No, you can't play with my eyegaze.
No, I'm not being unreasonable with your child.
No, I'm not being selfish.
Do you really think I want to be stuck here? I use my eyegaze to speak.
You have a voice.
Use it.
It isn't a toy. Please don't recallibrate it.
No, I don't have games on my eyegaze.
You're talking to me right now. You don't need my device.
Do you have any idea what I would give to have a voice like yours? To be able to speak freely once again?
You have a voice.
I don't.
This is my way of speaking. From now until the day I die.
This robot piece of junk.
I'm not being antisocial and staring at a screen all day. It's not that I'm not trying hard enough.
If you were to feel yourself die a little more every day, you'd feel lost too.
Sometimes it seems like I don't have much to say.
But really, I have so many words in my head. I'm always thinking. I always have a response.
You're just not patient enough with me.
You have a voice.
This is my voice.
Of course I can't tell you to make your child stop touching it. Of course I can't physically restrain your child.
Your child is playing with my communication device.
It's the only way I can ask for help. The only way I can tell them to stop. The only way I can communicate.
You could never imagine what it's like to have a voice others can just take away from you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Can I play with your eyegaze?"
"No, you may not."
"Why not? You're not even using it."
"I'm- you're right! I have my own voice back!"
"Why are you surprised?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm just very happy to be talking to you right now!"
"Oh, OK. You're kind of freaking me out."
"I'm sorry, but I just haven't been able to speak for a long time. This isn't something that will last. I'm trying to use my voice as much as I can."
"Maybe if you were singing you would be less freaky."
"You're so right! I can even sing! Give me a song to sing."
"Uh, Old McDonald?"
"Sure! Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O..."
"You sound nice when you sing."
"Thank you! That means a lot."
"Keep singing, please."
"Alright, play some music for me."
"OK!"
I hear music, and I try to sing. But I can't. I'm back inside my head.
My alarm has just gone off. I'm really starting to hate that song.
YOU ARE READING
Twice Again
Short StoryWritten for The Disability Challenge - Mobility Prompts. "Evera. What a fitting name. Almost silly, if you ask me. 'Brave one'. Did they know I'd end up like this? Sometimes, I dream about being able to do something, but when I wake up, it's the la...