I roll out of bed like
any other day. My body follows my normal routine with no assistance from my
mind. Free to travel wherever it desires, it continues the dream of the
previous night. I hum softly, reliving the thrill of a million fans screaming
to hear more lyrics from my stellar voice. I chuckle softly as the glow of
morning sunlight reminds me that my voice has been compared to nails on a
chalkboard. Thus I work as an administrative assistant for minimum wage and
still sleep down the hall from my mother.
I shove a pile of her
medicines to the back of the sink and reach for the toothpaste. I close my eyes
and cleanse my teeth, trying to step back into my dream for just a few more seconds.
Loud snores from beyond my mother’s open door dash those hopes. I sigh and
resolve to find escape from the rut that is my life as soon as I can afford it.
To that end, I find
myself stepping off of the elevator on the tenth floor. A stark hallway greets
me. At the end of the hallway, I open one of the double doors and step into my
daytime home. The receptionist looks up at me with her warmest welcoming smile.
It quickly slips as her dark eyes rest on me. She nods her head and bends back
over her keyboard.
I open my mouth to
squeak out a good morning, but no sound crosses my lips. I clear my throat and
try again. Still nothing. Puzzled, I reach my hand up to my face, swiping it
across my mouth as if to wipe away some obstruction. I part my lips again and
only manage a guttural grunt.
The receptionist frowns
and opens her mouth. For a moment, I think and hope that she lost the power to
speak as well.
“Are you drunk or
something?” She snarls.
I shake my head and
hurry toward my desk outside Mr. Mark’s office. I lower myself slowly to my
chair as the phone begins to ring. On reflex, I raise it to my ear. My mouth
opens but remains empty of words.
“Hello?” A tentative
voice asks.
I grunt.
“Is this Mr. Mark’s
office?” The voice tries again.
I force air through my
throat, but my tongue doesn’t form it into words. An exasperated sigh and a
click follow from the other end.
I place the phone in
its cradle and reach to my mouth once more. My lips crackle dryly under my
fingers. I try to lick my lips but my tongue doesn’t move. I breathe deeply,
open my mouth and poke my limp tongue. It moves with my finger and falls back
into my lower jaw as I withdraw my hand.
“Michaela?” Mr. Mark’s
lip curls with disgust as he looks down at me. “Is something wrong?”
I shrug my shoulders.
Mr. Mark sets his
briefcase on the edge of my desk and leans toward me. “Are you feeling okay?”
I shake my head.
Clearly annoyed, he
leans closer. “Use your words.”
I scrawl words on the
memo pad. ‘I can’t talk.’
“What?” As his
annoyance builds, his voice rises and a flush creeps from his neck to the roots
of his blond hair.
The phone rings before
I can write a response. Reaching one long arm across the desk, Mr. Mark snatches
up the phone before I can reach it.
“Hello?”
An excited voice lays
out a litany of words, giving him no futher chance to speak. As the flow of
words ebbs, he hands the phone to me.
“Your mother.” He
shakes his head as if to release some of my mother’s commentary from his mind.
“She is apologizing, so I assume she’s the cat who has your tongue.”
He doesn’t wait for me
to respond. Instead, he takes his briefcase and heads into his office. He
pauses on the threshold.
“When you’re done with
that call, you better take the day off.” He closes the door behind him.
I lift the phone to my
ear.
My mother’s breathless
voice greets me. “Michaela? Did you hear me? Are you there?”
I make a soft whistling
sound.
“Do that again if you
heard what I said.” She says.
I maintain my silence.
“Okay. You need to go
to Dr. Stanley’s office. You brushed your teeth with one of my medicines this
morning. He says you should be fine, but he wants to see you.”
My eyes widen and I
groan.
“I’m sorry, honey. I
saw that it looked like your toothpaste. I thought I put it away, but you
know…” As her words roll on, I slowly lower the receiver and prepare to go.
