In the Silence

 

The last thing Marla ever heard was the grotesque sound of metal as it scraped along the asphalt and collapsed against itself.  

 

The day had started out like any other.  She had woken up, a little later than usual. This presented a small challenge, as Marla was a woman who valued her routine.  Every morning, she threw an Orange and Eucalyptus shower melt in the tub and jumped in, letting the scent awaken and invigorate her.  She look a mental inventory of her day planner as she rinsed the sleepiness down the drain.  Once she was clean and clothed, she enjoyed a cup of coffee with coconut creamer while she did her makeup.  That Monday morning, she gave an involuntary shudder when the True Crime podcast sounding from her cell phone, described a particularly graphic scene.   “Why do you start your day with this crap?” She asked herself, vowing silently to watch The Today Show the next day, instead.

 

When she started at the restaurant 6 years ago,  and had no idea the whirlwind that its success would bring to her.  As a young sous chef, it was slightly more than just a job.  It was an entry level foot in the door filled with the potential of a successful career in the industry she loved.  As a sous chef, it represented an opportunity to create.  Her hopes and dreams were pinned to the dog eared menus and specials boards.  It was daily calisthenics, working out the expensive skills she had learned at the Culinary Institute of San Francisco.  

 

So much had transpired since then.  She had learned from the master.  Jean Philippe had shown her that running a kitchen was so much more than knife skills and food prep.  He demonstrated the discipline and cadence necessary and honed perfection with every audible he called out in his quest to create something different.  Each “Yes Chef”, Marla  bellowed in response was a tribute of respect and appreciation for all he was teaching her. When she first met him, his loud, commanding orders in the kitchen were intimidating to Marla.  She heard in the boom of his voice, the measure of disappointment that she had tried to hide from in her relationship with her parents.  He was not gentle, and he demanded perfection.  Many nights found her crying on her couch with a glass of wine, beating herself up for her imperfections.  In time, however, she began to develop a callous to his direct approach and apply what he was teaching her. It was then that the sounds of Jean Philippes orders became the encouraging lessons of a coach, guiding and refining Marla’s savvy in the kitchen.   

 

Last year Jean Philippe retired.  When he came to her, and offered ownership of the bistro to Marla, the breath was sucked right from her lungs.  She had only a small amount of savings, and could not imagine how she would be able to come up with the kind of money she would certainly need to buy a successful restaurant, but Jean Philippe had vision beyond her own.  When he presented his offer to her, all of the sounds of doubt and fears were quieted.  Jean Philippe would allow her to make monthly installments  consisting of an affordable cash payment plus 10% of the profits for 3 years to pay for the business.  Before she could come up with a single reason to say no, the deal was done. Marla found herself as head chef and proprietor of Je M’Appelle Bistro.  

 

Business was going well.  The regular client base had embraced Marlas vision for the Bistro and she had inherited an amazing stuff of enthusiastic young chefs to help propel Je M’Appelle further into the fine dining scene of San Francisco.  The menu was filled with amazing cuisine, the ambiance was cozy and the service was personal.  Marla liked to think that Je M’Appelle  was the kind of place that you ate with friends even if you didn't know any of your fellow diners personally.  This proved to be true in many ways, but the fact that every diner was willing to don a French translation of the classic, “Hello my name is_____” name tag.  At Je M’Appelle, diners wore tags that said “Bonjour, Je M’Appelle _________” writing in their own monikers.  This meant that everyone was on a first name basis by the end of a meal.

 

The morning of the accident, Marla had been taking care of some restaurant chores before heading in to beat the dinner rush.  The Health Board had been in the previous week.  The inspection had resulted in a stellar A+ grade, but during the inspection, Marla realized that the walk-in was in need of  maintenance, and that the dough hook on the mixer was chipped.  She made the stop into O’Gradys Restaurant supply to pick up a new dough hook, and get Tom O’Grady on the schedule for a service call.  Tom had been taking care of the maintenance and repair needs at Je M’Appelle for 10 years, and his father Tom Sr, had done so for 2 decades before that.  Tom was someone that Marla considered a friend.  She always enjoyed speaking to Tom and found that they never had a problem fueling a good conversation.  That morning, they spoke about football and French pastries.  Tom suggested that since the 49ers were playing Sunday, Marla should include Football shaped Croissants and Touchdown Mimosas (Complete with an “extra point” kicker) on the brunch menu.  Marla chuckled as she bid Tom farewell and headed on her way, dough hook in hand.  

