A Fan Fiction Short
“Alicia, you’re trying too hard, charging ahead too fast. You can do, this, I know you can. I know it’s hard for you, please, be patient. This isn’t something you learn in a few small moments, no matter what the case should be.” My voice reached her ears and with my hand still resting on her shoulder, she nodded.
“Don’t try to push the entire word. These words, they’re made up of letters. Concentrate on the letters that spell out the word. The letters come first.” I restrained myself from lecturing to her. She was trying, giving her best effort. Little Alicia, trying so hard to throw her disabilities in the dust- to learn how to read.
Her mother arrived some time later, as Alicia was gaining momentum and confidence. Little Alicia proudly read the first page of Cat In The Hat aloud for her mother. “The sun did not shine. It was too wet to p-pl-play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold day.”
Her mother clasped my hand in hers and squeezed. A fat tear dropped from her face to my forearm. She sniffled loudly. “Thank you so much, Fornie. I’m not sure we could have gotten through this without your help.”
Quick, hard footsteps scampered on the wood floor in the hallway as I said goodbye to my pupil and her relieved mother. My four year old son burst into the office, banging the door against the jamb loudly in his hurry.
“Momma, momma, know what?” Gage asked breathlessly, his words somewhere between a question and a forcefully made statement.
I reached forward to smooth his loosely cropped curls away from his eyes in a pure, motherly motion. I gathered his squirming young body into my arms, my face buried in the sweet smell of little boy. The moment did not last long- but it was enough. He wriggled away.
“What, little big man?” I asked with interest in my voice.
“Nana said you can’t go see the moncert tonight. It’s dangerous.” He said it so ominously, so seriously for an innocent soul who had never faced danger in any capacity.
“Concert.” I corrected automatically. I pushed my own hair, just as curly as his but much, much longer, away from my face. “Where is your grandmother?” I asked, careful to keep the rising anger from my voice.
“In the garden. We were picking raspberries!” He slipped his tiny fingers into my upturned palms, the grainy dirt and juice sticking to my skin warmly.
I patted his little rump and sent him to his room to play. As he bounded off to explore the toy chest I rose carefully from my high backed office chair. I reached immediately to my left, not even bothering to turn my head, to retrieve my cane. The cane thumped hollowly on the floor as I made my way to the back of the house and the garden my mother kept beyond.
“Mother.” I called out the French doors that stood open, flowing onto the flagstones of the garden path. “Mother, where are you?”
“Over here, dear.” She called from the wonderfully aromatic bed of wild roses she was tending in the northwest corner. I could hear the soft droning of the honey bees she kept in hives to pollinate her gorgeous flowerbeds.
I sighed. I took a deep breath. I braced myself for an ugly argument. “How old am I?”
I heard her back creak as she stood up and crossed the gravel path to approach me. The gravel crunched crisply beneath her feet. She stopped a few feet from me, close enough for me to smell her sweet, familiar perfume.
“You’re twenty two. I know very well how old you are, Fornie. Your age does nothing in this case, though. Your age is not a factor. This concert is a bad idea, and I’m going to ask you as an adult, as someone who knows the limits of their disability, not to go tonight.” Her voice was softly pleading.
“You can ask all you want, but I’m still going.” My voice was firm.
“Fornie, it’s well and good for other people to go to crowded concerts. It’s fine for them to get tossed around, to get bumped and jostled and even knocked to the floor. But it’s not okay for you.” She lightly touched the hand that held the cane.
My anger burst forth like a wild animal that had been too long locked in a cage. I wrenched my hand away from her touch, stepping backwards quickly.
“No. No. NO!” I swung my cane in a wide, wild arc. I stabbed it in her general direction, once, twice, three times.
I spun around, my feet unsteady in the gravel, and nearly fell. I righted myself quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed but knowing she had. “I am going. This cane, this has nothing to do with it. My DISABILITY,” I sneered with disgust, “has NOTHING to do with it.” I stalked away in great anger with deeply hurt feelings and pride.
