The Whisper

“What is wrong with you?!!?” Paul yelled angrily at me. 

Again.

I hang my head in shame. The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I wait for him to tell me.

“Every single TIME you just stand there staring off into space!” he continues to bellow. “Don’t you know how to MOVE?!”

I curl my shoulders in and try to make myself small. My thoughts are a jumble of disconnected, random words. My mind is full of swirling fog.

I always simply freeze as soon as my kayak touches the water. I wonder if actual decisions even exist. We have been going on these little adventures every other Thursday on this same stretch of river for the last three years. Part of me understands why he yells at me. I probably deserve it after all this time.

Paul grunts in frustration as he paddles back to me. He shoves me into my kayak and throws the paddle at me, all the while cursing me in a soft whisper and glaring at me. I hear the familiar phrases. 

“Useless.” 

“Stupid.” 

“You ruin everything.” 

“Should have left you at the home.”

But, they flow over and away like the clear water around me. It feels as if his criticism has always been as constant as that flow. He violently heaves my kayak into the current as I look up at the sky. I see a pair of graceful hawks flying above and I long to be able to move as freely and simply. 

By this time, Paul has returned to his kayak, paddled past me and already around the first bend in the river. He is still close enough for me to hear his sarcastic command to “hurry up!”

I watch a few leaves float effortlessly beside me and dream of simply, easily skimming along with them.

Crack! 

Back to reality as I collide with a huge rock. I didn’t even try to avoid it. 

Paul screams at me. 

Again.

As I shove off the rock with my hand and resume the journey, I wonder if it ever bothers him that I don’t reply when he yells or whispers all his hate at me.

I begin to look around again, letting the river just pull me along. Floating through the trip while making no decisions. I just follow where he leads while trying to stay small.

I drift too far to the side and end up in the bushes. Thankfully, Paul doesn’t seem to notice. The largest rapids are just ahead and he doesn’t look back to check on me. I grab a few bright orange lilies from the bank before I push back into the faster water. I’m not sure why. If Paul sees them, he will destroy them. I stick them down between my feet so I can try to keep them even though I have never liked flowers. It feels like an odd thing to do but my mind drifts before I can examine the action. 

Several more turns and mishaps later, we stop at a small island and eat lunch. He barely speaks to me and none of what he says is kind. I don’t respond. Somehow I have made it to the halfway point of this trip without saying a word. I wonder why I have no desire to bother trying.

He waits for me to get started back on the river first, then quickly passes me.

My mind drifts away again and I realize we are almost at the end of our trip. I am not sure how we got here. I glance down and see the orange lilies. They remind me. Her favorite color was orange.

I am not supposed to think about her. My heart starts racing and all of a sudden I am breathing heavily. My sister’s favorite color was orange. My vision becomes blurry and I start to moan.

Just at the edge of hearing there is a tiny whisper that says “it’s okay.” 

Around the river bend, I know there are more rapids and Paul will take the path on the left, expecting me to follow. But, something in my heart whispers, “why do we never go to the right?” and I find myself using my paddle to slow so that he drifts farther ahead of me. He is soon too busy navigating the rapids to berate me. 

While I have no idea why I want to go the other way, I suddenly feel as if my whole life hinges on this one moment. I quickly shift directions and paddle hard, surprised and terrified of this decision. I am shaking and realize suddenly that this is the first real decision I have made for myself in a very long time. 

The. 

First.

The first time I have made a decision for myself and had an opportunity to take a different path.

I stare at a tree on the right hand side of the river and simply choose that I am getting out there. Soon I am too busy battling the current to further second-guess.

Paul has made it through the rapids and I hear him angrily yelling at me to “come on already”.

He has no idea. He is too far around the bend to see where I am or what I am doing.

Faster and faster, I paddle for the tree. 

I carefully climb out of my kayak and throw my paddle back to the middle of the water. I toss my hat as far as I can and shove my kayak back towards the faster current. Hopefully, it will all float far enough away and cause enough confusion that I will have a few moments to hide.

I scramble up the bank heedless of the briars. In the back of my mind, I hear a whisper to not leave a trail, but I am unsure what that even means, let alone how to follow that advice. The trees grow close to the river bank here and I find myself blissfully hidden under their gently waving branches and strong trunks.

Paul is screaming my name and demanding to know where I am.

A small part of me longs to answer him and beg forgiveness. The larger part of me screams “MOVE!”

His screams turn more frantic and I can tell he is beginning to panic. He isn’t cussing me. He sounds scared.

The whisper says “RUN.” So I do.

Hopefully, he will think I flipped the kayak and am somewhere in the rapids. He knows I cannot swim. Maybe it will buy me some time.

I run farther and farther into the woods, quietly breathing and pacing myself for distance. I know I can stay ahead of him because he hates running. I, however, have been trapped with running in circles as my only release.

Goodbye, Paul.

Goodbye special home where you make me live.

Goodbye little room and doctors and therapy and medication and talking about my feelings and only doing what I am told.

Hello again little whisper who helps me make decisions. Welcome back old friend.

“Glad to be here. Now, run.”