Lina

"So, Lina, is it true you never talk?"

I felt Lina lean towards me to whisper in my ear. She grabbed my hand and I raised both hands so they'd be caught on the camera. It was our sign.

"I talk through Cyril," I barely heard, then repeated. Lina's dyed hair was brushing against my cheek.

"I see. Do you mind my asking what's wrong with your own voice?"

The interviewer was being a dick. She just wanted to get the spectacle of me vocalizing for Lina on camera.

"I don't like my voice," Lina said, squeezing my hand. I wondered how noticeable it was in the video.

"How long has it been since you've spoken?"

"I'm speaking right now."

The interviewer laughed a little. "No, no, I mean with your voice."

Lina paused, but didn't let go of my hand. "My voice hasn't been my own for about eight years now."

"You haven't spoken for eight years?"

Lina let go of my hand. "Not that I've heard. Can we talk about something relevant?"

That was a lie. I heard Lina talk sometimes when we were alone. Not very often--she really didn't like the sound of her voice--but it happened. Usually when she couldn't write or whisper fast enough to get what she needed to say into the open. Sometimes she'd clap a hand over her mouth if it wasn't something all that serious. Like she'd forgotten it sounded like that.

"Uh, okay, yeah. You guys were on tour for the past four months, yeah? First time?"

"First time headlining, yeah."

"How was it?"

"Ah... fun, I guess. Exhausting, too. Mostly exhausting. Like it's mostly boring and exhausting until you get on stage. Then it's fun."

Lina was gorgeous on stage. She was always gorgeous. Like a flatter, black-clad version of one of those Barbie dolls people always say are too tall. Tall, but she rocked stilletoes and platforms like a motherfucker anyway. Even her hands are pretty. She's a fucking guitarist. Guitarists don't have pretty hands, but somehow she pulls it off and plays like a motherfucker. And her voice is gorgeous, too. Smooth and rich. She knows how gorgeous she is, except for her goddamn voice. I bet she'd even be able to see how gorgeous her voice is if most people didn't hear it and go "oh, that's a guy!" That's what gets her even if she never admits it.

What really gets me--aside from her voice being gorgeous--is all the little girls like her out there who might get voices like hers when they grow up. And how if she'd just speak up, they might not feel how she does when they grow up. They'd know they're gorgeous even if she doesn't.

I don't get to complain, though. My voice is perfect, she says. I dunno about that, but at least it doesn't make me wince every time I hear it. So I take her word for it, and I keep talking for her whenever I feel her breath in my ears.

[Sorry for the lack of posts this week. Gonna try to make up for it and post more this week, but no promises. I've got two papers to write ASAP, which is what's been distracting me.]