Monica

Life as a mute has its setbacks. From the moment that my parents learned I would be a girl, they were thrilled. That is, until I was born. As the doctors handed me to my mother, they assumed I was dead. I did not make a sound. My mother saw that I was breathing and asked the doctors to poke my foot with a needle. When I began to scream silently, the doctors immediately diagnosed me as a mute. When I should have been learning to say mama, I was learning to speak sign language. When I should have been going to a normal elementary school, I was in a special school for the impaired. I never made friends because trying to communicate with them would have meant that I would have to speak back. No one I know can understand sign language, with the exception of my older brother, Joey. If it were not for Joey, I would have a very hectic time trying to speak to anyone. Joey is the reason I can go to the mall, to eat at the Olive Garden. Without my brother, no one would know what I wanted.

Walking towards the kitchen, my guitar in my hands, I am getting ready to find something to tamper with my growing hunger. I need to eat every four hours to keep my energy up, part of that was because I am hypoglycemic. As a hypoglycemic-mute, things are weird for me. I mean, I can get along fine, but not enough to lead a normal life. Normal life; who needs a normal life?

"Monica?"

I turn at the sound of my brother's voice. I sigh and lean my guitar against the counter. I make the sign to show that I am hungry. Joey smiles and opens the freezer. He pulls out a frozen dinner and pops it into the microwave.

"How is that solo coming along?" Joey asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

I shrug and make the sign for him to check the food. He chuckles and motions to the timer, which is still running. I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue.

If only I could speak to you with an audible voice, I sign. Then we could actually argue, and you would not win.

"You and I never argue," Joey says, grabbing a fork from the drawer. "If we were to argue, it would cause a change in the time cortex. We would not be pals right now."

I smile, laughing silently. If only my brother could actually see how dumb he sounds. His superhero references drive me a little crazy. I do not know if my brother could be the most obsessed with comic books. I am sure there are many others on the planet that see things as he does, but until then Joey is still the biggest comic fanatic I know. When the season finale for Smallville aired, Joey made me watch it with him. I will be honest, I do like me a good Superman plot, but sometimes you have to lighten up a little bit.

"Bon appétit," Joey says as he hands me the dinner on a plate with a fork.

I make the sign for thank you and sit on a stool, on the other side of the counter. Joey leans against the counter, but says nothing as he is fixated, watching me eat. I make a face and motion for him to leave me alone. Instead of walking away, he looks towards the kitchen door. A second later, it opens. In steps Mom, followed by Dad. I sigh, immediately sensing what they want to discuss. School and bullies.

For the last six months, I have been making it my goal to join a regular high school. Though my parents have decided to let me be a normal teenager, my plan backfires every day. Because I have no voice, so many people find it best to make fun of me. I cannot join any clubs, unless it is just the use of my hands. The only club I have been able to join is the music class. It is what got me into playing the guitar. I own an acoustic and a regular electric, both are Gibsons and special editions. Do not ask me to name year, wood finish, nothing like that. I only know what I want to know about them. If they have six strings and are tuned, that is all I need.

"Joey," Dad says, motioning for him to stay where he is. "We need you to translate what your sister responds."

"You would understand her," my brother says, shaking his head. "If you had joined the class."

"Never mind that now," Mom says, looking at me. "Monica, your father and I feel that you should be using your sign language more affectively, but you're not. For this reason, we have decided not to pull you out of Marshall High. We have spoken with your counselor, and she thinks it would be best that you learn to deal with these problems on your own, with a little help."

"She helped us find a program that would suit your interests," Dad adds, pulling a flyer out of his back pocket. "This program will help you to communicate to your best abilities, and there is a music section in the program. You can learn to play the guitar more professionally, if that is what you want."

I look at Joey, who just looks at me. Of course, my brother will not say anything. If he does, he would be stepping over what we know our parents have already decided before coming to me. Just like them to have everything complete before approaching me. I am sixteen and have no say to what happens in my life. Okay, that is not entirely true. My parents have been as supportive as they can be with my condition.

I sigh and sign to Joey that I will try the program. After he relays the message to our parents, they nod and smile.

"Good," Mom says, sighing with satisfaction. "Maybe, with this program, you will gain new friends. Real friends who don't make fun of you."

"Yes," Dad nods, crossing his arms. "What I do not understand is why the teenagers in that school show no sympathy towards young people like Monica. It seems that either the kids these days show respect or they do not. Most of them in our county don't."

