Beyond Words

Our daughter Elina has a friend who can't talk. Or so she told us three weeks ago when we were discussing what 'mute' meant.

"I have a friend like that," she said simply.

"You do? Who?"

"Abby, my best friend at school," she replied.

I quizzed her over the next several days to know just exactly what she meant by saying that Abby can't talk. Elina had never mentioned this before and she has played with Abby daily at school since three weeks into the fall semester. At the first parent-teacher conference the teacher went on and on about how grateful she was to Elina for being shy Abby's friend. She said Elina always included Abby in the girl's group play and made sure she had a place among them, Elina being one of the leaders in the class and THE authority of Flying Pegasus games. I was thrilled to hear it, but I did not understand the extent of Abby's shyness.

Over the course of a week after the 'mute' discussion the description slowly emerged. Only because I asked 20 different questions. To Elina it was nothing remarkable. "Abby doesn't talk, but she can play. She can make an angry or a happy face. And she can sometimes whisper in my ear, but not since I came back from Sweden." (Elina went back to Sweden for three weeks in Feb-March and the teacher told us that Abby had missed Elina so much during that time.)

My thoughts went back to the the first three weeks of school, before Elina had discovered Abby as a play mate. She was the only one who cried at drop-off - and miserably too. But these kids are only 4 or 5 at the very most when pre-K begins, so a few criers per class is not unheard of. Suddenly I realized her crying stopped just about the time that Elina dubbed Abby her best friend.

I asked the teacher about it finally, because I was so stunned. Abby is not mute, but suffers from selective mutism. But yes, it was true. Abby has spoken to only one person since she started school: Elina. And only in whispers in Elina's ear. Elina has been the translator for Abby at school, for lack of a better expression. She answers no direct questions unless they can be answered with a head shake or a nod. I asked Abby recently at drop-off if she wanted to come to our house for a play date and she smiled wide and nodded while holding Elina's hand and her large, brown eyes glittered with excitement.

Last night I asked Elina again.

"So, since you came from Sweden, Abby has not whispered in your ear?"

"Only once," said Elina.

"And what did she say?" I pressed.

Elina cupped her hand over her mouth to illustrate, then said in a whisper: "You are still my best friend."

That is all she has spoken to Elina for five weeks even though they play together every single day. That is all she has said in school, period, for eight weeks. How much more meaningful, then, are those words? And anyone who knows Elina knows that there is a constant stream of chatter coming from her lips. I am so surprised and proud of her for not saying what some would, "How I am supposed to play with that girl? She never talks back." Instead there has been some sort of meeting of the souls here. Elina has become a fiercely loyal friend and received a friendship back which is truly beyond words.