Speak

"You never know what you're gonna say until you say it,"

The English teacher surprises me sometimes with sprinkles of wisdom on top of a whole ice cream sundae full of homework. Today in English, I didn't speak at all.

Speech has always come easily to me. Dear reader, I will assume that you've read A Wrinkle in Time, because I'd like to draw a little comparison here. Charles Wallace, the younger brother of Meg, the protagonist, did not speak until he was four. When he did, he spoke in full sentences.

I am not saying that I am Charles Wallace. I am not a child genius, nor am I particularly shy, nor am I male.

I spoke first at the usual age, the broken "mama"s and "dada"s that were expected of me. When I was around 2, the speech evolved into sentences. My mother always jokes that even at that age, I wouldn't stop talking. The only sentence I knew was "Hi, howa you," so I repeated that about 100 times a day.

In second grade, I was sent to sit in another classroom when I blurted out the answer to a question given to another student. It should be obvious to everyone that if an Old Lady swallowed Fly Guy, he'd go to her stomach. I had no patience for the way she paused and stuttered.

In fifth grade, I delivered the Graduation Speech for my class. That was the first time that words were ever difficult for me, and I choked them out painfully as I tried to hold back the tears that stung like bees.

In seventh grade, I talked and I talked and I talked until I ran out of words.

My words are like fireflies in a summer field now. Sitting on top of the hill with my arms around my knees, I can see the light of thousands of them, words, buzzing off the paper and humming around me in an ethereal cloud.

Just when I reach out to hold one, it bumbles away again and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I have been stuttering since seventh grade.