Excerpt: Speaking in Tongues

It has been a full month since Abigail Hardy — an anxious, long-limbed girl of twenty-three — has last heard the sound of English, her first and only tongue. At first she found the anonymity of no longer being able to understand the idle patter of those around her liberating: after all, she is no longer required to make small talk with the strangers on the train who all too often mistake the soft, round features of her face as an invitation to conversation. Even if she has wanted to carry on with these people (which she most assuredly doesn't), now she has the perfect excuse: a shrug of the shoulders, a pointedly confused look, and, in English: "I'm sorry, but I don't speak your language." Then the strangers give her that mournful look of comprehension, pat her on the shoulder, and then return to surveying their purchases from the grocery store where they just purchased their dinner. No longer does she need to endure the painful agony of carrying on an awkward flirtation with the men, always old enough to have fathered her, who insist on complimenting her fine hair, her delicate cheekbones, the way she holds a cigarette. For the past month, those eight words have been her favorites, and the only words she has uttered to a soul outside of her cat, an overweight grey tiger she affectionately calls "Murmur" after the soft growls he makes at passersby while sitting on his favorite perch on the living room windowsill.

Now she is craving that most basic of human interactions, the one she has so stringently avoided during her commutes to and from work: a conversation. Even the most painful and inane conversation will do. From banalities about the weather to discussions of politics with evangelicals who certainly do not share her same views on abortion and women's rights, Abby will not discriminate. Certainly, she would prefer an intelligent discussion about recent bestsellers, perhaps (not that she can read any of them, not anymore — not even can she read the paper to see who is at the top of this month's list); or maybe they could just enjoy a movie, and rave (or rant) about the acting. Anything, so long as someone could understand her. Even for just a few minutes.

She doesn't know why it happened, or how. She's not sure what it will take to right it, if anything will. All she knows is that it happened; and whether or not it actually happened to anyone else is still a mystery.