Eugene

Eugene was born mute. He learned to communicate with his body and his hands. His parents each learned American Sign Language and by the time he was four they were having conversations with their son. He made it through public schooling and graduated high school in 1983. The friends who teased and ostracized him in elementary and junior high school became keenly aware of his intellect and eventually enjoyed his company as they grew older.

In college he met a girl with the same disability. Conversation was rich with the silent couple, both finding solace in the empathy of the other. Eugene got a job downtown monitoring stocks and making monthly charts marking several clients’ shares. He married his college sweetheart and moved into a small three-bedroom house in the country. 

One day Eugene took a walk around his neighborhood. They had lived there for nine years, nearing ten, yet they only knew a few of their neighbors in the surrounding houses. As he walked, he became farther from his street and alone. It was February and despite its normal wintry chill, the sun warmed the back of his neck. The houses in this subdivision were more modern, with red brick and black cars in the driveways. He took notice of a tree in a stranger’s yard and approached it. It was medium in size and had only half of its leaves. He fingered the bark and admired the branches sunning in the afternoon's glow. Eugene had backed away to get a larger view of the magical pine when the resident exited his house and studied the uninvited guest in his yard.

“Can I help you?” the man asked as he jingled his keys.

He let go of the tree and allowed a hum and then a crack to come across his vocal chords. He coughed and then let a thirty-three-year-old sound come out.

“It’s a good tree,” Eugene managed.

“It sure is!” the man replied.

He turned and went home to be mute with his wife.