Hear my words, if you can

When I was five-year-old, my parents planned a birthday party for me and invited all our relatives and my pre-school classmates. There was lot of delicious food, colourful party decorations, numerous voices and multiple conversations. I was the star of the show. I sat in the middle of all this and they took a photograph of all of us. That photograph is still hanging in our living room. Relatives, friends of my parents and siblings come and they all adore the photos. They are many- the whole wall above the mantle is filled with these happy memories with me in it.

“Why does the egg tastes bitter?”- brings me back to present. I look down on the plate and see half empty plate with other half of the bitter egg I just shoved down successfully down my throat with some help from water. This is the end of my dinner as I get up from the rickety chair as it makes creaking noises after being eased out of my weight’s misery. It is empty. I look outside and see people passing by this restaurant, no one spares a glance in this direction.

Reaching to the counter, I see Martha dozing off in her small chair. There is no sign of Ell. He is missing most of the days so I am not surprised. I whisper Martha’s name a few times. She moves her head in acknowledgement but does not wake up from her nap which I doubt will become a long and painful sleep session.

I place money under the counter and turn to leave. The restaurant used to have blue walls when it started. The blue which reminds of sky on a clear sunny day. Filled with patrons from all sections and ages, it was hard to get a seat in this restaurant. The windows were fascinating. Coloured in multi-colours, those windows never failed to keep me entertained. The chipped paint in the corner of the window by table number 11 had a green splatter between all the orange. It was small, but I saw it. There was a cloud on the window by the booths at the end. In between all the black, someone had drawn a yellow cloud filled with rainwater.

When I was growing up, I came to this restaurant almost everyday after school. When the lunch rush has slowed down, Martha would hand me a plate of sausages, eggs and a pecan pie and I would sit near the cloud on the window to enjoy this small meal. Everyday I found new shapes and colours in those windows. When I told Martha and Ell about this, they curiously asked me to show everything. Thus, for next four years, I showed them all the colours and talked about all my adventures. My stories amused Ell. After retiring from Army after service of 30 years, he worked more. Finally, when they had enough money, then started this restaurant with everything they had. Meant to be a diner, the good food cooked my Martha was exquisite in taste which was rare in a small town like ours.

There were some stories about Martha. She had a small floral purse she always carried when she went to farmers’ market every morning with Ell. A few people in town boasted of peeking inside the bag and they claimed that the interior was made up from some animal’s skin. They said that it was costly to get the skin of that rare animal. I heard one of my aunts say that Martha had a almirah full of Italian leather bag and another almirah filled with shoes with red soles.

Her white hair did not hide her beauty and some assumed that she was a retired model who fell in love with a young soldier and left her booming career in France to live with the poor soldier in the town. If you believe the stories, one of her children was a prime minister in a Baltic country and another one was a scientist working Antarctica. They believed that she coloured her hair white out of her love for her husband who had aged prematurely after sustaining the pressure of Army for a long time.

I never saw Martha speaking in a bad way to anyone. She never shouted. Ell never raised his fist and was always smiling.

No one was able to prove the rumours true, but one thing was famous across the town and even three four towns near our town- you have to book one month prior to the date of dining at Martha and Ell’s restaurant. Along with the breakfast all day menu, they also served food fit for fine dining. Caviar, Peking duck, Wagyu beef fillets, roasted rosemary chicken- name one and they would never disappoint with the result.

But my family never dined in their restaurant. I always wondered why my family would never take us to their restaurant on birthdays, anniversaries, and other announcements. Mother always scrunched up her nose at the name of the restaurant, father just ignored it. However, I had seen my sister sneaking a meal or two with her boyfriend when she told us that she was went to the sleepover to her best friend’s house.

