The Test

I played with my pasta, swirling the pieces round the plate while I listened to Gabe's anecdotes and snippets regarding the school.

He spoke quickly, and confidently, and I began to recognize his distinctive laugh.

I had lasted fifteen years perfectly content with communication through eye contact. I had remained close to my family, and became extremely accustomed to speaking in this fashion.

I had never wished for the ability to speak, nor did I resent myself for who I was. I trained myself to allow emotion to channel through my body language, accepting of the concept of substitution.

God fucking damnit.

Gabe Saporta was sat across a small canteen table from me, pushing all his effort into a conversation that was honestly one sided, despite the emotion I conveyed through the expressions I wore.

For the first time, I felt my throat consider solid words. My desire to speak was paramount, but my mind refused to allow me to vocalize the jumbled sounds.

My childhood security barrier had been torn away like masking tape. I was struggling to continue forcing my smiles just to bring happiness.

Fuck.

The words kept dancing on the tip of my tongue, but the moment I focused they'd disappear or contrict my throat.

Just say something, you idiot. I kept screaming at myself, fearful that Gabe would forget about me in a few days, repulsed by my strange inability to talk.

Just say something, something tiny, anything to show that I am a real, responsive being.

I couldn't.