Losing Your Voice

Losing Your Voice


I don’t know why it’s affected me this way, but it has. Somethin feels missing, or lost, I guess. It’s been a few weeks since I last heard your voice, and I’m beginning to wonder if I ever will again.

It started the night after that awful school bus accident. Must be a couple of months back now. Twenty-six youngans drown when the bus ran into the back of that wrecker then shot off the road and tumbled down the hill into the Big Sandy. It happened just up the road and around the bend. You can see it from the South window upstairs. You can look right down into that creek hollow where I imagine all those little ones were fightin and screamin for dear life. It’s an awful thing to think about, and I been tryin not to look out that window, but sometimes it happens just outta dumb luck. Which reminds me, I better move that red fern Ed gave me to a different window. Anyways, if I do happen to look out and set eyes on that creek, I spend the rest of the day tryin to get those dreadful sights out of my mind.

I’ve lived here alone in this old farmhouse ever since Ed died that cold March morning back in ‘48. Goin on a little over ten years ago now. It’s funny, but Ed and I, we used to talk about things all day long. We made importances outta the little things in life, the weather, the cows, the wild flowers on the hill slope just past the orchard. You name it. It didn’t matter. We was always mindin and talkin about this and that to pass the time after all the work was done around the farm. Most folks around her don’t talk much. But we figured what’s the point of all this if you don’t talk about any of it. We talked day in and day out, and it was a might bit hard getting over the hump of his passin. The fresh, but stale sound of silence seemed to be what hit me the hardest those first years. I sure could use a chat with him about now.

Anyway, that’s why the sound of your voice shocked me the way it did after dinner when I set down for tea that night.

It was powerful quiet in the house. It was after the sirens and the speeding cars and trucks all died down. The newspaper folks stopped coming around, too. The only cars coming now were the few that came from town to set quietly on the side of the road and peer into their snow salted headlights towards the scene that played out earlier in the day. I had just set my tea cup under the lamp and got myself comfortable in the rocker.

“Where am I?” you said.

I pretty near jumped out of my chair as I turned toward the sound of your shy, spindly voice. But there was nothin to see, only the open doorway to the kitchen that led outside. I aint never believed in this kinda thing before that night. I still aint sure to tell you the truth.

“Why am I here? Who are you?” you kept askin.

I couldn't see you, but finally when I heard you ask where was your ma and pa, then I knowd who you were. You must be one of those little ones from the bus wreck.

Over the next few days, when I heard your voice, or thought I did, I tried the best I could to explain to you what happened.

I admit, I felt solace in the presence of your voice. But pretty soon I was only hearing your voice every few days. Now it’s been weeks, and I’m left wondering if you were ever really here at all.

I remember the last words I heard you say. I remember because they sounded happy and relieved like.

“Hello. What’s your name? Why are you crying?” you asked into the empty air.

Which, at the time, I remember it struck me as being a smidge odd, since we’d been getting along just fine, and you already knew my name, and I sure wasn’t crying at the time. But I guess some things just aint meant to be understood, and I sure don’t understand much about what happened at the creek that day.

I've always thought things happen for a reason, but that day sure enough shook my beliefs to the roots and now I’m just not sure what I think. I guess we’re all put here just to go on. And those that already done went on, well, I guess in a way, they just gotta go on too.

Anyway, I’m hoping to hear from you again, child. I really am. Maybe that’s selfish on my part, but I sure did enjoy the company. And I guess you could say you also helped me get back the sound of Ed’s voice, too. I sure do miss him, and wonder a lot about where he might be. I imagine he done got on, too, just like the rest of us have to do every day.

I expect it’s too much to ask, but if you ever do see my Ed, I sure hope you remember to tell him those few things I wanted you to pass on. If not, I guess I’ll have to just tell him myself. If I don’t hear from you again, you take care, little girl. As I told you, some days are tougher than others, but I guess the cards you get dealt, are the ones you gotta play, and I sure hope you find what you’re looking for on your way.

Now that I think of it, maybe the last time I heard your voice, it wasn't me you were talkin to at all. I’d sure like to think that’s the way it is anyhow.