I turned to see Martha again and tried to wake her up. She mumbled something in her sleep and went back to the awkward position she was sleeping in. Sighing, I left the restaurant. It was still early for weekend and people were roaming with friends, partners. Everyone was smiling and laughing. The bright lights almost made me feel like it was daytime. Smell of sausage roll wafted in the air mixed with creamy smell of freshly doled out gelato. I looked back at the restaurant; the lights were dull. It was as if it wanted to curl up and vanish from the face of earth. The broken signboard with ‘F’,’D’ and ‘E’ missing from ‘Freedom House’ did not help much for the case. It was slowly vanishing.

It all started around the time I went to college. The interviews were tough. There was no one who wanted to hear ideas and instead they focused on number of clubs and number of medals. I had almost none. The only club I was able to go to was the reader’s club. Everyone was like me. After many trials, endless stream of sandwiches and roasted chicken pieces at Martha’s restaurant, I finally got admission in a college. The problem was that it was very far from our town. Almost two states far.

I loaded my stuff into the car and reached for the handle to driver’s seat. I was alone. I drove to Freedom House and Martha welcomed me warmly. She asked all kinds of questions about college. By the time she was advising me to get a girlfriend. Ell entered the dining area making sounds of a triumph in battle. He had a cake in one hand and another plate in the other hand. It was my going to college present. “Mmm…chocolate cake. Ell makes the best chocolate cakes in world.”

I left.

I could not come back in next 8 years. The college was stressful and I almost gave up. But I read the same letter every night and kept going on. Passing with flying colours, more stress was waiting for me. It was hard to get a job. Even with my high marks, no one wanted me. I continued to struggle until I found a company who were designing tech meant to make lives of differently abled. It was a place of freedom. The more you innovated, the more you were loved. I spent another few years busying myself in the goal I thought was making the world a better place.

The stairs at the plaza- it was our creation and we have not heard a single complaint about it. It made everyone happy.

After 8 years, I received an email-

“Gina is getting married. Make some time and come home on **.**.20**.”

I stared at the screen for a long time. Next day I applied for leave and started packing and did a little shopping even. As the day came closer, I felt myself getting nervous again. I haven’t felt this in last four years. Freedom has really given me the freedom. My hands were sweaty as I took my seat on the flight. I could barely eat. The cab drove me to home and I stood near the entrance for solid 20 minutes before my cousins came bursting out of the door and stopped abruptly after seeing me. Snickering to each other, they told me my mother was waiting inside. I slowly entered the house and was greeted by chatter everywhere. Colourful dresses, shining cutlery, smell of food in the air and cool air from air conditioning.

Aunt Samantha noticed me and nudged my mom and nodding at my direction. Mom came to me and hugged me tightly. She asked me to settle in the basement. My room was given to the cousins for the wedding. Gina did not notice me until I reached the stairs leading to basement. She looked at me and left.

I stood by the door for a few more minutes and left the house, I still had my bag in my hand. Running to the ‘Freedom House’ I felt tears drenching my face, the anxiety was back. I was scared again. I reached the restaurant and was shocked to find it empty. I slowly entered the establishment. The smell of old structure hit me and the I followed the faint, familiar perfume of Martha. She was at the back, kneading dough. Her hair was whiter, she was a little bent. My footsteps alerted her of my entry. She turned and giggled like a 9-year-old girl before covering me up in a comforting hug. It was not as suffocating as my mother’s. She started shouting Ell’s name, something which I have never seen her do. Ell came running, well waddling and scared. His scowl turned into a broad smile when he saw me. He pulled me into a bear hug. He smelled like lime. I loved the smell.

I never spoke a word in my life. All the photographs in the living room were devoid of any sound from me. I was alone in those photographs. Made a pariah by everyone, Freedom House raised me to be a man I was today. Martha and Ell heard my stories with enthusiasm. They understood because they made an effort. There were three people in our town who used sign language- me, Martha and Ell.

I was never able to connect with anyone. Everyone wanted my words, I had none to offer. And here I was, at the lowest rated restaurant in my town- feeling being heard for the first time again.