Silence and Music

It happened when Stella was just a teenager. The disappearing she’d called it at the time, though now she simply called it the silence. Her silence. On one of many lonely nights, Stella sat on the edge of her bed, softly strumming her guitar, though no song danced free from her fingers. The chords were as lonely and discordant as she, going softly from the strings with no connection to the one before it or that which followed. Stella simply played for the comfort of the wood on her palm and the feel of metal on her calloused fingers. 

As she played, Stella stared at everything and nothing, and she thought of just the same. Thus, it was a time of perfect stasis for the young girl. An escape. On this day, her retreat was interrupted. 

“Stell!” the girl’s mother called. Stella tumbled roughly from her reverie, faltering for but a moment. There was an obvious venom in her mother’s voice that resurfaced unwanted memories—a terrible face seen from below, raised fists, blood dripping on the carpet. Without thinking, her fingers spun out the opening chords of “Runaway.” Her mother’s footsteps beat out the pounding drum of the song, forcing Stella’s fingers to fly frantically across the frets to keep up. This time, the chords danced gracefully from the strings together. They twined through the air, spinning up and away like the embers of a fire. 

Overhead, the light flickered uncertainly. Stella paid it no mind. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as the sound of her mother’s marching steps drew ever closer. She played harder, faster. Not just with her hands, but with her whole body. She’s a little runaway, Stella sang in her mind. She repeated it, over and over like a chant. The light flickered more insistently. Stella heard the footsteps stop outside her door. She strummed the final chord of “Runaway” fiercely, letting the sound drown out the world. The flickering light shattered suddenly, sending shards of glass raining down on the room. 

All was still, all was quiet. Stella held her breath, not daring to make the slightest noise, like prey who knows it’s been spotted. She stayed stock still, listening for the sound of her predator making its move, but it never came. There was no banging on the door or angry voice pushing through the cracks. The silence was tangible. It stuck in Stella’s throat, weighed down her extremities, clouded her mind. 

She stood slowly, guitar still in hand. Stella’s stomach filled with terrible dread; she moved slowly, burdened by the deafening silence. Not even her footfalls made the slightest brush of noise. Stella opened her door slowly, afraid to break the silence, but her fear was unfounded. The door swung open without so much as a creak, revealing an empty hallway. Frowning, Stella peered down the hall. She caught a half glimpse of her mother’s long blonde hair retreating around a corner. Stella followed. Through the kitchen, into the living room, her mother sat, taking a silent sip from the wine glass in her hand. 

“Mom?” Stella said, but though her mouth formed the word and she felt the sound in her throat, it died before it could slip past her lips. She tried again, suddenly fearful. Nothing. Again, louder this time, but the resulting scream couldn’t have been heard over a pin drop. Silence reigned as a despot over Stella’s world. Desperate, Stella reached for her mother’s hand, seeking the comforting warmth of another person, even if that person was her mother. The closer her hand moved toward her mother’s, the heavier Stella’s hand grew. The air thickened too, like molasses, making it impossible to make contact. 

Stella backpedalled, steps slow and uncertain. Like before, hot breath stuck in her throat, and it only escaped in uneven gasps. Calm down, Stella chided herself, this is probably a nightmare, anyway. Yet she didn’t wake up.

Stella found herself once more on the edge of her bed. She hardly remembered actually moving. A stiff stupor clouded her mind, but whether it was a function of the silent world Stella now inhabited, or it was brought on by her own mind to cope, the girl was unsure. Stella cradled the guitar in her hands. It was a lifeline, as it always had been, as it would always be. A constant for her, sure as the stars. 

And so, Stella sat, staring at everything and nothing and thinking of just the same. A prickling of heat behind her eyes, and the tears fell unbidden onto Stella’s cheeks, tracing a sad line onto her precious guitar. Her body shook with horrible, silent sobs. Lost in a silent world, all alone, the girl was more afraid and more helpless than she’d ever been before. Stella’s fingers found the frets of her guitar. She was unwilling to brush her fingers over the strings. Unwilling to try to coax sound from her beloved instrument for fear that she would instead be greeted only by the terrible silence. But her need for music outweighed her trepidation.

Stella wove out the chords of “Like a Rolling Stone.” She strummed, fearful of the silence. At first there was nothing. Only silence. But as she lost herself in the pattern, in the rhythm, Stella heard something. As though she were underwater, the chord progression of “Like a Rolling Stone.” C…F…G, Stella recognized as she slowly strummed the chords into the silence. The dark dread in her stomach that sapped her will blazed now in a blossoming flower of hope.

Stella played with renewed vigor. She played with more than just her hands, more than just her body— she played with her heart, her mind, she played with her very soul. Sound filtered down to her like the sun breaking through the clouds. Stella’s music fought a pitched battle with the silence. Like light and dark or good and evil, silence and music spun in a deadly dance. Feinting, thrusting forward, backing away warily. The music spun through the air with the grace and poise of an acrobat; the silence stayed rooted in place, determined to hold its ground. In the middle of it all, Stella sat. She grasped, struggled for the music, her lifeline in the ocean of silence. Stella came to the last chorus of “Like a Rolling Stone.” She was afraid to let the music end, afraid to let the silence close back in around her. Stella strummed the final chord of the song with all of her being, and with a final charge, fierce and strong, the music broke the silence, shattering the terrible force into so many deadened pieces. 

Stella wept once more then, and she’d never been happier to hear herself cry. Not as she had before: in helplessness and fear. This time she wept for relief. She wept in thankfulness for her music. Music, Stella realized, was the most powerful force of all.