Page 12 of Bring me Back

“No, I mean over there. You ran in.”

She glanced back up and lifted one shoulder. I chuckled. She had no problem answering direct questions from Preston or Helen. It might be my ones she didn’t mind leaving unanswered.

“Are you staying for the casting?”

Shrug. Maybe? Probably meant maybe.

Alright, I liked the game. I came as close as I could without stepping over the costumes and crouched to her eye level. Hallie’s eyes widened in alarm, darting from one side of the room to the other.

“Tell me, why are you so quiet?”

She stared at me.

“Come on, I’m curious. I saw you talking before.”

Still, nothing.

“I don’t mind; I like when people aren’t just saying things to fill the silence,” I told her to see if she found a friend in me.

But no, she said nothing. I stood up; her eyes followed me. We were lost in a stare down, neither of us moving. I licked my lips looking down at her; somewhere out there Shakespeare’s words rang above us.

“Why are you so quiet, Hallie?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I can,” she finally replied.

The next day, Preston came back with his truck full of scraps of fabric, boxes of mismatched buttons, and a white sewing machine that was set at the back. I was told Hallie wasn’t afraid to part with it, as she had a nicer model at home.

For the next few days, we worked silently around the casting schedule. A simpler set was approved by Helen, even as she let me know it didn’t have the dramatics she was looking for.

After a full week working side by side, I started to feel soothed by Hallie’s presence. And sure, I could have worked from my workshop, but suddenly I grew tired of the boring stillness of my life. I wanted Hallie’s brand of silence; the defying kind. I liked the way it felt when she was around, how she carried herself and challenged me with just a look. I barely knew her and I already couldn’t understand my feelings around her. I was happy not talking, but I also ached to hear her voice.

Like a switch, things changed between us when she realized I wanted her to talk. We started playing.

I knew it was a game just by reading her reactions. An annoyed flick on her earlobe when I stared too long. A bite on her bottom lip to hold her smile when a kid tripped on their words on stage. Hallie did all she could not to show herself to me, and by doing so, I started to understand more and more of her.

The sound of scissors on fabric was the background noise to the auditions on stage, and I watched her once more. One girl trying for Helena transformed the monologue with current slang, arguing that Shakespeare needed modernizing. As we heard the words, my gaze flew to Hallie. She was sitting on the floor with such a serious expression I almost thought she didn’t hear what the girl was saying out there. But then the girl’s voice carried as she uttered, “My mother wants me to marry; she’s a cunt.”

We heard the gasp from the other kids, as well as Helen’s shrieks to stop the audition. My eyes widened and I looked at Hallie. It was impossible she didn’t hear it. She lowered her head to the bunch of fabric and groaned into it. I watched, baffled, as she pressed the fabric to her face to hide her smile.

“Not eventhatdeserves something?” I pressed, fascinated by our game.

Hallie raised her head a little and blinked.

“Really? Come on!” I protested, but laughed.

Still, she gave me nothing.

The next week, I talked non-stop.

“How’s your day going?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Do you want a ride home?”

She was very careful in giving me answers without giving me words. It was impressive to see. I became a specialist in her language; I could read her like a book.

“That can work, don’t you think? If I raise those panels? And maybe we can work with shadow and light to create the depth of the woods.”

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