His Vision of Art

4 Months

Tarq:

I wake up, my eyes still droopy and my hair a mess. I turn to see Uriah next to me, his body tucked up next to mine.
It took him some time to get used to his new environment, but I refused to let him out of my sight.

I remember the first month he hesitated to get into the same bed with me, and I realized how he can't process anything I said to him. So he slept in the bed and I slept on the floor for a while.
He didn't talk to people, but I tried to make conversation with him, and after a few weeks of taking care of him he seemed to trust me again, now refusing to sleep without me by his side.

He stays in my house now, and I've even made a studio for him to work at when he feels like drawing.
He doesn't draw much anymore, but he likes to write things down.
We've made huge progress with his speech, especially since I've been nonstop talking to him, hoping that the doctor was right when she told me repetition would help him remember things a bit easier.

I make Uriah breakfast and he follows me into the studio, he takes a seat on the couch like always, and I sit myself across from him, reaching over for a pencil to start sketching.

"So Uriah..." I say slowly.
I look up from my pad to see him carefully watching me.

I smile softly. "What's your name?"

He blinks, and his voice is delicate.
"West....west...."
He trails off a bit, his eyes squinting a bit as if he's struggling to finish his sentence. He's probably forgotten what I've said to him already.

That's why we've been practicing.

"Yes. West. Uriah West." I say smiling.

He smiles back then, and my heart melts a bit.
"Uriah" he says, repeating me.

"Yes." I praise softly. "That's right. Uriah. And what's my name?"

Uriah hesitates, his hands clenching and his eyes fall to my hands. I give him my pad and pencil. He scribbles something illegible on it and bites his bottom lip.
"...Tarq." He says after a beat.

"Yes." I smile.

He smiles back. "I like to--I like...uh...I like writing. I have to write--to write it down because...it...it helps." He manages slowly.

I give a silent praise for his sentence, scooting my chair closer so that I can reach over and hold his hands in mine.

"How old are you?" I ask slowly.

Uriah squints again. And he doesn't answer.

"Could you--could you say it...again?" He asks slowly.

"Yes. How old are you, Uriah?" I ask giving his hands a soft squeeze. I know that his brain is able to now slowly process my words, and he knows what he wants to say...he just can't form the words, his brain won't let him do it easily.

"27" he says.

"That's me, silly." I say rubbing my forehead against his.

He thinks again, and I wait patiently.
"23" he says after a beat.

"You were 23 last year." I whisper quietly.

"22!" He says quickly. He pauses then for a longer time then you usually would before laughing. "No wait!" He says shaking his head.

"Uriah." I say reaching out and gently catching his jaw. He grins and I can't help but smile back. I know he's really trying.

"Think about it. 22, 23..."

Uriah presses his lips together. "22...22, 23...22, 23...24!" He says then.

"Yes, you're 24, and I'm 27."

He gives a wry smile and I kiss his hand.

"Okay last question. Okay?" I ask

He pauses. Squinting. Processing. Then nods.

"What day is it today?" I ask

Uriah goes silent, and again, I patiently wait. He's doing amazing, from going to not talking at all, to this. All in only a span of 4 months.

"Monday...Tuesday...Tuesday....
Wednesday....Thursday...."

Uriah's hand squeezes mine, leaning forwards. "Thursday!"

I kiss the corner of his mouth. "Yeah...it's Thursday." I whisper.
I slide off my chair, taking a seat next to Uriah and letting him climb onto my lap, the pencil and pad next to us.
I grab the two things, starting a sketch, Uriah watching me silently like he does everyday.

"What...are you...drawing...drawing today?" He asks.

I press the side of my head gently against his, trying to see my work while he also tries to watch. I love this. I love him. I press a quick kiss to his temple.

"You."