aphasic

chapter one

        "Oh, when will he say his first word?" I watch my mom pace back and forth. Her slipper covered feet make almost no noise as she walks on the carpeted floor, where I, a mere two year old, is seated watching my caretaker look so worried.

"Darling," I see my tall dad walk over and put his strong hand on my mom's frail shoulder, "he will say it soon enough, don't worry." My mother looks up to my father with tear filled worrisome eyes.

"He's two, hunny, two! Children usually say their first word when they're one!" My mom screams this while pointing a shaky finger at me.

"Our baby is not speaking. He is not normal, he isn't ok." My sturdy father gasped and putted both of his hands on my mother's shoulders.

"Sweetness, you need to calm down. I-It's gonna be ok." My mother snaps and breaks down crying. Her mascara running down her rosy cheeks, her curly and short blonde hair suddenly seems to get more frail, her arms are now wrapped around my father, searching for comfort.

"Our child, our little baby Aaron." I see the image get disorientated and swirl into nothingness.

        I sit up quickly in my lonely all white covered twin bed. My hands support my almost non existing weight until I fully sit myself up. The window to the right of my bed is blocked by the shades, yet the morning sunrise still peaks in through the cracks. I run my fingers through my messy bed hair and huff out. I rub my eyes and stare at my window for a second. My eyes trail down the path of rays peeking out of the shades, rolling down to my wooden floor.

For a moment I felt calm, relaxed, peaceful. I felt free, sitting there, with the sheets covering my bare legs, a white T-shirt shielding my pale chest, the morning sun shining timidly into the room. I get up, feeling a little off balanced when my warm toes hit the cold floor. I shuffle towards my drawers filled with clothing. Out of the top drawers I pick out black boxers and white socks, in the middle drawer I pick out a dark blue shirt with a pocket on the right chest, and the bottom drawer I picked out black skinny jeans. I shuffle over to my door lazily and open the door. The hallway is quiet, not a murmur was heard.

I sway across the hall into the bathroom and shut the door behind me quickly. I get out a towel and set it on the sink. I put my clothes on the toilet seat and strip off my clothes. I throw them in the hamper across from the toilet and turn the at first cold shower water on. I wait for it to be heated up until I finally step inside the shower. I feel the hot water hit my chest and drip down every fiber of my being. I turn so my back is facing the shower faucet and rinse my head before I put the sweet smelling shampoo on my scalp. I massage it to get the sweet berry scent in. I rinse my head slowly and I feel myself get loose and relax.

"I have nothing to worry about, all is fine." Once I finish I pick up the fresh white bottle of vanilla body wash. I put some on my fragile hands, much like my mum's, and coat my body with the sweet fragranced wash. I wash myself off and turn off the shower. I open the curtain and I let all of the steam from the hot water search the bathroom. I see that the mirror is fogged up from the heat and pressure cowering the room. I step towards the mirror, not even acknowledging that my body was soaking wet and but only the air was drying it. I raise my arm and start to write on the mirror. I don't know what at first, it is almost like a whole other soul is taking only my right arm. When I have no more space on the mirror, my hand gracefully goes down. My eyes scan what I wrote on the foggy glass and I smile. It reads, “Have a good day.” in thought out cursive writing. I nod at the mirror, as if it is a real person and I am agreeing.

“I must have a good day.” I think to myself, “Today is a good day.” I grab a towel and I feel the soft fabric swoop over my body, drying me. I sigh and begin to dry myself off. Once I am done, I put on my clothes. My legs are still slightly damp, so my black skinny jeans still feel a little sticky on my legs. When I am finished, I wipe the mirror clean, so I can see how I look. I can only see the upper half, but I can see my scrawny chest being covered by the dark blue fabric, my bony collarbones peeking out just above the collar of my shirt. I grab the collar of my shirt and feel the soft material in between my thumb and pointer finger. I always loved this shirt, the color, the fabric, the cute little pocket. I notice my face in the mirror.