Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Price: Silence

“There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself.” ~Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid

***

(Price: unedited)

He came home to a tea party.

Jewel was sitting smack-dab in the middle of the living room wearing a frilly pink skirt and a plastic tiara, pouring something – probably diet soda – all over her lap. One of the kitchen chairs was sitting on its side beside her, hair ribbons draped over one crooked leg. Her tea set, a coffee mug and a napkin, were filled with tiny white squares.

A bunch of half-dressed Barbie dolls were scattered over the green shag rug, one of which was sitting by Jewel’s pale leg, gelled hair limp and discolored. Soda was making a wide puddle around her.

It reminded him of urine.

Over the long, lonely years he had watched plenty of princess movies with her, but he couldn’t remember seeing a tea party staged quite like this. He sprung the rest of the way into the house, letting the door slam shut behind him. Shrugging his jacket off, he slung it over one arm.

“Jewel!” She kept pouring. The soda was sliding off her legs, her arms, turning the bright pink of her skirt a soggy mauve.

Trying to tiptoe through the minefield of dolls was hopeless. He winced when he heard something crack underneath his foot. Jewel jerked to life when she heard the crack. She dropped the bottle of soda and scurried over to him, scooping the maligned doll up into her arms.

“Jewel?” Price bent down and touched the top of her head gently.

She stared at him, eyes huge, blue clouded. The doll swung back and forth in her arms. He wondered what she was thinking – if she was thinking. If she was tired of her self-imposed silence. If she would ever talk again.

“How was your day?”

She reached up to take his hand. The doll fell to the floor with a thump. Her eyes flickered closed, open again. She gripped his hand more tightly. That was their signal: it was okay. Not great, but okay.

Livable.

She followed Price through the narrow hallway and into the adjoining kitchen. He picked her up, swinging her into a chair at the kitchen table. She gave him the smallest, faintest smile. Encouraged, he went over to the cupboard and rummaged for a bag of chips.

“You want to tell me what that whole thing was?”

She shook her head.

“Of course not.” He found a bag of cheesy potato chips and then when he looked in the dishwasher he found a chipped white bowl. “Hungry?”

Jewel just stared at him as he carried the chips and the bowl to the table. She didn’t hesitate to take the food, however, ripping the bag open and reaching inside. Price slid the bowl towards her. “Don’t make a mess, please.”

He took a fistful of chips. They ate in silence. He finished first and watched her, trying to understand how such a beautiful, open child could at once become so startlingly silent. Jewel had been the joy of the local church – the fearless child, whom everyone loved, who loved everyone.

She talked to strangers, she made people laugh. She danced to the sound of rain and sang hymns at the top of her lungs. She had been replaced by a sullen girl who hacked off her doll’s hair and only made noise when eating. She walked carefully now, on the balls of her feet. It was so different. Unsettling.