I wave it off and return to my mid-afternoon meal. My parents exchange a quick look before going to the other room. Joey leans on the counter again and grins.

What? I sign, tilting my head to the side.

"Nothing," he replies, shrugging. "It's just that you were very cool just now. I didn't have to edit out any words that you signed to me."

I shrug and get up to wash my plate. Not speaking does have its advantages. While everyone else talks my ears off, I do not have to stop in between bites to reply to anyone. I mean, yeah, I might have to put my fork down, if I need both hands to sign something. I only use both hands, if it is necessary. I think I might agree with my parents. I do need to know how to use sign language more affectively.

After putting the plate into the dishwasher, I grab my guitar and return to my room, downstairs, closing the door behind me. Well, my room would actually be classified as the basement area of the house. Mom actually suggested that I turn it into my bedroom, to keep the music down here. Because I like to play loud and we usually have a few guests every day. None of them for me, obviously.

I turn on my iHome and flip through my music until I come to a good guitar song. I like making up riffs and solos to my favorite songs. I do not really write original stuff, and that works for me. I am not original anyway. I start to blast the song from my speakers and turn up my amplifier. Joey got me this awesome effects board and a loop peddle. But like the really expensive brand-name. Joey does not work for a high paying salary. More than half of his pay goes directly to purchasing things for me. I do not know why, but I am glad I have a brother who likes to spoil me.

As I listen to Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, I suddenly get a good idea for a guitar solo. I rush to my computer and turn on the recording program so that I do not forget it. I can perfect it later. Maybe this impairment program will help me more in the musical area. I mean, I have never heard of such a program before. I mean most sign language programs do not add in extra stuff like that. At least all the ones I have been to up until now.

Something touches my shoulder making me jump. If I had a voice, I would have screamed. Apparently, I do not even have vocal chords. They were never developed, or so the doctors say. I turn and sock Joey in the shoulder. He grunts and raises his eyebrow.

"You leave bruises, I want you to know," Joey says, rubbing the spot where I hit him. "Mom and Dad are going out for dinner. They wanted to be alone. So, I figured it would be a good idea for you and me to go to a movie. What do you think?"

I grin and nod eagerly. It only takes me a few minutes to straighten up my room and put my music equipment away. I know that if I leave it out, I will not want to put it away when I get home. I follow Joey upstairs, grabbing my favorite black sweater on my way up. Some people might think that I am emo because I wear so much black, but I just really like the color. Joey slings his arm over shoulder as we make our way to the passenger's side of his truck. Ever since my brother saw the Transformers movies, he has had a fascination with big trucks, so Dad got him a GMC Topkick 4x4 for Christmas a few years ago.

"Want to grab some pizza first?" Joey asks as he pulls the car out of the garage. "Cheese and lots of black olives, right?"

I nod and give him thumbs up. I keep my gaze on the road ahead most of the drive to the pizzeria. As we pass through town, I notice something I never expected to see. A boy from my school, at least I think he is from school. Dressed head to toe in the Flash costume. He does not have a mask on, but it is hard for me to recognize him. But I am quite certain he is from school. I tap Joey's shoulder and motion to the Flash wannabe.

"Barry Allan himself," he says with chuckle. "I wonder why he is not bothering to keep his identity a secret. And why is he here and not in Central City?"

The Flash is not real, I sign, rolling my eyes. Joey, you worry me sometimes.

"Mo, there is nothing wrong with enjoying a little fun and games. It does not hurt to escape to the imaginary world now and then."

So choose a hobby. Something keeps your head on the ground.

Joey parks the car and gets out. I sigh and get out as well. As we enter the pizzeria, I freeze in the doorway. Sheila Mason and her little posse are here. Sheila is the instigator of my school horror story. She is the reason I get made fun of for not having a voice. Sure, now and then, a few people realize that I am impaired, and they back off. But Sheila is relentless. I am glad that I only have to face her at lunch and in the hallways. We do not share any of the same classes.

Joey halts and follows my gaze across the pizzeria. I shake my head and walk forward, hoping Sheila does not notice my presence. Joey hands me his baseball cap, pulling it down to cover my eyes. My shoulders shake as I laugh silently. Joey is the coolest brother ever. I am so glad to have him near me.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. Please leave me a comment below, I would love to know your feedback. You guys are awesome! ~ Haddie ♥