I’ve Lived My Whole Life Without Ever Hearing Music

The woman officer asks if I’m being harmed. I look at her face and then at my parents’ faces and I see Dad’s jaw tight and Mom’s hands clenched.

“No, I’m fine. Everything is fine,” I say.

She asks if I feel safe here and I nod. The male officer asks about the homeschooling and Dad jumps in with information about our curriculum and documentation.

They seem satisfied enough after a few more questions. Before they leave, the woman officer reminds my parents that homeschooling requires proper documentation and regular assessment, and they should make sure everything is filed correctly.

Mom thanks them for their concern and Dad walks them to the door. As soon as the police car pulls away, the fake smiles disappear.

Dad tells me to sit back down and I do. He sits across from me and his voice is very calm and very quiet when he speaks.

“If you ever try to manipulate authorities again, they’ll have no choice but to take more extreme measures for your own safety,” he says.

He doesn’t raise his voice once, but the threat is so clear I feel cold all over. Mom stands behind him with her arms crossed and nods along.

Dad says they’re trying to protect me and I’m making it very difficult by acting out and trying to get outside help when there’s nothing wrong. He says the move to the rural property is more important than ever now, and we’ll be leaving as soon as the paperwork goes through.

I’m sent back to my room and I lie on my bed feeling like I just failed some huge test I didn’t know I was taking. Two days pass with barely any interaction beyond meals delivered to my room.

Then on the third day there’s a knock at the front door mid-morning when no one is expected. I hear Dad answer and a woman’s voice I don’t recognize.

She says she’s Aisha Beckwith from child protective services and she needs to speak with the family. I hear the shock in Dad’s voice even though he tries to hide it.

Mom comes out of the kitchen and there’s this long pause before Dad invites the woman inside. I crack my bedroom door open and peek down the stairs.

Aisha is a black woman maybe in her 40s wearing business clothes and carrying a folder. She’s looking around at the foam padding on the walls and the tape over the doorbell button and the earplugs we’re all wearing.

Her face stays professional, but I can tell she’s taking in every detail. She asks to speak with me privately.

Dad says that’s not necessary, but Aisha explains it’s required as part of the investigation. Mom’s face goes tight but she agrees.

Dad calls up the stairs for me and I come down. Aisha introduces herself and asks where we can talk alone, and I lead her to my room.

She closes the door behind us and the click of it shutting feels like the most important sound I’ve ever heard. She sits on my desk chair and I sit on my bed, and she asks me to tell her what’s been going on.

I show her the new hiding spot where I’ve been keeping scraps of paper with dates and events written on them. I tell her about the hammer in my phone two years ago, about Mom dragging me home by my hair from the church, and about the locks on my door.

I tell her about the isolation and the planned move to the middle of nowhere. She listens without interrupting and writes things down in a notebook.

When I finish she asks if she can take photos and I nod. She photographs my room and the lock on the outside of my door and the foam padding Mom put over the wall.

She asks me to roll up my sleeves and takes pictures of the bruises on my arms that are still fading from where Mom grabbed me. They’re yellowish now but still visible.

Aisha tells me she’s creating something called a safety plan that my parents will have to follow. No physical restraints, required outdoor time every day, and scheduled follow-up visits from CPS.

“This is not optional,” she says. “And your parents have to agree or there will be consequences.”

We go back downstairs and Aisha sits my parents down at the kitchen table and explains the safety plan. Dad’s face is completely blank and Mom’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, but they both nod and agree to everything.

Aisha says she’ll be back in one week to check on compliance and she gives them paperwork to sign. After she leaves there’s this horrible silence in the house.