The Muted Musings Of A Lively Brain

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The wind slaps angrily at my watery eyes. Harsh, sea air bites at my nostrils every time that I take a breath. This is Rosetta Ethyl Cambridge’s place. My Place. Seagulls flock just above the water’s frothy surface, waiting for me to throw another crumb. My Place is far above them. I can see them, but they can’t see me. They don’t think to look up. It’s the same for the people - the people mourning; the people below me. Somehow, the salt gets all the way up here - all the way to My Place - and into my throat. It’s sore, but I’ve gotten used to it, ever since at most a few months after I first found My Place. It took a while to get used to.22

I, Etta, look down at the ground below. People are in swarms. There aren’t any groups. I think that maybe it’s because it’s all one, big, sad party. They have moans on their faces. Women with black shawls over their heads stare, melancholy, out to sea. They look like they’re dead themselves. It gives me the shivers. Dead people make the froth that you see on the ocean’s surface. They want so much to be out in the world. They want so much to hug their family; their friends. They want so much to be able to fly away like the seagulls. They want so much to be up here with me. They can see me. Jodie is down there somewhere. I sometimes feel guilty for throwing the breadcrumbs down there. But the seagulls trust me for the job, even if they can’t see me.33

I open my book. I’ve read it so many times over the years, in this exact spot. It doesn’t have a name. I can’t read it anyway… it’s scrawled out in messy print. Jodie gave it to me before she died. She said that she wrote it. Sometimes things happen so conveniently right before bad things happen. In my mind, I say Hi to Jodie. She’s special because not only is she down there with all of those sad souls in the water, but she’s in this book. She sees me whenever I open it. I talk to her sometimes. She doesn’t deserve to be alone. 44

I made another cup to put in my collection last week, but I forgot to bring it to My Place today. I’ll bring it next weekend. My legs are crossed in a big X and my head is stuffed into the pages of the book. I try to think about what might be written in there. Maybe something about a girl like me. Maybe a boy. I don’t know. It would be an interesting story to read. I make it all up in my mind, but try to make it sound like Jodie wrote it. I feel guilty for not being able to read her handwriting. I should have asked her to read it back before she died. But I didn’t know it then.... It wasn’t my fault.55

“ETTA! ETTA WHERE ARE YOU?” I hear. Five more minutes, Mom, I think to myself. She never leaves without me. I stopped being scared for that a while ago. Maybe even a few years ago. I don’t think that she likes it that I make her drive me to the graveyard so much. She thinks I’m creepy. Insane. Everybody thinks that. I don’t do anything about it. There’s really not a need. As long as I’ve got Jodie, I’m okay. And I’ll always have Jodie. She’s not leaving anytime soon, if you know what I mean. I close my book and pick up my bagged lunch (uneaten of course). The ladder that somebody built a long time ago creaks as I step down. Nobody ever comes to see what all the creaking is about. I can’t blame them. They’re all thinking about things much more serious than that. 66

I brush off my dirty shirt and walk out into plain view. It doesn’t have an impact on the cleanliness of the shirt. I’m out of the bushes that are in front of the path that leads to My Place. Mom runs over to me, as is scripted. She picks me up and hugs me, as is scripted. She kisses me and says, “Where have you BEEN?” as is scripted. I say nothing. Nothing’s scripted for me. Jodie’s book is stuffed into my pocket. I apologize to her in my mind. It’s not MY fault that I can’t let anybody see it. It’s my book, after all. If anybody saw it, they’d be all over it. They’d be smiling and joking and laughing about the way that she spelled something wrong or whatever. They’d praise me for finding it, and bombard me with questions about how and why and when and who and where. Jodie wouldn’t want any of that. I just know.77

At home, Mom and Dad go through their scripted conversations. They go over everything: Howwasyourday, howwasyourspanishquiz, isyourenglishbookgetinteresting, anythingyouwanttotellusaboutschool. They’re wonderful actors. My fork passes over my peas. Who can get them off of the plate, anyhow? Answers flit through my brain: bad, sucked, no, everybody hates me. I want to tell them. I want them to know. Of course, I can’t say anything. I just sit and watch them go over everything. They don’t care whether or not I answer them anymore. I just know it. They used to love me, need me, want me - back when I was in my Cute Child Stage. Now I’m in my Post Cute Child Stage. Nobody really cares. Nobody except Mom and Dad even pretends to care. Jodie’s book feels heavy in my pocket. I need to put it into my backpack soon. Mom and Dad NEVER look there, after all.88

“I don’t think that you should be over at the graveyard, sweetie.” Mom is the Scripted Queen. Dad looks over to her and gives her a sort of shrug-like-thing. It’s more like a quarter shrug. ‘Etta, you can talk,’ Jodie says in my mind. ‘You can talk back, you know. They WANT you to talk back.’ I don’t want to do what they want me to do. They don’t deserve it. I go to My Place in my mind. I’m lying down on the rough brick, and staring up at the hot sun, but it doesn’t hurt my eyes. Seagulls can see me. They are all around me, talking to me. I love them. They get crumbs for talking to me. My sandwich is torn apart. A quarter for me, a quarter for Jodie, and a half for the seagulls. My cousin, Jodie, is sitting down next to me. Her fiery red hair bounces as she talks. I remember that hair more than anything else about her. The rest of her features are made up in my mind.99

