Chapter 2: Changing Seasons

I was pretty much sheltered from the rest of the world for the first nine years of my life. My ‘parents’ didn’t take me far, and I was never allowed out of their sight. Derek grew older and got a different life than I did. He was sent to a public school for preschool and had a lot of friends. He was loud and annoying but had a kind heart, and as he grew stronger I faded. ‘Mom’ was pregnant again. With another kid, I’d still be seen but would be shoved in the distance.

I wondered what would happen if I just didn’t talk or move or do anything.

I got exceeding grades in school, but didn’t care much for anything at all. I had to read using braille, which was little dots on a paper that made me feel stupid because I was that kid who read with his fingers. I had to take my cane around with me in new places, and I tripped often. I learned to write without seeing the words I wrote, feeling the pencil in my hand and making alien scratch marks. I didn’t want to go to a private school anymore. I wanted so desperately to become normal.

Then there were the sketches.

I’d take my alien pencil and hold the plasticy-woody thing in my hand, drawing lines and circles and dots. I’d etch out the being of my soul onto that paper, and cried when my parents laughed and my brother tore it up. I grew sad and depressed at a young age, would cry out to a God I didn’t fully believe in. I retreated further inside myself. I had no friends.

Daria Jefferson was born that year, the newest addition to my ‘happy’ ‘family’. Again with the crying and diapers. Derek had middle child syndrome; he threw fits and destroyed everything in the house because he felt like he wasn’t getting enough attention. I got headphones for Christmas and turned up the music loud to tune out Derek’s screaming and Daria’s crying.

Finally my ‘parents’ decided to send me to a public school. The private school was getting to be too expensive, even though they assured me it wasn’t a money thing.

I was eleven when I first felt attracted to someone.

It was the end of elementary school 5th grade dance, and I was greeted by a voice. It was this kid I didn’t know very well, but everyone talked about them a lot.

“The music’s a bit too loud,” said the person, half-yelling. Their voice was a bit accented, though I couldn’t tell what the accent was.

I smiled. “Yeah.”

I felt a hand brush mine, and my heart sped up just a bit. “You’re going to Fredmont Middle, right?”

Another smile. Another “Yeah.”

I felt the person relax slightly. “I am too. Good to see a familiar face there-” they stopped, realizing what they’d said. “I mean-”

“It’s okay. People do that all the time.” I didn’t want them treating me with special privilege. Their voice got a bit softer.

“It must be hard, to just not… not see.” said the person.

“Not really. I mean, you get used to it.”

The person deflated slightly. There was a silence, the booming of the music. A sip of punch. “Sorry we weren’t friends. I just moved here this year, and you weren’t in my class or anything. You seem cool though.” the person said, a bit uncomfortably but well-meaning.

“You could say that.” I said. They had no authority to.

Then, all of the sudden, there was a silence, and a loud screaming. I gripped to the voice’s hand instinctively, and then the screaming died down and the music returned.

“W-What happened,” I shouted.

The voice laughed. I liked the laugh, and how it sent a bit of vibration through my skull. “The power went out for a minute, that’s all.”

The person let go of my grip, and I breathed out again.

“By the way, I never catched your name.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m David.”

The person shook my hand firmly, business-like. “I’m Ryan,” he said.

He said.

Ryan.

He.

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