Synopsis: The Silence of War

It was the beginning of the summer of my seventeenth year. That was the day that it all started. Or ended, depending on which pair of discriminating eyes you chose to look through at that point in time. The people of this town are so judgmental; I know that it will one day be their downfall.

Every morning and every evening I’ll walk past the last house down the street before reaching my road and every morning and every evening Mrs. Hines never fails to make sure that her grating voice reaches my ears. The voice that talks of endless nonsense, gossiping the only thing she could do in her old age. Not that I could blame her. If I were to reach her ripe old age of ninety seven or ninety nine, no one knows for sure which as she changes it so very frequently, all I would choose to do would be to sit in my old rocking and gossip as well.

But that one evening, the very beginning of my summer vacation, I heard an odd statement come from the porch of Mrs. Hines’ home. “Look at that poor Rawling girl. She really should be learning some manners. Why I’d say she’s even old enough to be married off. What say you, Marigold?”

“Oh, I’d most definitely agree Mrs. Hines. Why, if only she wore just a few more dresses instead of that despicable boyish garb she insists on wearing, maybe she’d even catch the eye of that fine boy, Trent Cransby. I hear that his parents are trying to match him up with that classy Priscilla Williams. Fine match I would say.”

Mrs. Hines just nodded her assent, her old gray eyes following my every step as I passed by her small yellow house, listening to every word said. When Trent’s name plundered forth in the conversation, I figured I’d better catch my ear’s worth to tell him when I saw him that evening. Not that I was particularly interested. Trent and I just liked to laugh at the insane pieces of gossip that Mrs. Hines liked to spread about the younger population.
“Don’t you know it’s not polite to eavesdrop girl? Haven’t your inept parents taught you
anything yet?”

My head whipped around to face Mrs. Hines steely glare. Not many could stand to feel it, let alone face it. I found that I was among those. The moment my green eyes met her gray ones, I put my head down. Her eyes crept over every inch of my body, scrutinizing every crease and wrinkle in my clothing which I was sure she could see from where she sat on her porch some feet away. When it comes to Mrs. Hines, you find that even in her old age she still manages to get around and be just as intimidating as when she was in her prime.

After she was done taking her fair look at my outlandish clothing, the distaste evident in her twisted sneer, she gave me sharp instructions. At the way her voice reached me, I wondered if she should have been a military commander instead of the housewife that she had been.

“Why are you still standing there? I have nothing I need of you. Be on your way!”
My feet started moving silently against the black pavement, the soft summer breeze just starting to blow. As I reached the edge of the road leading to my house, I heard Mrs. Hine’s voice again.

“Head up, girl! Back straight and shoulders back! Don’t they teach you anything these days? And what outlandish clothing! So unethical! Isn’t that so, Marigold?”
Sighing loudly, I kept on walking. Those statements were so worn and faded now that I barely registered that they were an insult. This was how I chose to dress. If someone had a problem with it, they could come to me about it. Not that they would. They are all too afraid of me, though I have yet to figure out the reason why. Well, all of them except for one.

“Melissa! Hold on!”

I turned at the familiar voice to find Trent running towards me, his books under one arm and his oils and paints in the other. I rooted myself in that one spot until Trent had reached me, nodding a greeting. Silently we walked side by side. Occasionally the brush of our arms or shoulders disturbed the empty space we held around us before we put a little more distance between us.

That was how it went between us. Silence is what we both wanted as well as needed. Silence was what let our thoughts drift, somehow finding the other so that we knew almost exactly what the other was thinking. This was how we communicated. Not by talking, not by actions, but by feeling, by thinking. This was our own world where no one had a say in whether or not we were perfect enough or polite enough or even political enough. We were free from the criticisms, the judgments, and the complaints. This was enough for us, enough for the bond we had formed years ago.