A Voice That Breaks

I suppose I oughtta start by thankin' you. High-school psychiatrist only has to talk to the high-schoolers 'bout… things, so I 'preciate you takin' the time to entertain a weird little girl like me.

No, sir. Ain't talked much since Daddy's killin' spree. Talked too much 'bout that. Then the judge said I got to be an “award-of-the-state.” Got to live with Aunt Phin.

Naw, I like it fine, thanks. They's good to me. Listen—

Don't want no hot cocoa or fruit juice. What's a grown-ass man need hot cocoa and fruit juice for?

Well... what's grown-ass high-schooler need hot cocoa and fruit juice for?

No, I don’t want—

Sit down!

Mister— I want you to sit and let me have my say. If you don't sit and lemme have my say, I'll be forced to use this here bonin' knife like Daddy taught me. Alright?

Alright.

Now… you'll have to excuse me. I don't talk much.

Aunt Phin calls it 'selective mutism.' But the truth…

Well, I got a mind that sees and a voice that breaks. Until I figure out that first one, I gotta be careful with the second.

Aunt Phin got a swimmin' pool installed in March. That's when I knew. I suspected somethin' in February when we got new clothes. But sometimes Aunt Phin gets grants. I didn't think nothin' of the new kitchen floor in January—dishwasher had been leakin' for near ten months, until one day Big-Boy dropped right into the crawl-space. Now, a hole in the kitchen needs fixin', even though us kids were good sports and didn't mind standin' in a hole to do the dishes. Well, not the Marsh sisters, but—

Anyways… new clothes… then a swimmin' pool, even a small'un…

Yeah, Aunt Phin come into money somewheres.

Next time Aunt Phin was doin' her figures, I peeked at her big red budget calendar. She gave me the teachable moment just like she gave Big-Boy and the Marsh sisters … money-in…money-out… all that. She got a sharp mind for budgets.

I needed January. She let me flip back and look, then laughed at me and took her big red book away, but I'd seen the figures.

Proof was right there on the page, wasn't it?

Twenty thousand in the money-in column. "Anonymous donation." Means somebody didn't want to be on no mailing list. Twenty thousand ain't nothin' to turn away. Especially for a sharp mind like Aunt Phin, especially when her line of work seems to be raisin' up and lovin' every weirdo south of the Mason-Dixon.

But twenty thousand ain't no "anonymous donation." Somebody bought somethin. And Butterscotch did the sellin'.

Butterscotch, she—I used to think they called her Butterscotch on account she had the lightest skin before I got to the house. But she says it's 'cause she got just the right amount of sweet'n'smooth. I never had no reason to doubt her.

Butterscotch was lovely to me. That's her word. Lovely. She ain't got no mind-that-sees, but she got a voice... a healin' voice. A voice that knows how to listen to silence, and eyes, and smiles. Sometimes… I think I could talk to her… without it breakin' things.

Then in January… well—

We had a low Christmas. Aunt Phin said Santa got a mean flu, and he weren't able to get his list straight. Now, I don't mind. Santa ain't never had me on any kind of list – never even got no coal and I ain't what you’d call a good girl. But the other kids was sore.

It hit Butterscotch hardest. She wanted this jacket and some… fancy makeup, and a new sheet of nail polish stickers. Shoulda been easy for Santa. He usually brung fifty or so dollars worth of stuff on top of new clothes… but this year we all only got twenty-five dollar cards and no clothes.

I tried to give her my card—Daddy didn't raise no fancy girl. Liberry's got all I need. But she… she ran away from me. Out of the house. Cryin'.

That's Butterscotch— a bit meler-dramatic. I shoulda followed her, shoulda said— but I don't know nothin' 'bout how to heal a person with my voice…

Only break 'em.

Butterscotch stayed sour… I thought because of not gettin' her presents. But even in February— after she got her fancy jacket, and her new make-up, and real fake nails, and new headphones. ..

She still didn't come back to her lovely self.

Naw, Butterscotch went mud cold. Stopped askin' if I wanted my hair done so Aunt Phin had to do it. Stopped tellin' Big-Boy not to call me weird. Stopped tellin' the Marsh sisters not to say I smelled, even if it's true— Sorry, I guess, for stinkin' up your office—

Oh! I'm supposed to say that, too. You have a very lovely office, Mister. I like the decorations. Especially them poetry magnets you got on the wall—good mountin' job.

You know, Aunt Phin said that, too. I know, girls grow up. They get into boys. Gettin' into boys means you don't wanna pretend to be tiger, no more. Whatever.

But… that ain't what happened to Butterscotch.

Butterscotch went sour. She started pullin’ my hair. Stole my liberry book when I told her ‘bout it. Threw my homework in the toilet.

Big-Boy said I was crazy, said all the girls was mean as cats.

The Marsh sisters said they'd do my hair if'n I wanted... so long as I washed first. But that ain't the point.

Somethin’ got taken from Butterscotch—somethin’ most people can't see.

Somethin’ I knew I could see if I–

I've been tryin' not to see like Daddy taught me. Been tryin' not to be wild and creepy. Tryin' not to sneak and—Aunt Phin thinks I can be lovely and I wanna be lovely. I really do.

