"What's that?" Mama asked with narrow eyes of suspicion.
"Good behavior, respect for their elders. Too many of them are loud and undisciplined."
"Don't I know," Mama said bobbing her head. "Especially that Edith Merton. I tell Ice to keep away from her. She can only learn bad habits from a girl like that. I know she smokes. Right, Ice?"
I nodded.
"And she's only what? Nine? Huh?"
I gazed at the two of them. Mama knew how old Edith Merton was.
"What I was starting to say. Mrs. Goodman, is it's nice that Ice is a well-behaved girl, but she's too introverted."
"Intro-what?"
"She's reluctant to communicate, to express herself. It worries me and I've told her so many times, so this isn't a tale told out of school," Mrs. Waite said looking at me.
"Tale told out of school? We're in school," Mama pointed out and laughed. "Ain't that right. Ice?" She winked at me. "So what is it you want me to do. Mrs. Waite?I'm not following you here."
"If she continues to be so reluctant to talk, to express herself, we'll have to have her tested by the school psychologist," Mrs. Waite warned, "Not that it's a bad thing to have that done," she quickly added, "Because we've got to be concerned."
"Psychologist?" Mama pulled the corner of her lips in, puffing out her cheeks. "You saying
something's wrong with her mind?"
"Something is keeping her all locked up inside." Mrs. Waite insisted. "The technical term for her problem is elective mutism."
"Elective?" She crrimaced with confusion. "You mean like voting?"
"Precisely. She's choosing to be this way."
Mama raised her eyebrows. She kept them trimmed pencil thin, tweezing them almost daily because she believed the eyebrows were the most important facial feature. It was practically a religious ritual for her. She'd light incense on her vanity table and begin, humming or listening to her New Age music because the girl down at the beauty shop told her it took stress lines out of your face. Mama stared at her image in the glass and checked every inch of herself. Her gilded- framed oval mirror was her altar.
"She's choosing to be a mute? How do you know that?"
"Because she has no physical disability or language problems. In other words. no clear reason for being like she is."
"So why do you want her to see that psychosomething?"
"To evaluate her more and see if we can help her overcome whatever it is that keeps her so closed up." Carefully, now close to a real whisper. Mrs. Waite asked. "How is she at home?"
"She's a good girl there. too," Mama said, looking at me. "She knows she better be," she added filling her voice with threat. It was like blowing air into a balloon and then letting it out. She shook her head. "Election mute. That girl talks when she wants and she certainly doesn't keep her mouth shut when it's time to sing. She's the best singer in the children's church choir, you know? The minister told me so himself about a thousand times."
"No," Mrs Waite said, her eyes wide with surprise. "Really?" She looked at me as if she had just realized I was there. She sings?"
"The
minister calls her Angel Voice. She takes after my side." Mama said proudly. "My mama was a church singer, too. Okay," she said standing again, only this time with more determination. Her quick movement sent the sparrow flying from the window ledge.
"Ice," Mama snapped.
I looked up at her.
"You talk more in school. You hear me? Don't make me mad now." I continued to stare up at her.
"Look at the girl. She look afraid? No. She look upset? No. Don't you see. Mrs. Waite? She got ice in her veins. She's as cool as can be. She never cries even when she gets slapped. She didn't cry much when she was a baby either. That's why her name fits her, no matter what you say about it. I gotta go." she added after looking at her watch. "'man." she told me and I rose to follow her, looking back at Mrs. Waite who shook her head and bit down on her lower lip, frustrated. Mine was probably her worst parentteacher conference.
My reluctance to talk didn't affect my schoolwork. I wasn't a bad student. I did well on all the written work assigned and on all our tests. When I had to recite something, I did it reluctantly, but at least I did it, even though I did only what was required and spoke so softly it was nearly impossible to hear me. Mrs. Waite often complained that I never raised my hand to ask a question. If I had to go to the bathroom. I just got up and went for the bathroom pass.