15. Chapter Fifteen #2
That also sounds really nice. The world is so fast now.
Or, I guess, I’m so slow. When we were together before, I’d get drowned in his words.
He’d talk so much and so fast, and by the time I wanted to say something, he’d be moving on.
It hasn’t been that hard to keep up with him this time, maybe because he understands me a little more now, or because it’s a better day with that weird magic still lingering, but either way it’ll be nice to have the option when I need it.
“You can use it whenever you want. You can also come up with other signals and let me know what they are later. Something that doesn’t require you to have the board nearby, something smaller, something that makes noise like a bell, something portable, anything like that.
We’ll use this for now, but don’t feel stuck with it.
I can help you come up with ideas later if you want. ”
I nod, trying not to let my mind spin about other things that could work. I can think about that later. Maybe even let him help.
This is all… really nice.
“So, we talked about the mailbox and I gave you the wipe-off board. You also have the response flashcards from before.” He reaches down to a box beside his chair, pulling it into his lap and removing the lid.
The box is just small enough for him to be able to lean over it and place the flashcards on the coffee table, YES, NO, I DON’T KNOW/MAYBE, all facing me.
“And the name cards from before, too. I went and added the name signs for those who have them. Thank you, again, for sharing those with me. They’re just small pictures at the bottom for now, but I can make them larger if needed.
” He starts to set out the name cards in a row just above the first set. “Now I want to give you these.”
He’s holding a thick stack of what looks to be laminated flash cards, held together by an oversized keyring.
This time, he doesn’t move to place them down but moves to hand them to me.
When I take them, they start to separate, fanning out so I can see bits of brightly colored pictures and words.
I catch a glimpse of a glass of water, an open book, and what looks like part of a shirt.
“Sometimes it’ll be easier for you to have words to choose from, instead of having to dig around in your mind to find the right one. This will help with that.”
My throat goes tight, but not in a panicked way.
It’s a twisted good-hurt feeling at the realization that he actually understands.
Maybe not all the way, but he understands the parts that matter the most right now.
He understands what’s difficult for me and what I need.
He’s giving me things that are actually going to help.
All of this is going to be so much help.
“They’re in alphabetical order, but you can just rifle through them when you can’t think of the word you’re looking for until you come across it, or come across something similar to get us started.
We can also change the order so they’re separated into categories, if that makes it easier. Foods, actions, items, so on.”
I flip through them more purposefully now.
Each has at least two sections - a word or a phrase written at the top, then a picture of hands, sometimes with arrows if it requires movement, to show the sign for the word.
Many of them have a little drawing that matches the word too, if it’s something that can be drawn.
Like the glass and book and shirt I had seen earlier.
There must be at least 50 of them, if not more.
Some overlap with words from the book Ace gave me when I first got here, but some are new, like ‘bored’ or ‘headache’ or - oh.
Music.
There’s a card for ‘music’. Ace’s hands doing the movements were much nicer to look at than a boring card. At least I know how to call the card boring now, though.
“I’d also like to work on building that trust with you, like I mentioned last time.
I think a great way for us to do that would be to practice signing together.
I’ve found a few lessons that an ASL teacher would use, but we can also just pick something random and learn signs about it.
It’s raining out today. We could learn the sign for ‘rain’, for ‘cloud’, for ‘umbrella’, or even for ‘wet’ and ‘dry’. Just as an example.”
I look through the cards some more. It’s satisfying. I like the feel of the little squares of plastic in my hands, and the soft swoosh they make when I flip them just right. I like the colors - even the cards with only written words and signs drawn still have some color.
The warm pop-pop-pop feeling from before is multiplying, filling me up until I’m pretty sure I might cry, or maybe smile, or maybe both.
Dr. Singh was pulling all of these items out of a box he built just for me.
He cared enough to do that. To put in the work to put together a box full of good things all for me.
A box full of things I need to communicate.
Full of things I can use to finally be heard.
It’s like a security blanket wrapping around me from the inside out.
It makes the idea of coming back here again and again so much easier to face.
