The Voice in Silence
Story by Hailey Joslin
Photo by Carson Denney
Dear friend,
Please take caution in beginning this work. I have shared a story that is deeply personal,
but may also be traumatic to some readers. Please take caution if topics surrounding
sexual assault, rape, and/or suicide trigger you in anyway. I hope you enjoy.
At sixteen I walked around without a chip on my shoulder, head held high. With a
passion for life, music, and friendship. I strolled down the hallways with hope of a bright and
successful future. My junior year was similar to many others, uneventful yet full of drama. The
gossip of who slept with who, the latest fight, and why the power couple broke up flooded the
hallways. Now, nearly two years later, the details have slipped my mind. The world ending
gossip has died away much like the days of high school. Much like other periods of life the
positive experiences pass, but the negative burrow deep.
The discomfort of puberty left my body bigger, fuller, and with a new sense of insecurity.
The clothes that once showcased my body were deeply buried under layers of jeans, hoodies, and
baggy t-shirts. If you knew me in high school, or even saw pictures, it’s easy to point out looks
wasn’t my top priority. For special occasions I was left with a rather scarce and form fitting
selection. Since these occasions were few and far between, I couldn’t rationally justify
purchasing a new set of dress clothes. A modest length loose skirt slowly became formfitting.
The majority of dress tops included a white or teal color. Often the light color complemented the
dark skirt, and white on black was the dress requirement. This night; however, pressed the
typical dress requirement. All black. I was left with a tank top, and cardigan. The outfit was
modest, but exposed far more skin and was far tighter than anything I’d worn for months. It’s for a good cause I kept telling myself. For one night I will waitress to the kind parents of the music
department. Months of planning and work went into the event. A small group of the best musical
performers at our high school were performing Broadway music.
About fifteen tables were scattered across the dimly lit cafeteria. A small stage adjacent
sound system was positioned in the hallway connecting the cafeteria. Just beyond the stage was
the entry to the library. Tonight, books were the last thing being used. Prior to eight, the large
room was a practice studio, dressing room, and snack station. The instant action was called, the
room bustling with activity was silenced. The other students serving food and I moved in
quickly. Our goal was the fastest and quietest service possible. As a whole we were successful.
Few spills and no dropped food was enough for me to enjoy the night. After food was served, we
were free to watch, sit, or relax in the library. Silence and respect were the only requirements.
I silently made my way to the library to whisper with a small group of friends. Near the
back of the library, we relaxed behind a stack of books and shelves. Slowly the group dwindled. I
was left alone with a close friend. A few years prior to that day, I would have killed to spend
alone time with this boy. Maybe five foot eleven, blonde hair and blue eyes; the crush was short
lived but strong. As time passed so did the feeling. Tonight, he was just another friend. His
performance was one of the first. So he, like I was left with the instructions to be quiet and
respectful. The show was nearly over, only two or three acts left. I suggested we head to prepare
to clean up. The suggestion was shrugged off. I could feel his eyes burning into my skin. They’d
hardly left my body since I sat down. While the group was still gathered, he made small
comments about my abnormal attire. I brushed them off, and continued with the conversation.
Now, alone with him these comments burned deep in my brain. I stood up and he quickly rushed
to his feet, nearly falling forward with such haste. He took a step closer and positioned himself behind me. My blood rushed to my face and I could feel my heart pounding. His breathing was
on my neck. I turned my head and asked why he’d gotten so close so quickly. My voice was
hushed but shaky. He pushed me forward and I leaned into the bookcase in front of us. For the
first time in my life, I felt completely powerless. My soul left my body. In that moment I felt like
I was watching my life on a television screen, completely at the will of the writer. The modesty
of the skirt fell away as it was pushed up. The low cut on the tank top seemed to choke me and
my breaths could hardly escape. I was trapped inside my body, unable to scream. The screaming
in my throat was caught by the constriction of my clothing. He walked away as quickly as he had
stepped behind me. I was alone feeling helpless and at fault. Afterall, I stood there helpless and
didn’t say no. It was my fault, right?
The rest of the night creeped by unbearably slow. The show finished and a group of ten
or so kids were left with a list of cleaning tasks. Wiping down tables, taking down streamers, and
sweeping a floor never seemed so tiring. After an eternity, I called my stepdad and told him the
night had concluded. I waited outside, in the snowy January air shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was
the cold or my body soul ripping away from my insides. He arrived and I sat in silence the short
eternity home. I briefly spoke with my mother and headed to bed. My silence screamed loudly
that night.
Less than a week later, it happened again.
The next days felt uneventful. I felt numb. I struggled to look myself in the mirror. Tying
my shoes became a marathon. I watched my life pass from the prison in my brain. To my family
and friends everything was alright. I didn’t dare whisper a word of what happened. I felt to
blame and I couldn’t allow my family to look at me with such shame. This guilt followed me
around for months.
In my silence I found a harsh scream telling me that my voice wasn’t meant to be heard.
These words left me alone in a dark and dangerous place. In depths of depression my life felt
worthless. In one last attempt to find peace in my head I found courage to confide in a friend.
The #metoo movement was storming the media and I didn’t want to be looked at as another
victim. With a pit in my stomach, I shared my story. His response was overwhelming. His
hushed voice kept saying it wasn’t your fault but, I argued back tirelessly. I didn’t say no, I was a
broken record player. It took nearly a year to share this experience and nearly two years to come
to an acceptance. In the moment I chose to be silent. The screaming and thrashing in my head
was never heard. I wish I could say I am the only girl or woman who has experienced this
deafening silence. The truth is millions of women have an experience as silent and as traumatic.
This experience is something I find myself reflecting on a lot. Millions of people face the
same issues I have but at times I still feel incredibly isolated. I feel like my voice is weak and
silent even at my loudest. For many women, including myself, sexual assault is something that is
difficult to talk about especially a personal experience. I’ve found solace in sharing with a group
of close friends and now you. At the end of the day each experience in life shapes individuals to
become a more authentic self, this experience is no exception. I cannot change the past, but I can
change the way I live my life as a result of the past.
