MUTE part 4

There were a lot of flowers after Ames died. It was to be expected, of course, that flowers would cover the Tyler's front porch, but what surprised me was how many flowers were presented to me. My own porch was spilling over with them, and there were flowers in the bed of my truck, and when I drove to my four o'clock shift at Munday's, there were flowers waiting for me there. I skipped school on that first day back. My mom said I could, and my whole body felt like the rock that had pinned Ames down was on top of me, gluing me to my bed, forcing my eyelids to shut, so I took her offer. I pulled my covers around me and listened to my unsteady breathing until it fell into a normal pattern, and then when I opened my eyes again, I found that hours had passed. It was time four PM, the time that my shift at Munday's began. My mom told me I could skip that, too, with a worried expression on her face, but I felt sticky and gross from sleeping so long during the day, and I wanted to get out of the house. My mom had taken all the flowers off our porch and out of my truck by the time I stepped outside again, I had no idea what she'd done with them, but I was grateful they were gone.

I pushed thoughts of Ames from my mind as I walked into Munday's, pretended I had stayed home sick, but when I saw those flowers, waiting by the register, everything flooded back, and I fell into the first booth, the one right by that annoying chiming door. Janice was already there, and she rushed to my side immediately, her hands fluttering nervously around me, not sure quite what to do with themselves, as she said, "Are you alright? Can I do anything to help?" I buried my face in my arms on the metal table and listened to my breathing again. I told myself how it should sound-in, out, in, out- but instead it was jagged and quick. I looked up at Janice and nodded slightly, and she hurried off to the front of the café and came back with a box of crayons. I pulled a napkin from the metal dispenser at the end of the table and wrote sloppily with the red crayon,

could you get rid of the flowers

Janice rose her eyebrows and then nodded quickly, and I buried my face back into my arms as she rushed off. I think I fell asleep there, because the next thing I remember is Mr. Hoffman, the man who owned the restaurant and spent most of his time there, patting me on the shoulder and leaning over to whisper to me, "I think you should go home, dear." And I really didn't want to. But I couldn't find the energy to argue without words right then, so I obeyed.

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