“Auntie and Uncle doing good?” she asks. I talk - I can talk when I’m with Jodie. “They’re doing fine,” I say. “Mom is talking to me right now.” The sun is bright. It burns through my eyelids, with the most heavenly feeling in the world. Jodie nods. “As good as they can get, huh?” she says. My Place lights up in flame. Fire doesn’t matter in My Place. The seagulls carry their half of the sandwich over to me, and sit on my lap so that I can pet them. Mom doesn’t exist in My Place. It’s only me and Jodie and the gulls. They squawk out their rough songs into my ear. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts in My Place. Jodie laughs. It’s a giggle-laugh. It’s one of those things that I remember even better than her hair. Her grin fits below a pretty little nose. Her eyes are green and soulful. I wish I could remember her features. These ones are only half as good as if I knew the real thing.1010

Nobody brings up Jennifer or Aliya or Frankie or anybody. This is my peace away from the world. Nobody will ever know about it: not Jennifer, not Aliya, not Frankie, not Mom, not Dad. Only me and Jodie. Because Jodie really IS alive in My Place. Mom stares into my eyes across from me. She looks angry. I stare right back. She wants me to talk. I won’t give her that pleasure. Only Jodie deserves that pleasure. Only Jodie and the Gulls. I’ve named the Gulls in my mind. There’s Danni, and Sara, and Rocky, and Bennett, and Sammie, and Liana. They love me almost as much as they love Jodie. Of course, they live with her, so I couldn’t blame them. It’s not their fault. They’re only birds, anyway.1111

Mom and Dad exchange worried glances. I’m glad I’m in their ‘thoughts’. I scoot out of my chair and leave the room. I don’t need to say ‘can I be excused’. That’s one of those good things about never talking. I fall into the living room’s longest couch - the one that I’ve long since claimed mine - and stretch my legs out all the length, and flick the television on with a crazy little remote control (we trashed our old, clonky one a week ago) and flip through the channels. Drugs, buttocks, buttocks, violence, babyshow, littlekidshow, the Simpson’s (yuck), *bunny*headchannel, violence. Finally. My Channel, the Animal Channel flips into the picture. It’s a documentary on tigers. I watch this channel every night, waiting for a documentary on seagulls. I’ve seen not one in the two years that I’ve been doing this. As in zip. There have been at least seventeen GAZABAGILLION on tigers. Oh well. I flick the television off, and let my mind sink into My Place. I’m asleep.1212

“Hi, Etta,” Jennifer says. She hates me. She pulls me away from Mom and Dad. They smile. Her only friend, they’re thinking. Maybe she’s not so awful, they’re thinking. Maybe she DOES have a life, they’re thinking. Maybe our ten year old daughter ISN’T a freak. I hate to disappoint them. I just go with the flow, and nod at her. My tongue has forgotten how to move, I think. It won’t let me talk. My mind overflows with things to say. I should get an Etch-a-Sketch®. I’d be able to talk easier than with my mouth. I want to shout cusswords at her. My tongue rolls, but no words come out. I don’t have the willpower, anymore. “Etta, you feel like talking to me? How was the cemetery?” she jokes. I glare at her. “What’s wrong, Rosetta?” I stare at her. How in the world could she have once been my best friend. “I hate you,” she says with a smirk, once we’re out of Mom and Dad’s vicinity of hearing. It happens everyday. She doesn’t even know about Jodie.1313

I walk the rest of the way to the school by myself. We have a bus stop right outside of my door, but Mom and Dad never let me use it. They say I need the exercise. If they think I’m fat, they’re right. I started to overeat after Jodie died. Only junk food, of course. I never touch my peas and my carrots and my green beans. They’re gross. My Place flashes before my brain. My eyes see the street I’m crossing. “Etta!” The bouncy red hair seems to giggle itself. “Hi!” I’m lying down on the brick and staring down at the people below me. It’s a circus. Everybody has popcorn in one hand and a hotdog in the other. They’re laughing and talking and carrying on. Jodie looks down with me. “Do you think they’ll notice soon?” she says in a hushed voice. Jodie knows them all by name. I don’t know who they are. I shrug. She flips over on her back and looks up into the pale blue sky. Carnival songs are playing. The tips of my lips turn up slightly. “Who are they?” I ask after a while. Jodie turns her head to face me. “My friends,” she says. “The froth.” She pauses. “They bubble, don’t they?” I look back down at them. I don’t know what she’s talking about. I just shrug. I don’t want to look stupid in front of her.1414

I reach the school. Nobody wants me here. I don’t see why I don’t just walk to the mall. Maybe it’s because of my complete lack of willpower. People don’t look at me. They look away. They think that I don’t notice. They think they’re sparing my feelings by not staring. I’d much rather have them stare. I’m just so lonely. All I have is Jodie and the Gulls. My lips are stuck together. My teeth are clenched. I’m ready for yet another day of silence. Jodie grins at me. She gives me courage. I’m ready to face Jennifer and Aliya and Frankie. As ready as I ever am, at least.1515