My First Friend

Prologue

I walk soberly on the high school corridor and look at the ground. Hmmm.

I never had a friend. My parents kept shifting and for me that was a problem. I did not have any real friends, no acquaintances, no girlfriends, no anything. I was alone, chewing gum and taking notes in my journal. People would pass an occasional ‘hi’ or ‘hello’, but that would be it. Small talk was the most I could make, and that was when I felt a bit of friendliness. When I focus on people - or look at them attentively, it sends shivers down my spine. I could not sum up what would be my next sentence. I could not speak until I was 5, and then still, I speak only a few words. I have a case of extreme introversion and selective mutism, all in one James Kyle Burwood.

I did not have any clear interest or skill as a child; except the intense silence and unfriendliness inside me. I was 8 when I got a computer. When I got internet access, I decided to search about selective mutism. I was convinced until the day I made my first Google search that I was one snowflake - sensitive, unique, and alone with nobody to share the pain with. I searched up, and this glass barrier of loneliness was broken. There were hundreds of thousands of kids like me all around the world - and they all were people of few words. It was a moment of both relief and sadness for me. On one hand, I knew I had a statistical chance of finding one of my kind in my lifetime, but on the other hand, I wasn’t alone. There were so many kids like me who weren’t sheltered. Broke the glass barrier and went out to play with other kids. All that was nothing on me. I never saw the internet, spoke to anyone outside my family on the phone (and even then it’d be a quick ‘hello’, ‘how are you/I’m good’), or saw the TV. Until I was eight, I only remember knowing ten people - Mom, Dad, Grandma from dad’s side, Grandpa from mom’s side, Grandpa from Dad’s side, Grandma from mom’s side, Uncle Jake, Aunt Katie, Dr. Orange, and the counselor-therapist I called “Rice Ball” (she died in a car accident when I was 7; I came to know this when I was 12).

People usually think I’m an ambivert via the internet - that I am a free flow of expression on the interwebs, sending my thoughts through vlogs and Discord chats - I am not. I use the internet for obsessively gaining information - not to share internet memes or show off my condition as a method to get likes and followers. I am an introvert - on and off the internet.

I perhaps have only one way of letting go of my anxieties and thoughts - to write. I have filled journals and notebooks over these years with little things I see, stories I tell, and people I smell. It is there in my writing, that I freely “speak”, not bound by the harsh talkative jungle that surrounds me in real life and on the internet. When the pen hits the paper, you are in solitude. The paper is not Kirkus884 cursing the hell out of you on your favorite book’s message board - or Jessica Bradley talking about her, what, fifty boyfriends? I mean she’s statistically had a different boyfriend every month since her first when she was 12!

I perhaps would be the greatest writer I ever dreamed to be, my works read around the globe, and my shyness withered away. I could speak - speak many words even - and give fabulous TED Talks and the like. But, unfortunately for me, destiny stopped me right in its tracks. I’ve had terrible writer’s blocks in all these years, and have written only one book - a short YA thriller by the name of ‘Slushie’. Now I think of it, that is a pretty, pretty embarrassing name. It was a pun on slasher and ice because, in this story, the serial killer slashed off people using harder-than-humanly-possible ice cubes in the dead of summer (like 110 degrees Fahrenheit).

I was never very academically inclined - I was quite bad at mathematics and sciences - especially algebra, geometry, physics, and chemistry. I was decent at arithmetic and biology - especially neurology - but I was ‘decent, not ‘good’ as in ‘with good grades’. I did fare averagely in social sciences, especially in geography and history. I was good at some part of politics, but it involved a lot of speaking - and so my grades never reflected that. I am decent at writing and reading English and Spanish - and listening, but speaking - no. I got low grades at that too, even though those are like my passions.

I can speak though, in long verse - in one thing. Songs. I am a vocalist. I sing in my free time, I sing all the time. When I sing, all my fears go away. It is like a miracle happens when the notes of music come to my tongue and bounce off. I feel the music, hear music and sing music. And after my interest in writing began to fly away, music took its place. I joined the musical club at my school - Lake Goremont Public School. I manned the synthesizer first for the Lake Goremont Purple Squirrels Band - and then I became the vocalist.

But, still, I began to feel lonely, something I didn’t even with my isolation and stuff. I found the need for a friend I didn’t have. And then I met Tristan - the day was a Friday night and I was performing for a show - for the Purple Squirrels - on the stage. The show was on, and I was ready to sing, we start now! Go!

(1)

I Don’t Speak English

As the show ended, the audience cheered on. Applauses drew from all corners of the amphitheater, and for once, my show was on. My first show in front of an audience - not behind a large billboard - stood up on frames on the ground, where only my tenor-turning-into-baritone could be heard from loudspeakers and there was no resounding applause or cheers of “James”. Just heads peering into their phones and tossing them back up when the assistant principal got wonky and announced on the PA. Today, I was a superstar - like Harry Styles, like Taylor Swift, like One Direction. Albeit performing in a town of 78,600 people is such a big deal? Maybe not. Maybe this stage has seen several other high-schoolers and their wannabe pop bands set the stage on fire - and melt the hearts with their warmth - but for me, a person whose tongue was almost permanently gotten by the cat, it was amazing. No fear, just words flowing naturally out of my mouth - just like somebody with normal speech would have. Music truly was the thing I needed in my life. But, they say - when somebody gets what they want, they don’t get what they want. They want something new.

And that was what happened. While my search for a passion, a fire, una chispa, I found it. But then, the search for a friend bugged me. I realized, seeing so many people being happy for me - that there was no friend I had. I have more fans than the times I’ve had novel ideas - and that is not a shortlist. People looked, smiled, but because I put a deadly silence in response - they moved on. They probably assumed I was being arrogant and all mean - when I wasn’t. Cat bit my tongue, but nobody understood.

Apart from Tristan, who - in sophomore winter, was the new kid in town. Our population turned into 78,603. He haddark brown skin draped onto his square-ish facial structure. He had coffee-colored eyes that were bold and dominated the paler parts of his eye. His ears were short and circular, not the best hearer - and then he did a thing.

He held out his middle finger and index finger, and then closed his hand but raised his pinky. I began thinking of what message he was trying to give me - and then it hit. He was using sign language.

I tried to say hi back to him - by holding out the same fingers, but in the opposite direction than him, and held out my pinky. If I was not wrong, he was trying to say hi and I said too. He held a thumbs up - and winked at me in happiness. As if I understood his message. I couldn’t leave this conversation hanging, so I decided to make some small sign language talk.

I said “So, what’s your name?” with my fingers.

“Tristan” his fingers folded.

“Nice to meet you. I’m James,” I said in sign language.

“You can speak, right?” He said with his fingers.

“Yes, I can, but not very much, actually.”

“So, you’re mute like me?” he pointed.

“No, I have selective mutism.” I said, my fingers moving progressively complex.

“I have no friends.”

“Me, too.”

“But when you performed, so many people enjoyed it."

”I did, those were fans. Not friends.”

“Would you be friends?” He said.

“Amigos,” I said with sign language.

And that was the day I found a friend - speechless literally, loud figuratively.

the end.