Buzzed

Alphabet

"Ba ba," was literally all I heard myself saying for the past 5 years. I mean, not like that, otherwise I would sound like a damn walrus. It was in between my sentences. Literally, ever since I was a child, in class, I'd be called on by Ms. Stradford to sing the ABC's in front of all my friends.

My tongue buzzed.

"Ba ba," I would start, "ABCDEF." It took nearly forever just to get to Z, and I knew then that if my parents didn't find a way to get rid of such a pestilence in my mouth, my future would be in ruins.

They hired a speech therapist for me. His name was Mr. Peach. I disliked him. No, as a matter a fact, I envied him. He always bragged about how big, bold and healthy his two boys were. I think Tommy and Brayden were their names.

But even despite the therapy, my tongue still buzzed.

At conferences, Ms. Stradford would always tell my parents how good I was doing in school. As she pointed at the standards, gradually commenting my performance in each of them, she'd skip the speech categorie. I never liked Ms. Stradford, anyway.

My mother would whisper something in my dad's ear, and he'd tell my English teacher that we have to go. I never knew why, but we always had to.

Things were quite confusing then, those fairly odd times when words and letters bounced off each taste bud of your tongue, through your teeth and echoing out your mouth. Your audience would hear this echoe and laugh. I don't blame them, because these sounds were like near-death flamingos calling for help.

But I always remembered that one day. That only day. The last day of therapy.

Mr. Peach would start, "Okay Laylee, say round a bout." His tongue would glide through each word. It was my turn, my turn to fail. To fail once again.

"Ba ba, round a-- ba ba, round a--"

"C'mon Laylee, you can do it."

"Round a bou-- ba ba, round a bout." My crescent moon frown turned into a grin. I can't believe I said it! I turned to face my parents. My mother was crying and my father was frowning. I don't know why my father was in such a bad mood for my accomplishment, but I was happy. And that was all that mattered.