Hello. Goodbye. Please. Thanks. Oh, no. Why. These are the things millions of humans say each day. They all are pointless. As we evolve into more high-tech beings, these phrases lose all of their meaning. For example, when someone tells you "thank you for choosing McDonalds!" you probably don't say. "Oh, you're welcome." You say thank you back. What does that even mean? Ever since I was really little, I've overthought things through. "A cow can't jump over the moon." I'd say.
Laughs.
"It never said Humpty Dumpty was an egg."
Laughs.
"Why did the mouse run down the clock when it turned one?"
Laughs.
I've never been quite normal. My eyes are lopsided and my mouth is crooked. I have no hair. I wear a red wig. Doctors don't know what is wrong with me, and they don't care. I scream and shout and others just don't know why. I don't either. I've grown out of that habit, but it doesn't help. Teens at my school make fun of me. I'm adopted. My own mother didn't love me. Who could? My life was a living nightmare, until one day...
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It was a typical day in Elburg High. Tina Lizbraugh, a muscular, nasty girl was shooting spitballs at the back of my neck. I wanted to turn around and say, "Buzz off, loser!" but I couldn't. I was caught in a fire when I was 9 and was mute ever since. I couldn't find words if I wanted to. I did what I always did. I screamed. Not a regular scream, oh no, a hideous, nasty sound. A high pitch gargle. A laugh of a hyena. White noise. I was a handicapped monstrosity. That was exactly what she wanted. Me to be annoyed. I waved my half-a-arm in the air and attempted to slap her.
"Whatsamatter ba-by?" She mocked. I cried silently as the teacher walked in. The class was long, but when the bell rang I went straight to the counselor, exactly where I go everyday after third hour.
Mrs. Lindsey Crockrhen was busy at the moment, with a boy I'd never seen before. I didn't know it, but I had my first crush. I ran as fast as my mechanical legs would carry me to home, where I skipped school. What you would call "jitters" around Logan, (that was his name) I called it being terrified. That night I had a dream. I was walking down an old road. My legs weren't shiny metallic masses, but regular legs. My arm was still in half, but my face was gorgeous. Logan walked up to me and gave me a bunch of assorted balloons. He disappeared and I walked on. I tied the balloons around my "stub" with my one fully sized arm.
"October," a voice called. "October, wake up sweetie." It was Ms. Lola, my foster mom.
I woke up that Saturday morning, and I felt pretty. I spent hours in front of the mirror practicing mouthing words, making, and perfecting the shape of my lip movement. Not once did I make a sound. I let the thought of talking consume me. I felt the vibrations of my vocal cords in my mind. I then picked out all the things I liked about myself. My eyes are pretty, a sea-foam green. My skin is pretty, a pale, rosy marble color. My wig looks nice today. If you look close, I'm not ugly at all. I practiced grabbing things, moving my fingers. When lunch came, Ms. Lola picked up my fork and tried to feed me. I shook my head "no" very calmly and she backed up. I reached down, and picked up the smooth, metal tool. I twirled it in my fingers. I stabbed a broccoli piece and put it in my mouth. I pulled the empty fork away, and sat it on the table. Ms. Lola stood agape, eyes wide open. I smiled.
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"October, sweetie!" She laughed. My younger brother, Tyson, who was Ms. Lola's actual child, was staring at me.
"Sis?" he said. Tyson was fourteen, I was eighteen. Lola "couldn't" have children so Lola and her husband adopted me. Later they had a child and her husband left. It was a quiet life. We lived years together with enough money to do what we wanted, but we had to work. Tyson worked two jobs, one at a local Walmart and another at Chucky Cheeses, and Ms. Lola worked three jobs, a nurse, a waitress, and a travel agent for tourists going to central Florida.We lived in Elburg, a city 45 minutes away from Orlando, which was the name of our dog. I didn't work away from home. I bought and sold antiques on eBay, and made a small profit. Sounds like a lot, but between Ms. Lola's groceries, my doctor and therapist visits, and Tyson's diabetes medications, my medications, it drained pretty fast.
"I told you she could do it." Tyson huffed with pride.
"October Olivia Oson..." Lola started astonished.
"Ehh," said Tyson pretending to be unimpressed. I'd never held things before."try flicking something." he teased. Brothers, right? I scooped some peas on my spoon and flicked them right in Ty's face.
"Hey!" he screamed. We all laughed. It was Saturday, and I didn't want it to end.
The next day we went to church and I turned the pages in my bible, leaving Lola and Tyson speechless again.
"What's gotten into you?" asked a shocked Tyson. I shrugged. But I knew. It was Logan.
