The sound of plates shattering against the wall woke Shay from a sound sleep. Her parents screamed at one another in an incoherent nightmare of accusation and assault, and she pulled the covers up over her head in the hopes that somehow the blanket would deafen the sounds. It was her thirteenth birthday, and she’d hoped tonight would remain peaceful and calm. She breathed heavily as she remembered their last fight, which ended with a trip to the hospital, her father’s arm broken by the impact of a cast iron skillet hurled awkwardly from across the kitchen.
The sounds of screaming broke for a moment, and Shay pulled back the covers to hear what was happening. “Dead silence”, she thought, and then her heart began to thump in her chest as she considered-what if it was silent because someone had died? An uncontrollable swell of tears burst from her eyes as she threw the covers aside and put her feet softly on the cold tile floor.
“Mommy?” she whispered with a tremble. “Daddy?” she called in a near inaudible voice. Shay cried softly to herself, afraid of the screams that had come before, terrified of the silence that had swallowed her now. She was torn in two as she wished alternately for the soothing peace of silence or the comfortable familiarity of angry, bitter screams. All her life her parents had fought like this, and somehow Shay knew it was her fault. She was too strange, too much of a reader and a weirdo, and she shared very few of her parents’ interests. “If only I were more normal things would be better” she had often thought.
Suddenly the quiet was broken as her bedroom door shattered off its hinges, her mother staggering backward as if she’d been thrown by some powerful force. “Bitch!” her father screamed, his voice shaking with an anger built on pain, and Shay could hear the tears and sobs that racked him as her mother staggered to her feet. “He was bigger than you!” she roared, the rage of a person who could not be content without bringing those around her to a state of frenzy.
Shay’s father stepped into her room and reached back, pulling a small pistol from his belt. “I can’t take any more of you, baby” he sobbed, “I can’t live with what you do.” With a swift motion he put the barrel of the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
“Daddy,” Shay cried as she leapt across the room; her heart burned as she wrenched the gun from her father’s hand and tumbled to the floor as he sobbed “I can’t even end my life right”. His sobs echoed on the cold tile and for once Shay’s mother was quiet, for something happened then that none of them could explain.
The burning in Shay’s heart had become something more. With one hand on her mother’s leg and the other on her father’s, a warm feeling spread between the three of them. When Shay’s eyes opened again she knew something had changed-she could see her father’s pain as if it were a fountain and her mother’s as if it were an ocean of blood. Somehow she knew their hurts, and though she could not take them away she knew that somehow she could show them to each other. Her father’s sobs abated, and her mother’s face turned from the angry, bitter visage she had grown up with to one filled with sadness but love and concern. As Shay let go of them she tumbled backward, her eyes glistening with tears, and began to convulse.
Shay awoke in a hospital, her head wrapped in a bandage. Her heart was calm, and her parents sat quietly at her bedside, dressed and clean, holding hands as they rifled through an old photo album from her childhood. When they saw that she was awake they rushed to her side and smothered her with kisses, hugs and what seemed to her an unusual torrent of affection.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up. “You had a seizure, sweetheart, but you’re alright now” her mother said as tears glistened in her eyes. “We thought we’d lost you”, and once again her parents enveloped her in an almost painful hug that seemed somehow alien. “What about the light?” she asked as she felt around her own head for signs of trauma, “I saw a light, and a flood…and I think a fountain…I think I saw…your souls.”
“That was the lack of oxygen to your brain, brought on when you swallowed your tongue and couldn’t breathe” said a voice from the doorway. A man with a long white coat and a cheerful voice stepped in, and Shay immediately recognized him as Dr. Lipton, her primary care doctor for as long as she could recall. As always, her tummy rumbled and she had a burning desire for some tea. “Unfortunately, no one can see another person’s soul, which is sort of a shame because I’m convinced yours must be quite beautiful” Dr. Lipton continued in his ever-cheerful tone.
“But don’t worry; we always knew there was a possibility for epilepsy from the time you were born. Your case is very mild and you shouldn’t need to take any regular medication, just try to avoid tense situations as much as you can. How are you feeling?” Shay thought for a moment. Had she imagined feeling her parents pain? Why were they acting so differently now? In all her life she had never seen them so loving toward each other or even to her. “I’m fine, I think. It’s just…the things I saw felt so real”. Dr. Lipton adjusted his glasses and smiled, and very quickly told her “It’s not uncommon for someone who experienced what you did to see and feel things that seem very real, Shay. Please don’t worry about it, you’re entirely normal except for your one little difference; nothing to fear or worry about”. And with that he turned on his heel, called “Go home and get some rest!” over his shoulder and disappeared down the hallway.
Shay blinked and smiled. “I’m entirely normal” she said to her parents as they began to gather her things. She watched them intently and thought again about what had happened. Had she really seen their souls? Had she shown them to each other? Had she somehow managed to create a connection between her mother and father, to share their pain with each ot her and bring them some kind of understanding? Shay wondered…was she hallucinating?
As she lay back and waited for the nurse to come prepare her for release she couldn’t help but think over and over again, “except for your one little difference.”