It had been two weeks, three days and 17 hours since Madelyn Moore had said a word to any member of her immediate family. Not to her husband Arthur, her 13 year old daughter Allison, or her 10 year old son Ben. Not even to the dog Rex who she really had nothing against, but, hey, he was a member of the family too. Nothing in particular had provoked the silent treatment, rather it was the culmination of years of wifehood and motherhood, a million tiny annoyances and a few gigantic grievances. All of which she played over in her mind, as if watching a silent movie, one night as she lay trying to sleep next to her husband who was hogging the sheets, but who had not yet started snoring. “This is Not the Life I Wanted” would have been an apt title for the movie.
At work, where she was the chief compliance officer for a chemical manufacturing firm, she chatted freely, perhaps more freely because of her muteness at home. She was a downright little hummingbird, flitting from office to office, inquiring about this report or that deadline, or perching on the arm of a co-worker’s chair just to dish for a few minutes.
“Mom’s gone bonkers,” she overheard Allison say on the phone one night. Madelyn didn’t feel bonkers. Actually, she felt just fine. She just needed a break from dispute-settling, question-answering, forced good moods. As a parent sends a misbehaving child to his room with no TV or phone, she had sent herself to a time-out, but without the misbehavior. She sure as heck didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. It’s not like she wasn’t doing her part. She still made dinners – vegetable stir fry, Allison’s favorite – on Wednesday nights. She still signed permission slips for school field trips, did the laundry, all after a full day at work. Much to Arthur’s amazement, she even still had sex with him.
Months went by like this. Madelyn had no desire to leave the familial nest. It was comfortable, with cashmere throws on the back of a chintz sofa, a swimming pool that glistened in the sun, walls painted a neutral palette that was restful to the eye. No, she was quite content here, having managed to zone out her family, their peeves, their peevishness, their crises – real or imagined - all without meditation or a half bottle of wine at night.
At first, Arthur, ever the typical husband, had anxiously asked, “Have I done something? Is it me? What have I done?” Madelyn had begun to shake her head “no,” but caught herself, for wasn’t nodding of one’s head communication as surely as uttering the words? She wanted to be uncommunicative, so uncommunicative she would be. That included no smiling, no frowning, nothing to indicate what was on her mind. For in truth, nothing much was on her mind, at least not at home. Arthur had even tried writing a few sentences on a notepad, as if she had lost her hearing. She waved the pen away and went to watch TV, her hearing perfectly fine.
Ten year old Ben was the family member most baffled by his mother’s silence and not a little frightened because of it. Thinking the reason she didn’t talk was because she was sad, he tried to make her laugh. He combed the internet for the funniest jokes he could find, one-liners he could easily master. Longer ones, reported the next day from late-night TV, he rehearsed over and over. He viewed countless YouTube videos, shyly putting his phone in his mother’s face while she peeled potatoes. Nothing worked. His sister and father were grateful for them though and responded appropriately, which made him feel a little better.
Eventually, as weeks turned into months each member of the family, in their own way, came to accept that, for however long it might last, their mother, their wife, was simply not going to talk. They gave up trying to engage her, not bothering to compliment Madelyn on the dinners she made, her new hair style. Instead they chatted amiably with each other over the dinner table about the “B+” Allison had made on the math exam she had so dreaded, the deal Arthur was negotiating at work. Ben, being the youngest, was the last one to accept the situation, the one who still wanted his mom to not just bandage his scuffed knee but to coo words of comfort. Needless to say, they couldn’t have people over for dinner, a plus as far as Madelyn was concerned.
Her self-imposed silence gave Madelyn time to reflect, and she found herself watching her family as if a stranger peering in through someone else’s open window to a scene of domestic harmony. There was the time Allison, trying to take Ben’s mind off a bad bicycle spill that produced copious tears asked him about his favorite video game. Within minutes, they were playing the game intently. Madelyn was touched by Allison’s patience. Arthur had even taken to playing “Wheel of Fortune” with both children, something she had never seen him do before, everyone laughing at his wrong guesses. Her husband’s interactions with his children, rare before, occurred more often and he began to show something approaching a tender side, at somewhat the appropriate times.
The silence that had begun in the summer continued into the fall and winter, the days shortening, the air becoming cooler. Christmas morning Madelyn was the last one down. The children and Arthur were sprawled on the floor in front of the blinking Douglas fir, laughing and shaking presents, trying to guess what was in each one. Madelyn stood behind them, unnoticed and opened her mouth: “I love you all so much” she said, but they didn’t hear her. She watched silently as they started ripping packages apart, tissue paper flying everywhere, floating down like snow in a Christmas snow globe.
Jeannette Garrett is a freelance writer and a former staffer for an international magazine who is now focusing on fiction. She has participated in numerous workshops at Inprint and Writespace in Houston, Texas, where she resides.
