Amplified

The following story is based on the Greek myth, Echo and Narcissus.  Weaknesses like conceit, hubris, not showing hospitality or attempts to outwit fate were sure to bring about a dreadful curse. The gods were not without their foibles, especially  jealousy and revenge. The most contentious players on Mt. Olympus were Zeus and Hera, who used humans as pawns for revenge on each other. Pity the poor mortal who came between them.

As Hera stomped her way through the newsroom, I raced to block the office door. I should have noticed the fury in her eyes, the unmistakable body language of hate. But, no. I danced back and forth in front of the door, trying to block her way, even as Hera’s face reddened. The babble just flowed out of me: a non-stop chatter that ranged from commenting on the weather to Beyoncé to the price of eggs for god sakes. I blathered on as her fists balled and un-balled. Steam was coming out her ears when she shoved me aside and burst into her husband’s office. Oh. No. The tableau before us left an indelible impression. Office furniture pushed aside. Greta’s blond tresses draped over his sweaty, flabby pink chest. This was not going to end well.

All I ever wanted to do was to become a journalist. My dream was to rise through the ranks so I could speak truth to power. That is why I took the entry level go/for job with POX News, hoping for the opportunity to be given more responsibilities and ultimately a voice. So, when Mr. Bayles, the powerful CEO, asked me to distract his wife Hera while he had a “meeting” with a star anchor, I did his bidding. While keeping watch, I reflected back to when I was hired. During those first weeks at POX, I observed my co-workers flee to the bathroom in tears and strained to glean the meaning from whispers in the breakroom. There were rumors about Bayles demanding sexual favors for privilege and the tension in the newsroom left me uneasy. Still, I chose to ignore the sudden departures of seasoned anchors, blinded by the glitz of a successful TV show and hoping some of it would rub off on me. Caught in the moment, I failed to see how I was being used. Self-confidence can be a strange thing sometimes. Mine was like a toothpaste tube, squeezed and bulging in all the wrong places. I thought I could handle Bayles, but had to reckon with why I was too timid to speak out for my co-workers. Since Bayles hadn’t made any advances toward me, I felt immune to his manipulations. I never imagined I would become the pawn in a power dynamic between husband and wife. Reflecting later on the whole office debacle, I had come to realize that predators like Bayles knew exactly who to play and who was vulnerable to his pounce. 

I backed out of the office ever so slowly, hoping to evade the inevitable scene. But in a flash, Hera turned and fire-hosed her wrath upon me. She unleashed a string of invectives that rendered all action in the newsroom stilled.  I sat curled into a fetal position, hands over my ears, waiting for the curses and threats to stop. When I finally raised my head, it was as if I was positioned in front of a diabolical diorama, looking in at assorted shocked facial expressions staring back at me. The eerie silence was unsettling, prompting me to explain what had just happened. I mean, how was this my fault?! I rose to speak my defense, but nothing came out. Not even a squeak. I tried again, moving my lips to form the words of rage and righteousness, but again, I only felt a breezy breath on my lips. No sound. I heard my name invoked, “Alessia, are you OK?” 

“Are you OK,” my words felt faint and weak. That was not what I wanted to say.  

“We warned you about Bayles; he is a menace and a curse.”

“A curse, a curse,” was my fading reply. Oh dear. I was not making myself understood at all. My brain and lips were out of synch. 

“Alessia, what were you doing there? Why did you decide to mix it up with Hera, of all people?

“…of all people.” Ok, this had gotten downright weird. Was that last phrase in my head or out loud? Was I just repeating what my co-workers said? Oh gods, this is not happening.  I decided it best to just shut up for a while, until I could do some damage assessment. I slinked back to my desk and tried to become one with the chair. Utterly confused by Bayles’ and Hera’s behavior, I didn’t know how to gauge my own. I made a dash for the stairs at the end of my shift, thankful for the 8 stories where I could rhythmically descend into my own private hell, alone.   

But, alas, the horrors did not end there. I was never able to speak my thoughts aloud again. The trauma of the Bayles-Hera incident left me with a kind of selective mutism in which I could not utter words aloud, or worse, could only repeat the last thing said. But my voice was not quieted. More determined than ever to expose work place harassment, I could still echo the hopes of women in a new way and speak truth to power. Writing was the way I first freed my inner voice and it remains so. That is how I came to co-author a sexual harassment report filed by the five women and counting, who had been victimized by the monster, Bayles. After more women came forward, he was forced to resign in disgrace. He was further reigned in by an indictment and jail sentence. I can just imagine what the visits with Hera are like now. 

            Our new CEO and my current immediate boss, Jen Ekdikisi had a special empathy for my speaking difficulties and has assigned me to write the chyrons for the daily broadcasts. It is especially delicious to have visible input to the news, even if it’s just the banner crawling across the bottom of the screen. “DISGRACED MISOGYNIST BAYLES RESIGNS”—yup, my work.”; BAYLES, SERIAL RAPIST, CANNOT EVADE PROSECUTION”; “THE PATRIARCHY QUIVERS AS ALL-WOMEN BOARD AT POX IS NAMED”—all mine. Where I once felt tentative and insecure about my place in the newsroom, I am now pleased to challenge myself to find the most creative ways to contribute. Not being able to speak has made me a keen observer. Humans are definitely entertaining to watch.