It reminds me of the bag from Ace, with the notebooks I use every day, the pretty pens, the ASL book, and the hair products I finally got myself to use - smelling so much like mamá, filling my chest with something caught between nostalgia and mourning, like a comforting hug that you need but know will make you burst into tears the moment the person gets their arms around you.
I think of how he told me we were going to write my story together. I think of the promise that he’d help me make it a happy ending, no matter what. No matter what we use to get there. No matter if I get the ability to talk back. No matter how long it takes.
My hands are a little shaky when he hands me what he claims is the last thing for the day. My eyes are burning. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep myself together.
This is from the box, just like everything else.
It’s a laminated sheet of paper that’s full of colors.
When I look closer, I realize it’s made of circles.
Three of them. Each circle has little pieces, almost like slices, a few of them grouped by matching colors as the pieces build around the center.
There’s a name for this. We learned about it in… math? Science? There’s a name for what this is. I think there’s a name that’s even more specific for this type of… whatever it’s called.
What’s that word? Those two words?
Was it math or science?
Why can’t you ever remember anything when you need to?
The paper makes a wobbly sort of sound as the lamination fights against my suddenly tightening hold. I force my hands to relax. I force myself to take a breath.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t remember the word. Or both words, if I’m right and there are two different words. If it’s important, he’ll tell me. I shouldn’t let myself get frustrated. I shouldn’t let myself ruin what’s been such a good session. Such a good day. Such a good almost-24 hours, even.
“That is going to be our feelings chart - or feelings wheel. I’ll likely use the terms interchangeably as long as you don’t mind.”
Chart.
That’s it. That’s the word.
This is a chart. This is a feelings chart.
And this particular type of feelings chart is - is - is a pie chart.
A feelings pie chart.
The center is made out of six bold colored pieces with the words - sad, disgust, anger, fear, surprise, and happy written on each.
The next circle of slightly smaller pieces is made up of branches of each of the big ones.
Words like lonely, dissapointed, anxious, and confused.
The outermost circle is made of even smaller pieces with even more specific words.
There’s perplexed, disrespected, devastated, lib-
I pause, stroking my thumb over the word written in pale yellow - liberated.
“I have a second copy of that for us to keep in the box in my office, so you can keep that for yourself. The entire back peels off to make it a sticker, if you want to put it on the inside of a notebook or wherever you’d like.
The one we’ll use in here is a little bigger, but that one is more travel-sized.
Can you read all of the words okay with that size? ”
I keep staring at liberated.
Everyone kept saying free when we first got here. Everyone but me.
I still can’t now, unless I write it or find a card for it, but I can say liberated.
I could say it right now.
I wait for that to feel - well… liberating.
It doesn’t.
Or… it does?
It doesn’t and does and doesn’t and does-
I can say things, I can say so many things, I can show Nolan and Bryce and Dr. Singh and Ace how I’m feeling with a single point of my finger. My eyes catch on the word humiliated. The word frustrated. The word ashamed. The word overwhelmed.
I shouldn’t need charts or cards or wipe-off boards. I’m free. I’m liberated. Why can’t my body just go back to normal now? Why can’t happy things just last a little longer?
“Matt?”
Not my name.
That’s not my name.
I’m not here, I’m not real, I’m just a ghost.
Ghosts can’t be happy.
Ghosts can’t be liberated.
Ghosts can’t be free.
“Matt? Do you have your bunny with you? Can you pull out your bunny?”
I’m not real, I’m not real, I’m not-
“There you go. Feel that? Feel how fuzzy he is?”
I’m not- wait.
Fuzzy.
Yeah. Yes. Fuzzy, warm, dry, good, bunny, fuzzy.
“Just breathe. Keep feeling his fur and breathe, okay?”
I concentrate on pulling air into my lungs as I pet my bunny over and over. I hadn’t realized my breathing had gone wrong, but it must have because there’s an ache in my lungs like I hadn’t been getting enough oxygen before. Something prickly-wrong crawls inside me at the thought.
I was suffocating and I didn’t even know it.