Mute Does Not Mean Dumb- Prologue

The Academy- That’s what we all call it, that’s what everyone calls it. It’s the place that everyone who has a special talent goes. It might not mean that they have an A+ in every class, they might even be failing their classes, but if our principal sees something in you that needs to be brought out, he will bring you here.

But, this place is not really where my story begins.

My story begins in a hospital in Boulder Colorado. Most infants as they are born cry out, with the voices that everyone has learned to recognize as that of a newborn babe. But I didn’t, my cries were silent, and could only be told by the tears running down my cheeks. It was not that I wasn’t trying to make a sound, to communicate, but my vocal chords wouldn’t work. By the time most children are first learning to crawl, I was walking. But also by this time, I had given up on ever being able to talk. So as soon as I was sent into a public school, I was immediately sent to a section of the school for the mentally disabled. You see, the doctors had not thought to check my vocal chords, so everyone thought that I chose to not talk, and that I was stupid and couldn’t learn at the same rate as everyone else. Sure, I understood everything people said, but they couldn’t understand the simple fact that I wasn’t dumb. I learned to read as soon as the teachers taught me the alphabet, which took at least three blinking months, spending about a week on every single letter.

***

First day of sixth grade, everyone else in my class is really excited because we start to get electives this year, but not me. I don’t get electives, I have to spend a full day as the teacher shpiels me on the number one and I’m thinking of the book I was reading. I had to steal it from under the seat of my chair, but it was well worth it. It is a science textbook, and I was just starting to read about the inner workings of the cell.

I put my clothes on, which my mother at least understood that I knew how to do, not that it would make much of a difference in my reputation if my mother dressed me everyday. I got on the bus, sitting right in the middle of the bus, because all the people my age that talk to each other sit in the back, and all the people younger than me sit in the front, and the middle is where those who just want to be left alone sit. I stared at the leather pattern on the back of the seat, parts of which I had memorized. It was over an hour until I reached the school, but I didn’t mind much, I had over 7 hours of boredom ahead of me, and pretty much the rest of my life unless I got my hands on a book, almost any book.

The new teacher didn’t bother tell me her name, but I knew it because the other students who had known her longer called her Ms. Turnbaker. Ms. Turnbaker didn’t tell me her name, because, as predicted, she had already looked at my records and held up her pointer finger.

“One.” She said, in a slow voice, that I had usually heard used in day-care centers.

I rolled my eyes, which she must have thought extremely rude, and would dedicate a day to manners in the future, not that I really cared, I wasn’t going to learn anything anyway.

I held up my pointer finger mimicking her. Which is exactly what they wanted us to do anyway.

“Say It.” She said, more slowly than before.

I formed my lips, very very slowly forming the word “It.”

“Very good!” She said, clapping her hands a little.

I rolled my eyes again, trying to do my best to communicate to her that she was just as bad as all the others.

She held up her pointer and middle finger this time “Two” She said, making it sound as if it was three syllables instead of one.

My leash on my patience was fraying. I held up the same two fingers, and mouthed the word, exactly as she did. I resolved that if she got to ten in this manner, I was going to walk out of the door of the classroom, and go watch some class from the outside, with people said distracted the class, but let’s be real, none of my classmates want to look at me, first because they think I’m dumb, second because I weigh more than the rest of them.

Threeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Fooooooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive

At this point I was staring at her braces, which, if you want to know, were green.

siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiix

seeeeeeeveeeeeen

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight

By now, I was wondering how much psychotherapy the average kid would need after taking this class for a grade.

niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine

teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen

I kept to my resolve, she tried to stop me, but I didn’t care. She called her higher-ups, which would probably call my mom, but I didn’t care. I ran down a few hallways, quickly getting lost trying to make sure that the authorities couldn’t find me. I knew that I wasn’t in the preschool, kindergarten, or even first grade hallway, but I heard people reciting the alphabet. I was slightly curious, so I followed the sound.