The Silent Noise of Truth

The interviewer was nervous. She twitched and fidgeted while having one last look at her questions in the minutes before it began.

‘Relax’ I told her. ‘I’m not like the others.’

By others, I meant my family. She had interviewed all of them several times, individually and together. In fact, she was the only one they would give interviews to. But she had never interviewed me. She hadn’t seen me since I was a chubby toddler, still blissfully unaware. Nobody had seen me except a close group including Nannies, teachers and a few other kids at my ‘unique’ school.

After receiving the cue to begin, the interviewer gave a brief description on what they knew about me. Explaining to audience who I was. She wasted no time in getting to the question that the world wanted an answer to, ‘Can you tell us what led you to…the actions you carried out on stage at the ‘Family Reunion Concert’?’

What a lame question. I had expected her to start from the beginning, you know, build up to it cleverly the way interviewers do? I was thrown. I sat quiet for a second, trying to think where to begin…

My parents are Worldwide superstars, both famous in their own right. They fell in love and got married. The world watched every detail as the talented singers had a wedding full of celebrities costing an unimaginable amount of wasted money. Quickly, My Mom’s babies arrived one by one. All boys. All equally as talented as the parents. You see, each of them could sing, like really sing. There were tours, visits with the President and the Queen of England. A life that anyone would be crazy not to envy.  They became a force to be reckoned with. No family could have such talent. They were unstoppable. Except for one tiny detail. Mom had always wanted a girl. It became a joke, the more she wished for a girl the more it produced another boy. ‘At least they can sing’ a talk show host joked.

And then the magazine hit the racks and broke all records. It made the TV news, repeated all day. She was finally pregnant with a girl. Everything ramped up. The fame, the offers. They were inundated with everything that a baby might possibly need. And when the eagerly awaited Baby Girl finally arrived, another exclusive edition magazine featuring only them reached the hands of their adoring fans. A beautiful Mom, glowing, surrounded by her boys and affectionate husband, while cradling a Baby Girl. The pictures went on and on. The middle of the magazine, you know where the staples meet, leaving a double page? Yeah that double page showed the family in a recording booth, each one of them wearing headphones while photographgraphed singing together. And the baby? She was there too, also wearing a tiny pair of headphones as her proud Daddy held her up ‘Simba’ style to the microphone. “We can’t wait to hear her beautiful voice” were the words emblazoned in swirling captioned words across the page.

It was this one photograph that made me spit out a laugh. ‘Pah!’ I let the magazine fall to the floor. I’d seen these photographs before. But I’d never seen the magazine. Or if I did, I’d blocked it out.

Nanny motioned to me as she stood quivering in the doorway. I felt bad for her. She needed this job, it put her kids through school, even though she hardly saw them because she spent all her tome caring for me. I always imagined how cool it would feel to be one of her kids. She was average height, slightly on the dumpy side because she was always eating. She would make cakes for her kids and sneak some into the house for me.

‘OKAY’ I said, ‘Stop panicking, she’s not even here’

‘Yes, but she has eyes and ears everywhere’

‘She doesn’t see all the good food you bring me’

To which Nanny said a Hail-Mary as she looked up to the high white ceiling.

‘So, can you forget about this now? Please? My bones can’t take the stress’

‘Yeah’, I replied, feeling the opposite. I wanted more. I knew that photo shoots, interviews and baby photographs stopped at some point, abruptly. I only know because of the snippets each nanny had told me over the years. As a kid you accept that your life is normal. Why would you question it? But I got older and over time I realised that something was different. That I wasn’t quite the same as my parents and my brothers. And also, my life wasn’t the same as most people’s.

I was about two months away from my Sixteen birthday. ‘Sweet Sixteen’. Photographs decorated one of huge walls of this sprawling prison I called home. One particular wall was known as the ‘Party Wall’. How do I know? Because it had a huge sign encrusted with diamonds smack bang in the middle of it. Each frame showed an extravagant event, an after party to the most prestigious of awards nights. Mom and Dad’s weddings, all five of them. Birthdays. Lots and lots of Birthdays. Underneath each photograph was a plague naming the date and occasion. The ones that got me all riled up recently were ‘Sweet 16’.

Each of my brothers had their own photograph of their special night. Although the celebrations usually lasted a couple of weeks.  I remember being at these parties. I was made to wear ridiculous ear protectors and was kept in a room with a Nanny somewhere, away from the chaos. They brought me out to join my family on stage when it was time to sing that special song as a cake that was always ten times bigger than me was wheeled in by several of the catering staff.

No-one really came to talk to me, and if they did somehow get past the Nanny and bodyguards, they were shoed away as I was taken back because it was ‘too much for her.’

Not that I cared. I hated all of that. Some of the people were actually quite scary, their faces and hair and bodies seemed as unnatural as their small talk and social etiquette. No, I much preferred to sit in a window, reading some book with my dog lying at me feet.

I was battling with myself whether to ask Mom. ‘Would I get a Sweet Sixteenth?’

I knew the answer would be no. Of course not. I wanted her to say it though. My brothers teased and called me a Freak. I say teased, I treated my dog better than they treated me. I didn’t want to be part of them anyway. I was hatching my own ideas about life. And it didn’t involve any diamonds or double air-kisses or drivers.

I was waiting for Mom to come home. It would be better to do it when she was alone, she was weaker when she didn’t have an audience, less likely to put on a show and just give me the truth.

It was early afternoon when she and her crew burst through the doors from a two-week trip to New York. My Father was on tour and my brothers were scattered across the globe, each chasing their own deluded fans.

My Mom’s team scurried around her like rats, undressing her and removing a ridiculous wig that covered thin straw like hair over a nearly bald head. Once they had removed her ‘Costume’, she disappeared into the next room while her team carried on working tirelessly.

