Bliss of Another Kind

"Is she awake?"
"I think so...Ma'am, can you hear me?"
Darkness began to take shape before her, turning gray, taking shape, filling with color. A face. Was that what loomed over her? It's lips (they must be lips) moved, and sound came from them.
"Her eyes are open." The one above her head spoke.
"Is she deaf?" The hairier one suggested. She turned her head.
"No, she heard you. She can hear us." The one with the goatee retorted. He looked like her father, and she reached up to embrace him.
No, not her father.
Not biologically, and certainly not in fact, as she became aware of her surroundings. Her arms retreated, turning, she saw for the first time in her life the brick walls and bright lights of a modern city. This was not a staircase in a nunnery, to be mild.
Where was she?
Panic took her, seizing control of her body, and she flailed out her arms, trying to free herself from the entrapment of the papers and muck around her.
"Ma'am, Ma'am, you're alright. We called an ambulance." Her mind struggled to grasp what this could be as she fell back in stunned shock. How would she be able to place all of these words to these new pictures? She lay back, allowing her eyes to fall closed.
Christ in heaven, she could see.
"Say something to her. She's going to pass out."
"Say what?"
"I don't know, ask her something."
"Guys, quit talking like she's not here...Ma'am, what's your name?"
Tabitha opened her mouth to speak, her tongue moved, but nothing came out.
NOTHING CAME OUT.
Alarm filled her; she strained to express herself, to move her tongue, but nothing would come forth. Tears spilled forth and she fell back again, exhausted.
"What's wrong?"
"She can't speak."
"Do you think she's mute?"
"Maybe. Hey, if she can write...hold this for a second..." The one with the glasses reached into the funny bag around his waist, and, after some pulling, withdrew a tiny sheaf of paper, bound with ring shapes, and a long, thin object with something on the end of it, but came to a sharper point at the other end. It was different colors; more things she needed to know.
"Can you write?" He asked her.
That was something she did know how to do. Mother had spent years teaching her the shapes of letters; taking Tabitha's hand in both of hers and teaching her the shapes of the letters, and the words, and what they meant. Eventually, Tabitha could write fluently in several languages. Her hands grasped the object, tucking it into her right. She made the realization that it was a writing instrument, as her quill at home. She took the smooth pages handed to her and pulled her knee up, crossing it. She felt the distinct sensation of her own bare flesh, but her attempt to speak to these men (they were, she was fairly sure; mother told her that men wore britches, and they all did. She knew that women wore skirts, and, from touching her own as a child, knew that they were long and full, and were not split between the legs.) Remained her objective.
Hesitating, she wondered if she should tell them her true name. Had they kidnapped her? She would use another name.
But what?
The word came to her without her brain's summons. She scribbled it down quickly, and handed it to the boy with the glasses.
"'My name,'" He read, "'Is Bliss.'"
Tabitha nodded, settling back. Bliss had been her childhood nickname; her brother Tom hadn't been able to say "Tabitha"; he could manage 'Bith,', which, with his lisp, sounded like 'Bliss.'
A sudden, piercing noise split the air, and she cried out (or tried to), and made an attempt to cling to the fingers of the man who had handed her the pad.
"It's OK," He told her. "It's just the ambulance."
Just as he did; a large, white object came to a rolling stop by the curb; spinning red lights spun in circles on top of it.
Red Light.
That was something else she remembered.
It was the one thing she could remember seeing when blind.

Two more men, one large and brutish, one thin and simple-faced, arrived within her eyesight now.
"..Found her here unconscious. She can write, speak, and see, I think that's how she communicated before, but she can't speak."
The burley man shined a light into her eyes, asked if she could see. She nodded her head, and tried to get up.
"Could someone cover her?" The bearded one asked.
Tabitha looked down at her own body, realizing that she was nude, that this is what nudity looked like. Shocked beyond awkwardness, she reached to cover herself. She knew which areas were inappropriate to show through experience gained living around brothers and a father; she tried to grasp them, hide them from their gazes. The one wearing glasses suddenly took off a piece of his clothing and draped it around her shoulder; The piece of clothing enveloped her, she tried to hold it closed, then took the clasps and connected them.
The two new strangers surrounded her, herding her into the large white vehicle. All sorts of personal questions were asked of her, many of which embarrassed her. She remained absolutely truthful with them, for they seemed to be in a position of authority. The only lie she strove to protect was that her first name was Bliss. They noted her cuts, many of them long and deep, and talked of her head.
The next few hours were a whirl of bright lights and strange faces; stinging substances were put on her cuts, and they were bandaged. It reminded her of her mother's healing touch when she had scraped her knees as a child....

In the waiting room, Mick, Al, and Michael sat waiting for word on "Bliss". Michael seemed the most nervous, drawing invisible patterns with his finger on the back of the chair in front of him. A doctor approached them and they looked up.
"Do you have word on the homeless woman we brought in?" Mick asked.
"Bliss?" Michael asked.
The doctor took a look at his clipboard. "Miss DeLisle is suffering from psychosomatic paralyzeation of her vocal chords, a slight concussion, and some cuts and bruises. We're keeping her overnight for psychiatric observation."
"Psychiatric observation?"
"Some of the things she said suggested that she could be suffering from delusions, but that might be the concussion. Which of you is a member of the immediate family?"
Al looked at Michael; his emotions lay right on the surface. "He is." Al said, pointing to Michael. Mick started to shake his head; Al gestured and he stopped.
"She's right this way." The doctor informed him, and Michael followed. Al turned to Mick as they walked away.
"Call Steve," He told his multi-personality projecting friend, "He'll tell us what to do."

Michael cautiously opened the door, peering into Bliss' darkened room. He maneuvered around the tables and trays in the room, and pulled a chair up beside her bed.

Bliss wakened suddenly; her incredible violet eyes opened wide and she once again moved to speak.
Michael carefully covered her hand with his, shaking his head. He took the pad and pencil from his pouch.
"Hush," He wrote, "It's OK." He gave it to her to read. She nodded, relaxing. Then her eyes opened again, and she gestured for the pencil. He watched her write.
"What's your name?" She wrote.
He smiled, "Michael." He whispered.
She smiled back. "Michael," She repeated. And without another thought, she curled up and fell to sleep.

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