Silent Runner

“Ethan? Is that you hunny?” Aunt Martha called from the kitchen as I walked in the door.

“Yes Auntie.” I responded, walking down the hall.

I entered the kitchen taking in the modernly decorated space. It had stainless steel appliances, dark cherry cabinets, and granite countertops. In the middle sat a round hardwood table with four matching chairs around it. Straight ahead was the sink with a window overtop of it that showed the in-ground pool in the backyard.

I often caught Martha watching me as I swam laps at night.

I was not surprised to find her pulling a pan of brownies out of the oven. Martha was always cooking and/or baking. She delighted in loving and feeding everyone who walked through her door.

When I first moved in this had irritated me and, admittedly, unnerved me. Even at thirteen I wasn’t used to having someone take care of me, I hadn’t been for a very long time. Eventually though I had learned to love it.

At first it felt like an overbearing act. I mean who could love everyone, or really even just me, that much. Over the years though Martha had proved not only that she could, but that she did. It was sometimes still overwhelming, but at least I was no longer waiting for her to suddenly change her mind.

I felt guilt that I wasn’t always as appreciative as I should be towards her, and her husband for that matter. They had taken me in without hesitation and never once made me feel as though they regretted it. That said a lot considering what I put them through in the beginning.

I had come into their house angry, wounded, afraid, and far from trusting. I didn’t hide or cower when threatened though, I fought. I had broken doors, punched holes in walls, and screamed at them on several different occasions. That wasn’t even the worst of it.

Overbearing, eccentric, and whatever else she may be; Aunt Martha was real. With what I had gone through I couldn’t take that for granted.

Martha smiled over her shoulder at me and I returned the gesture before dropping my bag on the floor.

She was stocky but tall enough that she didn’t look overweight. At six foot, I was only taller than her by an inch or two. Her thick blonde curls were piled on top of her head in a messy bun with two pencils poking out. Her brown eyes lit up everytime one of her trademark smiles spread across her lightly tanned face.

She was also young, only thirty-one. She was, from what I was told, my fathers baby sister. She was only twenty-six when I came to live here. I hadn’t known she existed.

In hindsight I guess I should have realized that, of course, my father had to have had a family. But he had died a week before I was born. A semi truck driver fell asleep behind the wheel on the freeway and didn’t notice that traffic had stopped. Six people were badly injured and ten people were killed.

I’ll probably never understand why my mom decided to leave all the support and vanish. All I knew was Martha’s parents, it was still too weird to think of them as my grandparents, but they had searched for us for years.

They had been shocked when the police had called them asking if I had any relatives I could move in with. Martha’s dad had been battling stage three lung cancer but they were still going to agree before Martha had jumped in, insisting that I stay here. Her mother, June, still came by frequently but Roy passed away less than a year after I came here.

I wished I could meet him again. This man had loved me and searched for me for years, and I had been cold and distant to him at my best. I wished I could thank him.

Martha smiled at me now. “Did you remember your medication this morning?”

“Yeah I did, I set another alarm after I forgot last week.” I admitted.

“Good, that’s clever.” She said this, as if it wasn’t my hundredth time setting an alarm. I hated needing help so much I felt stupid for needing to set one.

“How was school?” She changed the subject as she slid a tray of cookies into the oven next.

“School was the same as always.” I paused suddenly thinking of Riley, “Well almost. There was this girl.”

“Oh, that sounds like a story I want to hear.” She said excitedly as she slid a plate of brownies onto the table. “Sit.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Every story was one she wanted to hear. Most seventeen year old boys would get annoyed at this. However I knew all too well how it felt to not have anybody to care. As a result, I had learned to love our after school conversations. I thrived on knowing that she did care, and was willing to take the time for me.

“Sounds like PTSD, similar to how you acted when you first came here. Defensive and caustous. I don’t know about the mutism though, she could have just been born that way.” She said after I explained in detail everything I had witnessed.

“No, I was awful. I fought you every step of the way.” I sighed, frowning guiltily. “I am so…”

“No,” She said, holding up a finger to stop me from apologizing for the millionth time. “After what happened it was expected; not to mention, completely natural, for you to react as you did. You protected yourself the only way you knew how.

We were silent for a long time as I thought back remembering my frustration at track tryouts. I thought about the precious seconds it took me to remember, the other runners weren’t chuckling at me. They had only found the coach’s words humorous.

The way I often still saw threats in stupid things like that, made me feel hopeless. Would I ever recover fully? Would I ever be normal?

“I still feel that way sometimes.” I admitted shamefully. I stared at my finger as I pulled apart the brownie on the plate in front of me. “Even four years later…” I shook my head with a sigh. I felt ashamed to admit this out loud.

“Oh, hunny…” Martha hesitated, “I did a lot of research on this kind of trauma and all the doctors say PTSD can last for years even with treatment. If not treated it can be permanent. However you are doing so much better than anyone expected you to be at this point. The fact you are talking to me about this alone is huge.”

I nodded slowly as I lifted my head, still not meeting her eyes.

“Your therapist even said you can start coming in bi-monthly if you feel comfortable with that.” She grinned, expecting my reaction.

“Definitely.” I said quickly.

Therapy had been the one part of the court order I still hated. It helped, no doubt, but sitting there with the elderly man, talking about my feelings was still hard. Luckily we had practically talked out my past and were stuck talking about day to day life and how it affected me.

She chuckled, reaching over to ruffle my hair. Then she stood and checked the cookies in the oven before going to the sink to rinse dishes.

“You know,” She hesitated, “If you are interested in getting to know this girl, language might be a barrier.”

“I know.” I frowned, “I was going to look up some basic signs tonight.”

“I could teach you.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“You know ASL?” I asked, curiously.

“Your Aunt Jessica was born deaf.” She reminds me.

Jessica lived across the country now, and I had never met her. I had heard about her. She was the eldest of my fathers siblings, three years older than he was.

“Right, I think you told me that before.” I admitted, embarrassed.

It was still so weird to be just now meeting my family. I would hear a name and have to be reminded who it was.

“So do you want to learn?” She asked, facing me again.

“Yeah, that would be great, thank you.” I said as she sat again, suddenly serious.

“Then let’s start at the beginning.”