
“Is there something medically wrong with her?” Mom asks.
“Is there a mental issue we should know about?” Dad wonders, gripping Mom’s shoulders supportively. It’s as if he expects life-altering news.
They won’t let me speak, I think, squeezing the armrest until my knuckles turn white as chalk. I inhale a deep breath, but wait a few moments to exhale. Even making a slight sound is paralyzing.
“No, there is no medical or mental disability that we can detect,” Dr. Enismen closes his eyes and sighs. “All we know is that she is not responding to any of our treatment and she refuses to communicate in any way.”
I don’t “refuse” to speak, I can’t. I am incapable of letting words slip from my mouth. I drop my head into my hands and close my eyes. They’ve pushed me here and there is no escaping now.
“Can we do anything to help her?” Mom catches tears with her fingertips as they slowly slide down her cheeks. She’s always been worrisome when it comes to me expressing myself, but this has nothing to do with her. This has only to do with them.
They always rejected what I had to say. They judged me. They saw past my words and somehow they knew my inner thoughts and feelings. And I knew theirs.
“She always had so many friends, she seemed so happy. We can’t imagine why she would stop talking so suddenly,” Dad crinkles his eyebrows and quirks his lips in that confused look he always gets when he can’t crack the newspaper’s crossword puzzles.
He thinks he understands. I want to speak; I so need to speak. But it’s been too long and it’s just all gotten to be too much.
“Why would she do this,” Mom rushes out of the room; hands clasping her elbows; head bent down; hair cascading down her back and falling into her face.
Sometimes, I think, you have to retreat rather than lose the war. It’s the only way I know.
“Has there been any family drama or any clear cause for this—this predicament?” Dr. Enismen rubs his forehead and glances at me for a moment. Perhaps somewhere in his busy mind he can fathom speaking to me directly rather than speaking about me.
“Nothing I can think of,” Dad mutters, “but she did seem a bit more thoughtful in the days leading up to her… condition.” He shakes his head slowly, pensively, “but we didn’t think anything of it. I mean, I—Dianne and I assumed it was her just being a teenager…”
“I understand,” Dr. Enismen nods a few times and rubs his chin, stubble brushing against his nails. “I’ll run a few more tests, but she should go home soon. It could be what you said, she could be acting out.”
Are they kidding? Do they think so little of me that they believe that I would stop speaking for no reason? I should tell them.
“Dr. Enismen,” Mom gingerly pushes the door open and comes back in. Her whole body is trembling, but all she does is wipe her nose with her hand. “I think we should go. Don’t hesitate to call us if you need any more information.”
I should tell them. They should know why I stopped.
“We are bringing in a psychiatrist tomorrow,” Dr. Enisman, puts his clipboard underneath his arm, “hopefully, she’ll be able to tell us more.” he smiles warmly then ushers my parents out the door.
I need to say something,
“I—I can’t control them, they’re too powerful,” my voice comes out raspy and desperate.
Mom yelps and turns around, stepping back into the room.
“What did you say?” Dad hiccups.
“Destiny, please…” Mom begs.
“What’re too powerful,” Dr. Enismen leans in close, kneeling before the long hospital bed so he can look me in the eye.
I take a deep breath, swallow and stare right back at him as I say, “Words.”