 

Her mind was on overdrive as she drove down the street.  She heard Toms passionate voice as she considered his suggestion.  “You’ve got to admit Marla,”. he said, “San Fran is a football town!  You give your diners the quality of Je M’Appelle standard brunch menu and a few football twists, people will literally eat it up!”  She liked the idea.  Maybe she could get a couple of TVs in the dining room. The Bistro was elegant but casual enough to pull it off. Monday through Saturday it could be classy French dining, but Sunday Morning it could transform into Sports Brunch!

 

The options were lining up in her head as she made a right turn on red.  She did not see the SUV as it barreled through the intersection colliding with the driver side door of her small coupe.  She did not see it, but the sounds were deafening. The sound of the impact was loud and jarring.  It came out of the peace like a cannon shot at close range giving way to the sound of the car collapsing upon itself, and Marla.  As the vehicle somersaulted across the highway Marla had lost consciousness. The accident lasted only 15 seconds in total, but  for Marla it lasted hours as she was transported  somewhere else. The sounds around her gave way to snippets of imagined scenes. She was in a classroom and the sound of  fingernails scraping upon a chalkboard made her cringe.  She was at a 4th of July fireworks celebration and could hear a “poof” as the fuse of the explosive box fully ignited.  She was a witness at the scene of an accident  overcome by the the sounds of screaming sirens as the ambulance approached; but they were becoming muted, shouldn’t they be getting louder? Somewhere in her psyche, Marla had an awareness that this was not a dream, but allowed herself to sink into a deep sleep.

 

When she began to wake up, Marla was not aware that she had been unconscious for 9 days. She was not aware of the presence of Jean Philippe, Tom and her parents in the room.  She was aware only of the pain in her body, and of the way her thoughts seemed to pierce the silence.  Why did everything hurt? Why was it so quiet?  It was a silence she did not recognize - the normal noises that accompanied her daily wake up were missing.  She couldn’t hear the traffic outside of her apartment as the city awakened with its daily hustle and bustle.  She couldn’t hear the waves of the Pacific lapping against the beach 2 blocks from her apartment, she didn't even hear the sound of her ceiling fan oscillating above her.  Something was different.

 

As she opened her eyes, Marla became aware of excited activity around her.  She saw the shadows of several people moving toward her.  She wanted to pull away from them but found that she was not able to do so.  She blinked twice and realized she was in a hospital bed, and was connected to several wires and machines. To her right she saw several monitors with green lines and dots moving rhythmically across a black screen. A strangers face appeared, hands reaching out to adjust the cuff attached to her arm.  As her eyes focused on the stranger she realized that this was a nurse, and she was in a hospital room.  She wanted to ask what had happened, but a tube in her throat prevented her from being able to speak.  Marla glanced to the left and saw her Mom, Dad, Tom and Jean Philippe.  They all looked as if they had not slept in quite some time, but the looks on their faces told Marla what she needed to know.  Something bad had happened.  It was at that moment that Marla realize that they were crying.  She saw the pained expressions on their faces and realized that since they could not hug her, they were hugging each other. There was excitement and relief, and a lot of tears, and too much silence.  Marla could not hear anything.  

 

The doctors called it Conductive Deafness.  It was the result of Marlas head bouncing off of the windshield and driver side window during the accident.  For many it was a temporary condition, a side effect of the concussion she suffered.  The experts were unsure if Marla would regain her hearing.  Time would tell, but in the meantime there was a lot to deal with and she had to embrace the new quiet in her life.

