Mute, Deaf, Blind Love

By the time Cecelia was four, she knew her mother was different, although not how so. She also knew that she herself was trapped in her own body, unable to talk or laugh or scream. When other children were rewarded for speaking, she was not. She could not. She was mute. Her father was always angry at her for it. She never knew why. 

A baby arrived. 

Sweet Georgina, with her soft skin, blue eyes, and kind smile, won over the world. Time passed quickly and before Cecelia knew it, Georgina was already five, while she was now nine and still as quiet as ever. Georgina worshipped her older sister. To her, Cecelia’s muteness was just silence, not something odd. 

Georgina became the family translator. 

At breakfast one morning, Cece, as little Georgina affectionately called her, came into the kitchen with her letter board and spelled one word: RAGE. 

“That stupid mute,” her father said. “Never anything to say.” 

“But Dad,” Georgina explained, “don’t you see?” 

“I see fine,” he said, “but I don’t hear a damn thing.” 

Their mother was deaf. She understood perfectly that screaming word – RAGE – yet she never twitched at the vibrations of her husband’s angry heart.

“You’re both blind,” Georgina screamed, taking Cece from the kitchen and into the yard. She spelled out the following word for her big sister: LOVE. 

As Cece grew older, swimming protected her from her father’s guilt and her mother’s cowardice. In the water, she was a different person. Sleek, beautiful, and with a voice of her own. Bubbles spoke between breaths. Each flip turn made her rejoice at the start of a new adventure across the pool. She poured herself into the water five hours daily. Her parents didn’t care. Only young Georgina watched proudly as Cece began drawing national attention. 

In high school, despite their parents’ protests, the two sisters learned sign language and to love words. The dictionary was their favorite book. 

“Mom, Dad, you should learn with us,” implored Georgina. “It’s magical.” 

“Don’t believe in magic,” said the father. 

Life-changing news arrived.

“Cece has qualified for nationals in swimming,” Georgina told them. 

“Now you tell me how a dumb mute is even going to hear the starting gun? She’ll still be on the blocks when the race ends. Might as well be blind, too.” 

Georgina cried. Cecelia did not. 

By Cece’s senior year, scholarship offers poured in from all the swimming powerhouses. Stanford, Texas, Berkeley, Virginia. Georgina fielded coaches’ phone calls and then signed to Cece, who couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time, Cece felt she had a chance to belong. She knew not only that she had earned it. She also deserved it.

“I like Texas best,” she signed. “It’s the biggest and so maybe there will be others like me.” 

“Cece,” Georgina told her through tears, “everyone is like you, yet no one is like you. You shine.” 

Cece cried for the first time since childhood.

When it came time to go, Cece’s parents took no interest. Georgina, now 13, boarded the flight with her sister to Austin. 

Before she left, Cece left a handwritten note on her father’s pillow. 

It read: 

Dad, Please don’t hate me so. Cecelia 

He read it.

Cover photo: Malik Skydsgaard at Unsplash.