Alright guys, this is the NEW The Story of You and I, it is different then the original, much different but I am really happy and have a whole big plan for this story, its a summer love story this time, with different twists and problems. I hope you like what I have so far, its just the introduction.
Chapter One:
I often get a strong sense of longing on the first day of summer. Longing for night when I’m free from the shackles of my brothers needs. Longing for that one day every month where I spend three hours of my time listening to the sweetest sounds of music. Longing for school to start again so my mind is occupied and restricted from wondering; longing for silence. Longing for my life to begin.
The first day of summer is always the same, I get up at seven when my mom leaves for work and prepare a traditional breakfast for my brother. Toasted waffles layered with peanut butter and fruity pebbles (I gag every time I make it). After that I get my brother dressed in his jeans and t shirt because summers here in Spokane never reach higher than the record of seventy three degrees. Then we go to the park, where everyone stares.
My brother Ethan is different. He sits on the floor and lines up his toys for hours in different patterns that make no sense to me. He draws on everything, pictures to the finest detail from movies or T.V shows. He is exquisite at math, he can figure out how many skittles I’ve dropped before they hit the floor. Ethan is obsessed with SpongeBob Squarepants and I’m sure that if he could talk, it’d be all he talked about. Ethan was diagnosed with autism two years ago when he was seven and autism took his voice. It often impairs speech, or hearing, and social skills, but my mom and dad didn’t expect how much would be deprived from Ethan and how pricey treating autism would be. When the bills started to pile up in mounds on the kitchen table, my dad left.
So now people stare at my brother as he runs around franticly in the park, touching ever tree and stone, then running back to me to drag me over to his new “discovery.” They stare at his constantly tousled brown hair and wide blue eyes. They watch him as he makes grunting noises that only I understand. And they watch him shut down, even though in my eyes he is coming alive. I love watching my brother in the park, it’s amazing to watch him get excited instead of when at he’s at home, repeating the same activity all day long.
Ethan eventually gets tired and whines to go home, he reaches for my hand which I jerk away from him. He should know better. I speak to him, because I know he can hear me, but he only responds in grunts, whines and head nods.
“Did you enjoy the park today?”
Grunt.
“You really liked that one tree; the one with lots of moss didn’t you?”
Nod.
“Do you want chicken fingers for dinner? Mom is working late.”
Ethan shakes his head no and grumbles.
“Fish sticks?” I say, and in return I get a happy squeal, “Alright, fish sticks it is.”
As soon as we get home, my brother is immediately drawing on a chalk board; he was drawing the mossy tree from the park with green and brown chalk. I was putting fish sticks in the oven when he shrieked behind me, causing me to almost drop the pan. I whip around with my heart pounding to see that he had drawn part of the tree trunk with blue instead of brown. He continued to squeal as he scribbled over the rest of the picture and then erased.
Let him go through the motions I thought, that’s what all the therapists say, let him calm down before you get involved. Once the shrieking stopped, I came up behind him and spoke softly in his ear.
“It looks good, Ethan, it looks very good.” Always give positive feedback, criticism is foreign. “I like how you colored the leaves, it looks good Ethan.”
He grinned for half a second, and then went back to intently coloring his picture; the blue chalk had been smashed to pieces.
Two hours after dinner I put Ethan to bed, I read him the same story I read him every night, the Disney version of Robin Hood and he slowly but surely, fell fast asleep. I clunked down the stairs with relief. One summer day is done, around 109 more to go. My mother didn’t get back until late, really late. She stumbled into the door, queasy and half drunk, her hair was a mess and her makeup was runny.
“Work rough today?” I say sarcastically, “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Yeah whatever,” She grumbled, “Is Eli in bed?”
“Ethan. Mom, his name is Ethan.”
“Whatever, that’s the name your father gave him, I wanted Eli.”
“I like Ethan.”
“Whatever.”
“Mom, go to bed.” I sigh
“Okay, whatever.”
She stomped up the stairs, letting her heals fall off in the process. They tumbled down the stairs in loud thumping noises; noises I knew would wake Ethan. I hear him shout from upstairs, his anxiety kicking in. I run upstairs and sit next to his bed.
“It was just mom Ethan, she dropped her shoes down the stairs, and it was just mommy no one is going to get you.” I said, “I promise.”
Ethan still rocked back in forth in his bed.
Yay for summer.
