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Like most adults, Abby had not sprung from the head of her father fully grown. She had grown up, shaped by her environment, guided by her genes. She had not always been the Goth with the black lipstick and the tattoos and the loud music and the one thousand mega-watt smile that came so easily. When she was a child, she had one black dress and one black t-shirt. The rest of her clothes were yellow and green and red and blue and tie-dye and striped, no pattern discernible, no indication of what was to come among them. The only thing her clothes said was "Caution! Kid! Treat with care!"
Her parents had loved her. Her parents had loved her brother. And, in the beginning, her parents had loved each other. But they were both deaf, and having two hearing kids in the house must have been hard. Tempers flared, hands whipped around in sign.
The music had come first. You never think about it until it happens- you can never relate until then, but silence is so loud. Worse than any slap on the face, more horrendous than a "Can I touch this, little girl?", and ultimately more destructive than "Ugly", "Witch", or "Crybaby" could ever be. Silence stays with you- it grows, allows your imagination to fester all the "If I do this then... will not happen." Loud music, sung by obscure artists, put on volumes guaranteed to make eardrums bleed, drowned the silence and filled it with something she could relate to. As people screamed that they hated themselves and everyone on Earth, she decided that she didn't hate everyone- just the silence.
Tattoos came next. On her back, on her ankle, anywhere would do, really. Finally she reached her neck. They only ever saw the last one- a little grown-up girl's silent plea to stop, now! They united, that one time, asking her where she got it, fully intending to press charges. She never told. When they threatened, she told them to go right ahead, and informed them that half the kids at her school had tattoos. The pain of the tattoo had been minimal- the pain of them not seeing any of them when she, wearing a bareback tank top and flip flops, walking to school when school had been out for a month , waiting for them to demand why she was going if school had already ended- that pain almost shattered her heart. They were too wrapped up in their staring contest to even notice her.
Black clothes came after that, with regular make up still attached. It was her silent plea- to her teachers, who knew her as yellow shirt on Wednesday. To her parents, whose silence threatened to overwhelm her. To the world- please notice me. Please- understand. This is not right, this is not me, I have changed so suddenly, please ask me why, please... please, find out what is wrong with me!
No teacher ever came up to her and asked why she suddenly had skull earrings on. No parental unit demanded an explanation. Only her brother noticed- he understood. And so, with a heart crushed under the weight of a thousand disappointments, she put on the black lipstick and tried to learn to scowl.
But you can't frown when something exciting is going on. So she decided, after a disastrous first day, to be a happy Goth. People stared- people laughed, people snickered. But most smiled and she became the girl who knew everyone.
High school disappeared, and college came into focus. Her parents started talking, and the silences became smaller and smaller until they stopped. It was a gradual process- she did not trust it. So she brought her music with her on her home visits, waiting for when she would need it. She never did.
Tattoos are pretty permanent, and music had become ingrained. Black was her haven now- so she kept the image. As she moved into the adult world, she noticed that people tended to dress based on their job. Crime shows were on late at night. Parents did not fight in front of their children- that created broken homes. So she introduced herself to the word Caf-Pow, stayed up late, claiming that she couldn't sleep, and watched the shows. Eventually, she took a class in college, and became hooked. She jumped on board, into the constantly changing world of crime, cannonball style. No one gave her odd looks- or, at least she got fewer than she used to.
Music became a companion- a way to quiet her brain. Black clothes and makeup were her security blanket, tattoos a faithful dog.
You are shaped by you upbringing- Abby remembered this as she watched her team go out into the world to inform children that their parents would not be coming home.
She tried to keep this in mind when stupid people did stupid things for silly reasons.
DEDICATED TO ALL OF THOSE WHO ALSO LIVE IN FAR OF THE SILENCE.