“Mrs. Beesly, she’s five.”

“Yes, but it takes a while for children to mature sometimes!” Helene retorted.

Ms. Flax lowered herself into the chair. “Listen, Pam is in kindergarten now. It’s been quite a while and we haven’t heard a single word from her, nor has any of the her previous teachers.” Helene looked at the floor, anxious to meet the teacher’s eye. She knew what was going to happen when she walked into the kindergarten room with scribbled crayon pictures and the alphabet lining the wall. This wasn’t her first rodeo. Nor her last. 

“Mrs. Beesly, I really think you should look into getting her accessed for a speec-“

“She talks at home! You don’t understand, she’s not broken.” Helene frantically cut in.

“I never said she was broken. All I’m saying is Pam is a extremely quiet child, and I’m beginning to worry about her. I think this is more than shyness,” Helene lowered her head, water starting to form in the corner of her eyes as Ms. Flax spoke, “listen, we have a lots of kids who struggle with certain things, it’s what kids do. I say we monitor her for a few more weeks that make an action plan, ok? Maybe she is delayed or has a speech disorder.” 

Helene sniffled and gave a gentle nod, knowing fully well that it wasn’t that her daughter couldn’t talk, she just wouldn’t.

The drive home was filled with concern from the parent-teacher conference. She told herself the teacher was just being over concerned. Pam was shy, she could get over it. Her little voice was always giggling with Penny and asking for chocolate milk. She certainly wasn’t unable to share what was on her racing mind, she just didn’t seem to be able to in any place that wasn’t home. 

••

Pam looked around with big eyes. Her mind was spinning and running way too fast. Her mom had taken to just dropping her off then dashing in hopes to reduce the clingy panic edge that came onto Pam. It was effective, but scary for the anxious, young girl. Where’s mom. Where’s mom. So many people. Mom. Where’s mom. She began to shake. One of the students, Roy, looked over at her and snickered. Oh goodness he thinks I’m an idiot, I’m annoying, everyone’s watching me.  Ms. Flax came over as her shaking intensified, her small hands frantically being rubbed together. “Oh honey, not again,” she said as she reached for the child, “Pam, sweetie, talk to me. What’s happening.” She knew there would be no answer, but she asked anyways. She could only hope someday there would be a reply, even if it was quiet, even if it was just an “ok”. She would know she had accomplished her mission if Pam was able to make a simple sound. In all her years of teaching, she never found herself in this situation, yet she found herself unable to give in. As much as she prompted and edged the child on, she never said a word. She often watched kids talk with her and her body get stiff and breathing get short, but not a peep from Pam. Pam’s sweaty palms wrapped around her torso, and her shoulders tipping in as if to protect herself. She pulled her knees up tight to herself, shying from the touch of Ms. Flax, but eventually melting into it. Throughout the year Ms. Flax had learned what calmed the child and was often able to do so without removing her attention from the other children running around. She usually sat with her until exhaustion over took her from the panic attack or used distraction methods. Pam’s eyes eventually gave in to the heaviness pulling on them. 

She opened her eyes and her breathing hitched, as she realized she wasn’t at home with her mama. Ms. Flax was sitting crisscross apple sauce on the alphabet rug in the middle of the room. The other children formed a circle around her, but many of the poking and prodding one another as she read to them. Ms. Flax had taken Pam to the reading corner of the room, to let her calm down. It had two soft blankets and a soft, blue pillow. The book shelf was tall enough to block the childrens’ view of Pam, but she was able to register what they were doing. Ms. Flax calmly walked over and gave Pam a small book. Pam couldn’t make out the words that filled the book, but she marveled at the illustrations of the beautiful teal teapot. Pam wanted to talk. To say what was scaring her, why she was so afraid. She just couldn’t. Ironically, the words were what made her afraid. The words would come into her head, then just stop. They would sit there and wait. Waiting to be picked up and taken back again, but no one ever came back for them. The minute her mouth came open, knots gnawed at her stomach and her chest tightened. The keeper of her words came and sat on her chest to hold her down, and sewed her lips shut with invisible thread. It spewed the consequences of messing up the words. Eventually she just stopped asking the words to come.

When Helene came for pick up, Pam was sitting at the most isolated desk, playing with the charms on her bracelet she had gotten for her birthday. It was a cute sparkly pink bracelet, and Pam had become quite fond of it. The other children were holding their numbers page firmly, saying each in consecutive order in a cadence song. Pam was quiet, unaware of Helene’s presence. Her curly hair and green eyes seemed unsettled. The frizz hiding her from the commotion and her eyes darting every which way. Helene began coming a few minutes early for pick up on Fridays, via Ms. Flax’s request.

“Keep going, guys. I’ll be a minute,” Ms. Flax announced to the class. The children kept chanting the numbers, their voices excited by the song and tune made to help their memories. She made her way to Helene. 

“Not a word from Pam today,” her voice was deflated, and Helene only sighed, not at all surprised by the answer. The same answer she received regarding her daughter everyday, even as kindergarten neared summer break.

••

Helene arrived and placed her purse on the table. Pam rushed up the stairs to play with Penny.

“We need to take her to someone,” Helene said flatly, “she still hasn’t said a word, not a single word.” She could barely contain her worry.

“Give me a break,” her husband muttered, “she’s shy, Helene. Those teachers just want us to waste our money. She’ll figure it out. It ridiculous she had a second year of preschool just we could open her mouth, just for her to not do it.” Pam had been kept another year in preschool, since her birthday was on the boarder of sending her versus keeping her come another year. They had chosen to send her, but ultimately chose to give her another year in preschool, since it wouldn’t affect much. They were hoping another year in a consistent environment would give her enough courage to share. It didn’t. 

“She’s still young,” Helene winced, fully knowing she should be rambunctious and chatty like the other children her age. 

“Well she better get her act together. I’m not sending her to some lady who’s going to tell us nothing then make us pay our life savings.”

“It won’t take our life savings, it will just help her. Don’t you want her to live a better life? A life with a voice?”

Helene walked up the wooden steps to Penny and Pam’s room. The girls were ready to go to bed, in their Minnie Mouse night gowns and their tiny teeth brushed. Penny was already asleep, her eyes shut tight with the sound machine playing a gentle hum. Pam was sitting up in her bed, trying to untangle each curl in the dim of her lamp.

“Hey, Pammy.”

“Hi mommy!” Pam’s little voice squeaked.

“How was school? Ms. Flax said you were still quiet.”

“Good, we read a story about a fishy!”

“That’s great, Pammy!” Mrs. Beesly replied, trying to get back to her original question, “did the your words work today?”

Pam looked up, the simplicity of the sentence allowing her to register what her mother was looking for, “No, words were too scawy.” Pam pushed herself deeper into the covers. She knew her mom would be pleased if her words did work, but they never seemed to want to.

“That’s ok, sweetie,” Helene told her, kissing her forehead, “try again tomorrow?” Pam gave a nod, knowing her mom would appreciate a nod, but both knew they would have the same conversation tomorrow.