Now was my chance. I snook past the team of and knocked on the doors to Mom’s hideaway, announcing it was me as I entered the dark abyss of the real person that the world never knew. Three walls were illuminated by the fourth at the back that was filled with a huge TV screen. I strolled right to the back, feeling my way through the dark along the huge white leather chairs. ‘Mom?’

I caught sight of her legs, satin slippers hanging off toes that were decorated with small sparkly studs.

‘Mom?’ I called out again.

Her hands raised, spilling some of the brown liquid of the white leather. I hated when she didn’t look at me when I called her. The TV flashed, making it hard for me to focus.

By now I was irritated. She knew I hated the dark and hated even more when people made it hard for me to speak. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. She hadn’t even come to say Hi.  The script I’d practised over and over was gone, leaving nothing but rage. I’d seen movies, a Mother and Daughter having a fight, the Daughter storms off and sits on the rope swing, eventually being joined by the Mom who would apologise. They hug out and say ‘I love you’. I always wanted a Mom like that. This was not that kind of Mom. Unless a photographer guided her into position for the shot.

And then it just happened, it just came out. I could feel my mouth producing the words.

‘HOW COME I DON’T GET A SWEET SIXTEENTH?’

But who cares? I’d said it. I think it came out fast and slightly mumbled, but it got her attention. She turned slightly, just enough to move her eyes away from the screen to my face. She was wearing the under-eye patches that got Nanny’s assistant sacked. An unfortunate comment about how they cost more than she was paid saw her out on her heels quicker than it took for the eye patches to take effect.

Mom turned back to the screen. So I moved in front of it. She moved her slowly to me. With a steady pace that unnerved me, she leaned forward, taking my wrist in her cold bony hand and yanked me to the side. I saw her lips move.

‘What?’ I felt brave, defiant, I’d got this far. I wasn’t sure if I could get to the door in the darkness quickly if I needed to though. There was no turning back now.

She stared right at me, for longer than I think she ever has before. That petrified me. Waiting for her next move. It was a look I’d seen before, but never in my direction. It was a look she’d given her precious, talented boys. She placed her glass down, letting it drop the last inch to the floor. And next I was being pulled, out of the room and to her team. She began waving her arms around, big dramatic movements as she pointed to me and then to some imaginary objects. I had no idea what was going on but from the look on her team’s faces, I knew I’d created a whole world of pain for myself.

The next few weeks saw more people coming and going to the house than I’d ever seen. It was a constant stream, people with clip boards and making phone calls. I hardly saw Nanny, although when she was allowed anywhere near me she looked fraught with fear.

I was given orders to step inside Mom’s gym (something I was never permitted to do before) while a tall guy with the oiliest hair made over exaggerated movements to ‘get me into shape’. I went to bed aching. They dyed my hair and measured me for clothes. Mom made the odd appearance, coming to grab my chin as she turned it this way and that, twirling me round when she felt my legs and waist.

But it got extra weird when the girl showed up. We had to learn a song. I laughed at the ridiculous situation as we mirrored each other’s movements. The girl too was petrified, but her desperation to join this world kept her hungry for more. Ironic as she never eats, at all.

It was leading up to the big night. Everyone was so busy; it was a monster that had grown so big that nobody or nothing could stop it. This was happening. It was my own fault. But just as I had created it, I was the one who would destroy it.

So, I stood there, in my dressing room, ready to meet my new world. The dress was too tight. My eyes itched with all the glitter and make-up that caked my whole face. I was hoping for a moment with Nanny. For someone normal to talk to. For a hug from someone who actually gave a rat about me. But it was too late, I was pushed along with the tide of people, up the steps, onto the shiny black stage floor. I reluctantly walked to my spot, if I didn’t stand in the exact spot, all of this would be for nothing.

As the crowds finally got their first look at the child they hadn’t seen since she was a toddling baby, they went wild and I got my cue to begin. I could see my parents in the corner of my eye, dancing to the left of me in full view of their adoring fans. I was told to use them as a way of keeping in time with the music. Something that always made me laugh each time they told me. My brothers stood to my right, side by side in height order. I finally could see what their lives were like.

Three carefully placed TV cameras faced me. The one in the middle was the one I had to focus on. It was the one that showed that girl, my ‘twin’ for tonight’s purpose.

I began, moving the way I’d practised, watching as thousands of people erupted with joy at the sight of me performing along with my family. I could feel the sweat dripping from my hand that held the microphone as it shook.

It was now. Or Never.

I stopped. Standing deadly still. I was pleasantly surprised by the horror on the faces that looked back at me. As they looked at one another in confusion, confirming that what was happening was actually happening.

The girl in the camera screen continued with the routine, holding her microphone up and leaning back as she went for the big notes.

I decided to do what was natural to me. I placed the microphone back on the stand and began moving my hands. ‘I hate this family, and they hate me. They’ve hidden me away. I know this now’

I realised that I had to hurry before Mom, or anyone could drag me off stage.

‘They don’t want you to know the truth’

The audience looked around for answers.

‘that’s not me singing, it’s a girl back-stage, I was miming’

My family continued, focused on their own immaculate performance, to busy to notice that I wasn’t standing still because I was too were focusing on my performance. I had something else to do.

‘This was the only way I could tell the truth, my truth’ 

I could tell most people still hadn’t no clue what I was doing. It would be something that would take a while to sink in before it burst their bubble like it did my Family.

Mom was storming over to me. No time left. I said what I needed to say as best and as simple as I could, repeating it over and over in case they missed it.

‘I’m deaf’ I signed to them.

The interviewer pressed me for an answer.

'Well...I never got my Sweet Sixteenth!'