Mute
Step communication
"By the way" John said the next day in the playground as we played noughts and crosses on the steps, "I never caught your name. What is it?"
I stopped scratching out my noughts and chewed my lip. I couldn't stand my name back then; I found it stupid and complex. Why my mother decided to call me that, I will never know.
Sherlock, my name's Sherlock, The poor soul within me cried out. But I knew John couldn't hear him.
Instead I took a small pebble from the ground and started scratching my name onto the playground step.
S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K
"Sherlock…?" his eyes widened a little, "…that's a brilliant name"
Not as nice as John, my mind said a little sadly
"It's much better than my name; I'm just plain old John. Hey, maybe we should swap sometime" he laughed.
The sides of my mouth twitched a little, but again a smile wouldn't come out. John noticed.
"Ah, find it hard to smile as well? You're like my aunt. She can't talk nor smile. She can't even walk. She's like Stephen Hawking; she has to sit in a wheelchair all day. She has this special speaking machine too, but it makes her sound like a robot. Mum says they think she's got Motor…motor…"
Motor neuron disease? I wanted to say
"Motor neuron something. It basically means she may never be able to walk or talk properly. She made me this you know" he tugged at his jumper which was decorated with little kittens, "She used to make a lot of jumpers. But then something happened to her hands and they don't work properly no more. She doesn't make jumpers now" his face suddenly fell.
I wanted to say, that's awful, I'm sorry, but I couldn't so I just patted his hand instead.
"Its okay" he smiled at me thought it looked strained, "I guess these things can't be helped. Anyway, you're lucky you still have your legs. My aunt says hers were stolen from her"
I frowned slightly.
"She says they were stolen from her when she was born" John explained, "Funny, I didn't think it was possible to steal someone's legs"
John's innocence nearly made me cry again.
"What do you think of grown ups Sherlock?"
I paused then scratched a sad face onto the step. John laughed.
"Yeah, I feel like that all the time. But I don't understand grown ups sometimes. My mum says we need grown ups in order to survive. Because they sit down and have tea and talk about things like grown ups do. But then you hear about grown ups who do bad things. A grown up did a bad thing to my friend once"
What did he do? I asked with my eyes, seeing as my mouth refused to co-operate
"He used to hit him. Not like a smack, like a proper punch. He would come into school with bruises. You might know him…Peter Anderson?"
I blushed. Peter Anderson was the one who first started calling me Mute. I made sure I steered clear away from him whenever our paths crossed. I'd never noticed any bruises though.
"I thought grown ups only punched grown ups. I didn't know they punched children too"
Not all grown ups do that John. Only the bad ones.
I sighed, wishing the words would leave my mouth.
"Still, his dad's in jail now so he's alright. I feel sorry for him though. Dads are supposed to take care of you. And mums. Does your mum take care of you?"
I took the pebble again and started scratching onto the playground step.
D-E-A-D
It took a while for John to realise.
"Sorry" he said, looking horrified, "I didn't think…mums aren't supposed to die when you're young"
No one's supposed to die John, we just do. It's a natural form of life.
"Do you miss her sometimes?"
I nodded, wanting the subject to change
"I can't imagine my mum not being there. I can imagine dad not being there, he's barely there anyway. He sometimes sends me postcards from Ireland but he doesn't even do that much now. Sometimes I really miss him but…sometimes I don't"
I know how you feel…
"Sometimes I blame him for leaving. Even though he wasn't really leaving me and Harry, he was just leaving mum. But sometimes I feel like…I don't know…I feel like he doesn't really care"
He does care John. He loves you. He just feels bad for leaving you and he's worried you'll reject him.
"I wish I knew what you were thinking" he looked at me fondly, "You always have that look on your face, as if you're thinking of something. I wish I was as smart as you are. Most people think that people who can't speak are dumb. But you're not dumb"
I took the pebble again, and started scratching into the playground step.
I-LIKE-YOU
I stopped scratching out my noughts and chewed my lip. I couldn't stand my name back then; I found it stupid and complex. Why my mother decided to call me that, I will never know.
Sherlock, my name's Sherlock, The poor soul within me cried out. But I knew John couldn't hear him.
Instead I took a small pebble from the ground and started scratching my name onto the playground step.
S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K
"Sherlock…?" his eyes widened a little, "…that's a brilliant name"
Not as nice as John, my mind said a little sadly
"It's much better than my name; I'm just plain old John. Hey, maybe we should swap sometime" he laughed.
The sides of my mouth twitched a little, but again a smile wouldn't come out. John noticed.
"Ah, find it hard to smile as well? You're like my aunt. She can't talk nor smile. She can't even walk. She's like Stephen Hawking; she has to sit in a wheelchair all day. She has this special speaking machine too, but it makes her sound like a robot. Mum says they think she's got Motor…motor…"
Motor neuron disease? I wanted to say
"Motor neuron something. It basically means she may never be able to walk or talk properly. She made me this you know" he tugged at his jumper which was decorated with little kittens, "She used to make a lot of jumpers. But then something happened to her hands and they don't work properly no more. She doesn't make jumpers now" his face suddenly fell.
I wanted to say, that's awful, I'm sorry, but I couldn't so I just patted his hand instead.
"Its okay" he smiled at me thought it looked strained, "I guess these things can't be helped. Anyway, you're lucky you still have your legs. My aunt says hers were stolen from her"
I frowned slightly.
"She says they were stolen from her when she was born" John explained, "Funny, I didn't think it was possible to steal someone's legs"
John's innocence nearly made me cry again.
"What do you think of grown ups Sherlock?"
I paused then scratched a sad face onto the step. John laughed.
"Yeah, I feel like that all the time. But I don't understand grown ups sometimes. My mum says we need grown ups in order to survive. Because they sit down and have tea and talk about things like grown ups do. But then you hear about grown ups who do bad things. A grown up did a bad thing to my friend once"
What did he do? I asked with my eyes, seeing as my mouth refused to co-operate
"He used to hit him. Not like a smack, like a proper punch. He would come into school with bruises. You might know him…Peter Anderson?"
I blushed. Peter Anderson was the one who first started calling me Mute. I made sure I steered clear away from him whenever our paths crossed. I'd never noticed any bruises though.
"I thought grown ups only punched grown ups. I didn't know they punched children too"
Not all grown ups do that John. Only the bad ones.
I sighed, wishing the words would leave my mouth.
"Still, his dad's in jail now so he's alright. I feel sorry for him though. Dads are supposed to take care of you. And mums. Does your mum take care of you?"
I took the pebble again and started scratching onto the playground step.
D-E-A-D
It took a while for John to realise.
"Sorry" he said, looking horrified, "I didn't think…mums aren't supposed to die when you're young"
No one's supposed to die John, we just do. It's a natural form of life.
"Do you miss her sometimes?"
I nodded, wanting the subject to change
"I can't imagine my mum not being there. I can imagine dad not being there, he's barely there anyway. He sometimes sends me postcards from Ireland but he doesn't even do that much now. Sometimes I really miss him but…sometimes I don't"
I know how you feel…
"Sometimes I blame him for leaving. Even though he wasn't really leaving me and Harry, he was just leaving mum. But sometimes I feel like…I don't know…I feel like he doesn't really care"
He does care John. He loves you. He just feels bad for leaving you and he's worried you'll reject him.
"I wish I knew what you were thinking" he looked at me fondly, "You always have that look on your face, as if you're thinking of something. I wish I was as smart as you are. Most people think that people who can't speak are dumb. But you're not dumb"
I took the pebble again, and started scratching into the playground step.
I-LIKE-YOU