AFTER A WEEK, I WAS on my feet again. When I practiced, I pressed the headstock of my bass against the closet door and that made it a little louder. It got the wood vibrating. And I wondered if the whole house was sounding too. Real quiet, below hearing. But still shaking with the bass line throb.
Relly came over every day after school. We never talked about what happened in Mount Hope. No mention of gods and fire and tetrads. Maybe he thought it would set me back and I'd never get better again. Or start the fever burning again. Everyone was real upbeat, saying I'd be fine soon.
Still, my dad took me to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. "You're a lucky girl," he said after he heard about them finding me freezing in the snowdrift.
Yeah, real lucky, I thought.
He poked and prodded and stared into my mouth with bright lights. Then he ran some tests.
"There's been some bruising and minor abrasion," he said. "This is normal. Your vocal cords are medically healthy. I see no reason why your voice should not return fully to its normal functioning."
Right, normal. Everything was going to be normal.
Back at home it was just me and Silence, with our memories all tangled together. Singing in church—which I'd never done. Taking care of little brothers and sisters—which I never had. Working in the fields—which I had no idea how to do. These were the memories of her life. It was all so weird to me. But I guess it was normal for her.
So, I wondered, did she know about Ghost Metal now? And playing bass at the Bug Jar? Did she understand about Relly and the band?
It was almost funny, thinking about Silence in the pioneer days, with Black Sabbath and Judas Priest tunes running in her head while other people were singing holy hymns in church.