The Infinity Of Clouds And Us

Four

It got me thinking.

I decide to spend one more day at home; my new home, before I go to school. Do not get me wrong, I am really excited to start fresh in a new school. Nobody knows who I am and I would like to keep it that way for a while. I am excited, but I just cannot take my mind off what Jaden said back at the ice cream parlor. What she said really affected me in a way I could not focus my attention on what is important and what is not important. What she said about Caitlin affected me, and I am not sure if it was because I deny the fact that Caitlin is fictitious female who had sprung out of my favorite novelist's thoughts. I pretend that she is indeed a real woman with real feelings and emotions that I respect and admire. Sometimes, it comes to the point people saw me as a pretentious human being who had a cancer-stricken imaginary girlfriend.

Caitlin is the opposite of me. She is as loquacious as a bumble bee, whose body so lithe and lissome. Her brown hair as described by the novel is opulent and rich; until she underwent chemo of course. I do not want to share too much details of the book because it makes me feel surreptitious with Caitlin as she said that she hated people talker behind her back. Regardless that I talk about her in the sweetest manner as I can, she still doesn't like anyone talker about her. She said it made her feel conscious about herself. I do not want that.

The bottom-line is, Jaden's words got me thinking over the fact I lived as if I live in a world where only I would know what is in it or what is not in it. It made me feel like I found myself in Caitlin's world whereas as I should live in my own.

I stare at the picture of my father that I have in my wallet. I do not know much about him; I used to. After he died, my mom told me that I did not talk for one year. As hard as it is to believe, I really did not talk for one year. She said that I would not talk even if I was forced to. She made me carry a whiteboard around to write the things that I wanted to say.

After I met Grace, that's the time I started talking again. It was a summer morning at the local bakery store and I was looking at the fresh bread inside. My eyes filled with scintilla of craving, and I stood there for half an hour. I had no money with me and I was nine. After those minutes of eyeing those cooling bread on the rack, I felt an arm touch my shoulder. I turned around and I saw an old lady. At first, she looked worried, but when I gave her a smile, she quickly returned it. She handed me a piece of bread in plastic wrapper; still hot. I was stunned with her kind gesture considering I was then a complete stranger. I looked at her for seconds without saying anything until I manage to squeeze out a few words.

"Thank you." I said to her. Those were my first words after the year of silence.

Fast forward to the present time, I am a sixteen year old boy with no friends except an eighty-four year old woman. That isn't as bad as it sounds. I used to be really quiet as I've been told. During my recovery after the year of silence, I would talk from time to time, but basically spend hours sitting alone. I'm way past that. When I was ten, my mom made me talk to this middle aged man that she said was her friend. It was only a year ago that I found out he was actually a child psychologist. I felt dissembled. I thought he just wanted to hear what I thought of the world, unknown his intentions were paid for, nevertheless, I keep in touch with him and talk to him whenever I have problems. He actually helped me to relearn the art of socialization. I started to socialize with people much more often, but still not as much as they my mom claimed I did when I was a kid.

"You've been spacing out lately." I feel a hand on my shoulder, I turn around to see who – it's Malcolm.

I try to think of something to say, "You're home pretty early?" I let out a stream of air out.