the story of echo [20 Nov 2005|06:06pm] When I was born everyone was under the assumption that I was deaf and mute. I can vaguely remember going to specialist after specialist. White corridors, polished tile, politely primped and starched nurses, the smell of illness and death wavering through the air...these were the places broken people went to be repaired or perish. Test after test, I failed every one. My parents returned home heartbroken that their perfect daughter which they carried with love and nurtured through nine long months was a developmental failure. What was a perfect mother to do? Hide me away, make me a ghost, forget that I exist and erase me slowly from her picturesque life. A perfect father is different though. He, instead, created a new life. A life that didn't exist within the walls of our home. He allowed work to take over his life. In a world of suits and business meetings, one can often forget that they even have a life outside stocks and bonds. Remember how mother screamed? She screamed and yelled and cried about me. Not for me; but for the fact that she was left home to care for their little indiscretion alone while he was allowed to forget completely. This is when they hired Monique. With a nanny tending to the child you wish were never born, you can drink all the memories away. And that was my life...until I was five. On the day of my fifth birthday, Monique had prepared a special celebration although my parents would rather not have attended. How did I know? It was apparent even then that the martinis in their hand held a special kind of magic. The forgetting kind. That day was momentous and will forever be captured in my mind. For that was the day that I spoke my first word...to anyone else; but myself anyway. I don't remember what led up to the argument between them; but I do remember a small voice rising above the rest asking them to please stop. A martini glass fell as did an eerie silence. "Echo?," my mother said,"You can talk?" I nodded. "How long have you been able to talk?," my father asked. How long? That I didn't know for sure. Seconds eeked on minutes while I thought of my reply. Finally I said,"As long as I can remember." Did Monique know of this? No. I never spoke to her either. Why did I never talk to them? Why didn't I ever let them know? Questions, endless questions. Looking back now and judging from their reaction, my answer was not the best...or it wasn't what they wanted. The very next day I was signed up for boarding school several states away and was shipped off like a pig to a slaughter house. And there I lived in silence, hidden among fellow classmates for the past ten years. inject love's tender touch

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