But when somebody goes that sour? When somethin' is this broken? How can I just… not see?

As soon as I looked, I saw someone stoled her heart.

Thank you for not laughin' at me, Mister. Everybody else laughed. Aunt Phin said I had a wicked imagination. Big-Boy and the Marsh sisters said high-schoolers get their hearts stolen all the time.

But the thing they're talkin' bout, that's more of a… givin' away.

You put a little of your heart out there for a person to maybe take… Then wham! They shoot right past or smack you with theirs. Breaks a piece off.

Everyone calls that stealin', but it ain't.

So, no. Butterscotch's heart wasn't done like that.

Hers was missin’.

But a different heart got left in its place.

It was a pretty normal-lookin' heart, I suppose. Small.

Now, everyone in Aunt Phin's place ends up with a big heart. Even Big-Boy’s is getting’ bigger. Even mine.

But Butterscotch had the biggest heart, so the space it shoulda fit was huge. Big old cavern 'round the tiny little heart beatin' there. That heart was… old.

Drill-bit gray.

Had all the usual chambers, but the doors between 'em were locked. Makes it hard for love to flow through. Makes the edges dry out. Get glass-hard. Get ice-sharp.

I couldn't make them doors open.I seen Aunt Phin and Butterscotch— Hell, even Big-Boy once— it's nothin' for some people to talk a heart wide open.

I don't got no voice for that work.

Anyways, it was obvious Butterscotch's heart wasn't her real heart.

But I didn't have no way to figure out who'd taken it. They was gone, but had to be someone who could see— like me. And it had to be someone who got a chance to see her heart. And it had to be someone who could afford to pay a girl twenty thousand dollars to sell her heart.

Poor Butterscotch, she musta thought you wanted sex or somethin'—

Hey now!

Mister, didn't I ask you nicely to sit? Didn't I warn you? You got nobody but yourself to blame for gettin' sliced up like that. I did warn—I did say. I said Daddy taught me how to use this bonin' knife.

Oh, you thought that jus’ meant killin'?

Suppose even you fancy psychiatrists can't be right all the time. Now you ain't never gonna get proper feelin' back in that arm.

Now, sit your ass down, before I get mean.

Go’on. Drink your coffee. You can add your whiskey if you want.

Course, I been in your office before. Been in your house, too… Oh! You have a lovely—

Mister, what did I just say? Lemme finish, now. Alright?

Alright.

Them poetry magnets is new. No dust yet. When did you get 'em? February?

Butterscotch—I’m sure you know—is a poet. She had this little black book. She drew hearts and flowers inside and wrote rhymes and song lyrics. Just like on your magnets there.

Lovely to read.

She wrote 'bout you toward the end, Mister. School psychiatrist. She never heard of no psychiatrist who talked so much. She thought it was sad how your money never did you no good. She wrote 'bout how you clutched your chest—heart trouble.

She said you had— I remember 'cause it was so fancy— said your eyes were deep pools. Dangerous reedy darkness that cooled the blood, that waited to snare and drown those who drank too long.

Wait… no… that's what she said 'bout me.

She jus’ said you had eyes like mine.

What did the heart doctors give that cold, shriveled thing? Five years? Piss-poor luck. I bet you waited all your life to retire. Ain't very fair… especially, when you can see it comin.'

So, you and Butterscotch made your deal. An anonymous donation for… well, you just had to get her alone. Laying still. Eyes closed.

You figured no one would be able to tell. You figured no one would give a shit about a modern-day orphan.

Mister, you figured wrong.

Still, I admire your skill, mister. Cuttin’ out your own heart and swappin’ it!

Now, hearts is easy. I can swap the hearts of squirrels and dogs in a few seconds. I weren't that good at first. I might not be that good now. But I can get it back whole… even if I keep it on ice for 'bout twenty minutes.

The trick is— I don't suppose you'd just give it back, would you?

Naw... Butterscotch's heart is too smooth, too sweet. I bet, these last couple of months have been the happiest of your life. You'd rather kill the heart in your chest than give it back.

Me too, Mister. Me too.

I'd rather kill her heart than let you get away with stealin' it.

Can you feel the breaking? You've been listening to me talk for a while now, and I bet her heart is beatin’ hard. Achin' with fear and love and that little twinge that says somethin' magic's about to go down.

Did you notice your legs ain’t been workin’ for a while? Like your arm. Ain't got nothin' to do with my daddy’s knife…

The trick—for a little girl like me— is gettin’ the body to be still.

It ain't her heart breakin.'

It's your brain.

If it matters, you held out longer than a dog.

Coroner's gonna say ‘cerebral aneurysm.' The principal gonna say it's tragic, so close to retirement.

Never mind, the icebox, Mister. Look at somethin' pretty. Look at the poetry. It's alright to cry.

Your funeral's gonna be beautiful. Everyone at the school. All the kids you've helped. Butterscotch will be there—her right heart in her chest— pourin' tears. It'll come out that you donated that money to Aunt Phin since you left her so much in your will. So kind of you. All because Butterscotch came to your office and cried over a fancy jacket.

They'll say you were a good man. Ain't that lovely?

Don't you worry. This voice of mine— this voice that breaks— won't say nothin' more 'bout you.