Her Silent Cry

Nine

I saw the silver woman from the window again. She was standing outside in her large garden with her back to me, a watering can in one hand. I called her the silver woman because her hair was the color of a coin I once found under our bed. After my sweaty palm clamped around it to recover it, I unfurled my fingers and let the sunlight glint off its surface. The man on the coin had long hair just like the silver woman, and today her hair was tied back in a ponytail just like his. Turning side to side, she sprinkled the water on the flowers at her feet. I willed her to turn around, to look up and see me staring at her. But she didn’t. I even tapped a fingernail against the glass to try to get her attention, but it didn’t work. I thought of rapping on the window with my knuckles, but that would make too much noise. I knew I was supposed to be quiet and still.

I pressed the coin against the window with my thumb, wishing it could break through the glass. Then I could go outside. I could get close to the flowers in the silver woman’s garden. Maybe she would even let me use her watering can.

The coin slipped from beneath my thumb, slid down the window, bounced off the sill and clattered to the floor. The noise bounced off the walls of the small room. I felt a squeeze in my chest. I had been warned about making too much noise. She had told me not to watch the silver woman. “Don’t draw attention to yourself,” she always said.

When I heard her at the door, I scrambled down from my perch at the windowsill, scooped up my coin, and jumped back onto the bed. I pushed the coin under the pillow.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“I heard something in here.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said.

“I heard you moving around. What did I tell you?”

I pulled my knees to my chest but didn’t answer.

“I know you remember. You have to be as quiet as you can or he’ll hurt us,” she said.

“I want to come out there with you,” I told her. “Pleeease.”

She gave me a pained smile. “I know you do. When he leaves, I’ll take you out there.”

He didn’t leave for a long time. Then she took me into the other rooms. I loved to explore them even though I had seen them many times before. They were at least different from my own room. I tried to discover a new detail each time: the one yellowing, chipped tile in the kitchen; the scrape of the brown fabric on the lumpy recliner chair against my skin; the large grease spot where his head rested when he sat in the chair and smoked. Beside the chair was a small table with a remote control that I was never to touch. Next to that was a round ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. My fingers lingered over the mound of discarded, smoked cigarettes. I wanted to touch them, but she shooed me away. I jumped on the couch instead and skipped around on the carpet until she snapped at me. “You have to be still. If you break something, he’ll—”

She stopped.

I stared up at her. “He’ll hurt us?”

“Or worse,” she said, whispering as though he was still there somewhere, listening in secret. She gripped my arm, squeezing hard. “Promise me,” she said. “Promise me you will do exactly as I say.”

I stared into her wide eyes. “I promise.”