Hush

Banging echoed out of the kitchen and ricocheted down the hall. Freida could gauge her mom’s mood by the intensity she used putting the dishes away. Today’s din added a sharp, chaotic soundtrack to her mom’s voice — blunt and punishing — she was lecturing Freida’s older brother. Again.

Her dad wasn’t home yet to provide his predictable rants about work, so there was relief there. He meant well and she knew he loved her, it’s just that every day it was the same set of grumbles. At eight years old Freida was many years short of wise, but she knew enough to recognize that if he walked into the current verbal maelstrom crashing out of the kitchen, everyone would dig into their positions and the sour mood would last into the evening.

Shelving her desire to seek an after-school cookie, Freida slipped past the kitchen door undetected.

It was a good time to escape to her room. Opening the door, she held her breath in hope.

Maybe one of my sisters will wanna do something.

No chance.

The older one was plugged into her phone. Tinny chirps escaped the earbuds filling the vacant, acoustic space between the noises firing out of the kitchen. The younger one was amusing herself by pounding blocks together and singing.

Curled up against some squashy pillows, Freida sought respite in the only space in the small house she could call her own; her sleeping cubby. She was careful not to sit up too straight or she’d smack her head on the bunk above her. That was her sister’s domain.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could extend the same favor to her ears.

Almost Invisible

Being in third grade had its difficulties and Freida’s head rattled with the day’s activities — getting teased at lunch for tripping in the cafeteria, not understanding fractions when her teacher called on her, and being excluded from the weekend’s slumber party gossip. She, with her unruly hair, disinterest in Snapchat, and quiet nature, was not invited. She never was.

It’s not as if she even really liked those girls, but wouldn’t it be nice to spend time laughing and playing with someone other than a family member? Then enjoy it all over again at school, giggling and talking about the fun while waving brightly colored fingernails so everyone around you would know how popular you were?

What would that be like?

Sometimes Freida felt as if everything were just pressing her from all directions.

Her head was full. Her house was full.

A Quiet Calling

As if responding to instinct Freida popped out of her bunkbed cave and trotted down the hall, taking care to dodge the words, clatter, and charged air pulsing out of the kitchen. She’d get her cookie later.

Easing out the front door into the yard, she noticed that there, laying on the patchy grass was the neighborhood tomcat. Many times, Freida had watched him prowl the street. On the occasional night, she'd hear the ravaged sounds of a fight when some unfortunate feline wandered into his territory. The intensity always left her fretting in bed, feeling the heaviness of concern. Sometimes she left bits of cheese on the sidewalk for him. She never witnessed him eating those gifts, but that didn't matter. The cheese would disappear and she enjoyed thinking she made his life a bit easier.

Today, however, she was surprised to see him on her side of the chain-link fence separating their house from the street and neighbors.

The tom, usually skittish, sat up and looked at her, assessing everything. Moving slowly, Freida parked herself under the yard’s only tree. Cars rumbled by the nearest cross street. Someone’s lawnmower grumbled loudly. A distant siren punctured the white noise.

Staring at her with intent, the way cats do, the tom seemed unperturbed. Freida stared back, then looked away. The cat took a step towards her.

Maybe . . .

Avoiding eye contact, she cautiously crept one hand out.

Another step.

I wish I had some cheese.

She unfurled her fingers as if in slow motion.

One more step.

The inside clatter, which was so prominent moments ago, dissolved around her.

Closer.

Engines ceased.

An inch away.

Freida’s ill-fitting jeans, worn sneakers, and ratty t-shirt matched the tomcat’s appearance. She looked at his ripped ear, scarred from an old fight, and crooked whiskers.

What could he want from me?

A delicate nose gently touched her finger. A soft cheek rubbed her hand.

Complete silence.

Then she heard it; a low rumble in soothing waves felt through her fingers, reverberating up to her heart, and washing over her thoughts. A sound of comfort and security. A sound of contentment.

The sound of a new friend.