PUNK PROSE: Monotone by Umaima Munir

Monotone

Noa likes to refer to people by their most prominent features, the ones she knows they’ll be insecure about. Never their names. It’s Bald Spot, or Teeth, or Eyebrows. It’s from high school, according to her. From being called Flat Chest for years herself. She’s really good at it. Finds the exact thing a person hates about themselves. 

When we fight and she calls me Monotone for the first time, I ask her about it. What the hell is wrong with you?  Why do you do that?

Don’t deflect, she fires back. You’re manipulating the conversation. She’s right, because the fight was about how I left her alone in the club bathroom when we went out and she had to throw up and because I didn’t hold her hair back she got vomit all over her hair and a friend joked about how she smelled. On the way back on the train she gave me the silent treatment. Except for the few times she let me hold a water bottle in front of her face so she could take sips from it. 

Then it somehow becomes about my voice. You never sound like you care. It’s your fucking voice. It’s too monotone.  I don’t answer. I try to feel my voice in my throat, ask it what its problem is. What does my voice have to do with anything? My voice answers: When she came to look for you after, you asked her if she was okay, but you sounded bored.  Even in my head it sounds dull. A plodding kind of sound. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I add a little jump in there, but Noa frowns because it’s right in the middle between “I’m” and “sorry” and now it sounds like I got hit by something while talking. Is this funny to you?  She’s got that face on, the one where she’s building up to a huge outburst where she leaves and stays with her friend until I send a million texts and voice notes apologizing. 

Monotone Voice jumps in: Maybe don’t sound joyful. Try adding the jump at the very end, after the sorry. 

I try it. 

Noa’s frown deepens. 

As she packs her stuff in silence, I’m impressed at how dull my crying sounds, even to my ears. Add a jump in there, come on! Monotone Voice begs. That’ll be the one to fix it.  But I just get another glare shot at me over toiletries being stuffed into a bag. So I give up and get her a bottle of water for the ride to her friend’s.  

When she’s finally gone, I try out my crying alone. I add the jump in different places. Even try quivering it a bit to mix it up. Still too tedious. Monotone Voice chimes in. Maybe it’s not you, maybe it’s them. I go to sleep. In my dream I see Monotone Voice. They aren’t much, just a line on the horizon that keeps going and going. I try to follow along, find the end and see if maybe there’s a jump attached there, but it takes too long so I sit down and try talking. How do I fix you? 

They reply: Maybe you just don’t feel anything. Maybe there’s nothing to fix. 

That’s silly, because when Noa didn’t reply to any of  my texts I sat down on the floor of the bedroom and dug my fingernails into my legs so I wouldn’t collapse into myself. But it didn’t work and I hyperventilated until I almost passed out. 

That doesn’t mean anything. Monotone Voice sounds bored. Not in the long run. Because to everyone else you just sound like a straight line. 

When I wake up, Noa isn’t back. I sit on the floor. I try adding more jumps to my voice. 

--Umaima Munir