If Only They Would Listen

Isabel was a quiet girl. It was not uncommon to find her sitting alone under a tree in the park, reading a good book, or watching people from afar. Watching people really was her favorite hobby. She could catch a glimpse of their lives without actually being a part of it, a silent observer. She had tried before to do the unthinkable, to talk to someone up close, but her words were always absorbed, lost in the words of others. Some said she didn’t talk loud enough, that it was her own fault. But if only they would listen, she could be heard.

It was the worst at school. People were always so loud at school. It seemed to her that people were always talking and yelling, engulfed in their own conversations and arguments, but never listening. Isabel found it preferable to try and hide away from the others. This sometimes worked. Sometimes it didn’t. If only they would listen, she wouldn’t have to hide.

Isabel found solace in the park. It was warm in the park. It was quiet in the park. People were better in the park. She could watch them from beneath her tree as they sat on a bench, or jogged by, and think of tons of things to tell them. And in her head, they would always listen. She told herself it was better this way and in a way it was. In a way it wasn’t.

She had actually tried to have a conversation with someone in the park once. It was a warm day during late spring, and Isabel had spotted a girl sitting on a nearby bench, reading her favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. Isabel had always admired Scout Finch’s courage in the book, and maybe this girl did, too. Maybe they could have a nice discussion over the book. Maybe. Isabel took a couple deep breaths, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and took a few shaky steps toward the bench, and thought back over all the imaginary conversations she had had in her head. Isabel sat down on the bench, her knees almost buckling underneath her, and turned to the girl. The girl, realizing someone was staring at her, also turned to Isabel, with questioning eyes. But in that moment, all the knowledge Isabel had gained through her imaginary conversations fled from her, and she was left staring dumbly at the girl. Not knowing what else to say, Isabel stammered right to the end of the book, spoiling the book for the girl in a blur. The girl indignantly closed her book and stomped off, leaving Isabel alone on the bench, wondering what she had done wrong.

Isabel did not try to have conversations with people after that. She was content with her spot under her tree. She found those conversations to be easier. She always had enough time to come up with the best answer, the best question, the best everything. And if she got something wrong, she could always go back and say something better. People were much more understanding in her head. And in her head, they would always listen.

It was late in September when all this would change. The weather became more and more chilly, but there were still plenty of days when it was warm enough to sit under her tree. It was one of these warm days when Isabel found a crowd of unfamiliar people surrounding her tree. They were looking the tree up and down, discussing things, pointing at other things. Finally, Isabel found the courage to walk up to the mob, and ask one of them what they were doing. The tree was old, they said. Sick and dying, they said. She watched as they tore the tree down, limb by limb, with saws and chains, until eventually, they tore it down from the root. She did not try and argue, fight, tell them they were wrong, tell them to stop. She imagined herself saying all these things, doing all these things, but in reality, she simply watched from the nearby bench.

Things were different after that. Soon, the weather became too cold to spend time in the park. So, she spent time in her room instead. It was cozy, in her room, but it wasn’t the same. She felt safe, but lonely. School, however, did not change. People were just as loud, just as difficult. So, Isabel kept on hiding. It wasn’t until the following spring that things truly began to change. Everything was starting to wake from its winter slumber, starting to warm, and soon, Isabel was back in the park.

In her usual spot, an ugly stump was left. And that would not do. So, Isabel sat on the nearby bench, book in hand, and resumed her watching of people. But as time went on, Isabel found the most peculiar thing. As she simply sat, sometimes reading her book, people would come to her, and sit beside her. They were not loud, they were often quiet, just enjoying the park, like her. When she sat under the tree, nobody would come to her, but now they did. She started small, only saying ‘hi’ at first. But as time went on, her courage grew. She began to speak louder, to make small conversations with people, and she found that sometimes, people would listen. Some people were still difficult, of course, and she didn’t bother to talk to them, but some people would listen.

One day, even the girl with the To Kill a Mockingbird book came back, and Isabel was able to have a small conversation with her over her favorite character, Scout Finch. The imaginary conversations she was used to having were slowly becoming real. School was still the same, people were uncomfortably loud, but it was more bearable than before. Isabel did not feel compelled to hide. She even talked to some of her classmates.

As Isabel sat on her park bench, she looked back at the stump of her beloved tree. It was not wrong for her to sit there, watching people from afar, but she decided it wasn’t right either. She closed herself off under that tree, confined herself to the limits of her own imagination, when the world was waiting for her. She loved that tree, and some days, most days, she missed it. But she decided that maybe it was better that the tree was gone. After all, some people do listen.