the long way home [ h.s. ]

Three | 3

three | 3

☓

One time, he lost his shoe.

I remember that day, perhaps the most, out of all others.

He had only made it about halfway down the path; feet kicking, limbs buzzing with electricity.

And then suddenly, all I could see was his overturned sneaker laying in the dirt, and the fading image of him, growing farther and farther by the second.

I felt mad at him that day.

I had been sitting in my seat, thinking about how he didn't talk even though he was well capable, and that I wanted somebody to tell him that he was ungrateful and stupid.

Some people can't talk at all, even if they want to.

Even if they'd give anything.

☓

I only have one brother named Thomas, in the fourth grade, and I love him more than anything in the whole wide world.

He's young but wise beyond his years; gentle and thoughtful, and he likes to read his books before going to sleep.

When I get home he's sitting on the living room chair waiting, with his legs crossed and blue eyes transfixed on my backpack.

"How was sc-school?" he chirps. His foot swings back and forth.

I smile and set down my things.

"Painless enough," I mimic, striding over and plopping down next to him in the large recliner.

I notice that his hair is tousled up, not in its usual blonde combover, and get worried.

"What happened here?" I ask, running my fingers through the soft little tufts which poke out in different directions.

He looks down.

"They s-said it looks d-dumb when I comb it."

My stomach burns from the sudden feeling of anger that sweeps through my body.

"Who, Thomas?" I ask, rubbing up and down his arm. "Who said that to you?"

I look at his lip, which he has started biting recently. It makes me twiddle my thumbs because I don't want it to bleed, if he ends up doing damage.

I sit patiently, holding onto him.

But he won't look at me.

And he won't speak.

☓

I remember the day that my mom first suggested the speech therapist. It was in the early October, and decorations for Halloween had just started going up.

She came home from her office, blazer undone and hanging loosely off her tall frame, and went straight to making dinner.

Thomas and I were playing Scrabble on the table; his favorite. Back then he was only about six, and I was fourteen.

So far, we had several words on the board.

Dog.

Girl.

Ladder.

Rain.

Politician.

"How was your day?" Mom asked.

She had her face buried inside the cupboards.

"Good."

"F-fine."

Silence.

And then dad came home later to all of us eating, and somewhere between a spoonful of soup and rice, it happened.

"I think we need to go to a specialist. For Thomas."

And I can remember, even now, the exact sound of my father's fork, clattering onto the china plate.

Loud and painful, breaking a clean chunk out of the silence throughout our kitchen.

I don't think I'd ever seen him that angry before.

"What are you saying, Catherine?"

My mother's whole face became flushed with shame.

Regret.

She told him that she wanted Thomas to see a special speech therapist that would help the stutter.

Make it disappear, like magicians do with white rabbits.

"I think it could be good for him," she said, taking her time to chew on the words before spitting them out. "The kids at school have been making comments, saying that--"

I watched as my father clenched his teeth.

I could see the tightening of his fists.

The whiteness of his knuckles.

"My boy is not going to see some imbecile that'll tell him he's got an issue. He's fine just the way he is. He doesn't need a thing."

It was after he said that, that Thomas looked like he would cry if he stayed at the table. His pretty blue eyes were swelled up and pink; and his fingers reached over onto my thigh, gently touching the jean fabric as if silently pleading for help.

I asked if we could leave.

And I carried him up to his room over my shoulder, telling him not to worry, that I loved him and that he was perfect in his own way and there's nothing wrong with that at all.

☓☓☓

a/n

Another update. Wooooo!

And finals are almost over! So I will be free to write and to read and to watch movies and do what I please :D

I hope everyone reading is enjoying TLWH so far. Please vote and comment! It helps me get recognized and moves me forward. :)

Good evening! xoxo