Mimic Me

Sand Never Sticks

I watched silently as the waves crashed against the sand and retreated back into the ocean. Every shade of blue the water contained was completely different and I was the only one who could tell. I felt the wind blow and sand hit my cheeks. I could smell the sweet perfume of a girl walking by. I could taste the salty air down my throat. All of these senses and feelings filled my brain familiar and bland, all except for hearing. The sounds I'd never noticed and the noises I would never hear. I couldn't even imagine what it felt like to hear. My brain couldn't comprehend the sense of sound waves nor could it predict what a loud concert might feel like with instruments ringing in my ears.

I layed back onto the sand dune I rested on. I fidgeted with the sand and the buzz that spread across my hand as it fell between my fingers.

'Schools tomorrow.' I thought to myself. My first day of real school in a real classroom where there was no 'video off' button to ease my mind. Both of my parents agreed that I had been homeschooled for far too long and that it was time for me to socialize and make some friends. I was more reasonable than them, I knew that wouldn't be the case. Sign language was something they taught in Kindergarten for a day or two, it wasn't something people learned fluently. I didn't want to talk to anybody either, I would much rather just observe and avoid as much contact with people as I could.

I was jittery and anxious. If people asked me something I wouldn't be able to answer them. If the teachers called on me I wouldn't notice. If people talked about me I would never know. I couldn't think of one thing that would be exciting about tomorrow.

For hours I layed there without moving. I probably looked lifeless. If there was someone who cared enough they would ask if I were okay. Maybe if that girl walked by again she would wonder if I were alive or not.

I wondered why no one ever thought to ask me questions such as these. I was one of those kids that with just one look you could tell wasn't okay. But still no one ever seemed to notice. Except my parents of course. They seemed to despise the way I acted. I say 'seemed' because they had never taken the time to learn sign language themselves even though their son's been deaf since birth. I guess that was my answer. If my parents didn't even try to find ways to communicate with me, why should strangers worry about me or even acknowledge my presence at all? I simply wasn't worth the trouble.

Hardly anyone ever came to this beach, that girl had been one of the only other people I'd seen here. I never swam and I had never even touched the water. I just sat in this exact spot every time I came. I sat here to think. I sat here to cry. I sat here to regret. The girl on the other hand walked right against the shores, the water soaking into her shoes. Once I had even seen her walk into the water fully clothed and stay under for a great amount of time. At first I had thought she was trying to drown herself for she had always seemed gloomy and tired, but after a minute or two she came back up.

If she had been trying to drown herself I wouldn't have done anything. I would understand that she didn't want to be saved and I would have stayed still. Many stable people thought saving people from suicide was a good thing. They thought they would be thanked and applauded later by the others they saved. But they had never felt the way we do. They had never felt like they couldn't breathe, they had never doubted that they had someone who loved them. And those who have are lying. Happy people always have someone who loves them, they are too happy to resist. Others are naturally drawn toward them.

Once the sky had slipped into twilight I stood up and started making my way home. I walked down the same path and brushed my hand against the same grasses and ferns, letting the same wildflowers and raspberry bushes scratch against my legs, the thorns tearing open the thin skin. A few streaks of blood trickled down my leg as I walked, turning my white socks red.