 

Silence can be a loud, lonely place.  The truth of the matter is that while Marlas ears were not functioning; her brain was inundated with sound.  The sounds of the unspoken fears and the thoughts of consciousness which would normally transcend into conversation, instead laid unfulfilled screaming into the isolated abyss of singularity.  Self Doubt plagued her every thought and transformed into a chasm of “what if’s” that began to effect her proverbial vision, as much as the accident had effected her hearing.  What if her hearing never returned?  

 

She had begun learning ASL and found it to be a beautiful language, but her community would be required to learn it if it were to become an effective communication method.  Beyond that, how could she run the kitchen without the back and forth of commands and the acknowledgement of “Yes Chef”. This was the equivalent of Star Trek’s Jean Luc Picard proclaiming, “Make it so” ringing through the kitchen, as the team made it so.  These were the chaotic sounds of a successful professional kitchen.  Without this banter, how would they be able to find the rhythm and balance required to create the culinary art that Je M’apelle was known for.    Marla wondered if she was being dramatic when she considered Genesis; after all, when God said, “Let there be light”, light was indeed called into existence.  It laid dormant until the creator called upon it to be.  The creation depended upon the voice of the creator being heard.  The humility which came next brought Marla back down.  After all she was a chef.  She was not God.  Certainly there were other ways to hear and be heard.  She grabbed her phone and started texting Jean Philippe and Tom.  

 

3 weeks later, she walked into the kitchen for the first time since the accident.  Jean Philippe held her hand, giving it a little squeeze as they pushed through the swinging galley door, as if to say, “You’ve got this.”  Marla took a deep breath and stepped in. It looked perfectly normal; her staff in their pristine white uniforms, rushing from station to station.  They paused only momentarily to smile and wave to her before returning to their tasks at hand.  It was business as usual, except for the absence of the sounds. Gone were the sounds of pots and pans clanging against the wrought iron burners of the industrial stove.  She watched Alex, the Sous chef as he julienned and diced fresh vegetables, but there were none of the musical sounds of knife against board.  The kitchen was filled with silent activity.  It was if she were watching a movie, with he volume turned all the way down.  The only noise came from her self-limiting thoughts.  Thoughts that would lead her to believe that she was not fit to run the kitchen she loved so much.  It brought a tremendous sense of grief to Marla for the things she had taken for granted. 

 

She could not bring herself to go back to the restaurant for a few days.  The thought of it reduced her to tears, but when Tom showed up at her house and demanded that she get showered and dressed, she complied.  The look in his eyes communicated such a deep concern that she could not bear to disappoint him.  When she emerged, Tom tried out his new knowledge of ASL and signed, “Ready? Let’s Go” to her.  She nodded and stepped out the door.  She felt a sense of dread as they pulled up to to the Bistro, it was out side of business hours, so she knew the kitchen would be still.  She took a deep breath and let Tom lead the way.  

 

This time when she walked through the galley doors, she was welcomed by her family.  Each member of her team came to her and embraced her with love.  She was surprised that they had also been working on learning ASL, as they tried simple signs to communicate love and support.  They were learning it together!  As Marla wiped the tears from her eyes, she noticed an addition to the kitchen. On each of the 4 walls hung a large LCD display.  Her jaw dropped as she saw words pop across the screen, “We are so glad you are back, Chef”.  She looked at Tom.  His smile confirmed that this was his doing.  He pointed at the screen and she looked.  His mouth moved as the LCD displayed, “There are microphones set up to catch the words of the staff.  As they speak, their words will show up on the screens so you can “hear” them.”  

 

Marla cried, feeling for the first time that she was not alone in the silence.  These people, her family had found a way to her, and whether she regained her hearing or not, she knew that they were here with her.   She smiled through her tears, wrapping her arms around Tom as she choked out a “Thank you” to him.  He gave her a reassuring squeeze, as they released from the deep hug she uttered the words, “Let’s get to our stations people”.  Looking up at the screen, she grinned as she realized that she could almost hear their voices in the LCD response.   “Yes Chef.”

 

She had a Football Brunch menu to plan.