whispering starting again.
He turned, but there was only thin yellow sunlight and sharp black shadows delineating the trees.
HE DAY WAS ALREADY SURRENDERING to evening by midafternoon, white tufts of clouds thickening to gray, the air so heavy it clung to the walls of the house. By six o’clock the darkness outside seemed impenetrable. It was the kind of weather that bred its own sense of gloom. Mandi fought to break through the depression that gripped her by getting ready for the fellowship meeting at the church, but Pierce was running behind schedule as usual.
“Hurry up, honey,” she called, out of habit.
She often spoke to Pierce, even though he heard not a word.
Her son spat toothpaste into the bathroom sink, wiping his face unhurriedly with a towel. She tapped his chest, and he buttoned his shirt, and when she wrapped the tie around his neck he completed the knot himself. When he was finished she took his hand and used the American Sign Language that was faster than simply finger spelling each letter into his palm.
We’re going to be late.
He signed back into her palm.
Makes us seem important.
She laughed, kissing his cheek.
You are important.
She handed him his cane, waiting patiently as he made his way down the walk to the car, letting him find it. But she made sure he buckled up before she started the Subaru station wagon. As they drove, Pierce leaned back against the seat, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest, where she knew he could feel every vibration of the engine and the road.
Mandi always volunteered to help out at church affairs. That was why she and Pierce had to be there early tonight, to get ready for the small group of staunch parishioners. Every Sunday morning she and Pierce sat in the front pew next to Pam, and Mandi would sign the service into Pierce’s palm. When he was younger he had missed a great deal because he kept stopping her to ask questions, but as he grew older Pierce became quite a Bible scholar.
Mandi was torn between wishing that the state had more money to fund better schools and equipment for kids like Pierce and being happy that he was homeschooled. What he had lost in socialization with children his age, she thought he had gained in the time to learn to deal with his disability free from the hazing of other kids. She knew she was often overprotective, but Pierce seldom complained unless she got into what he considered his personal territory. The government
had
at least been good about supplying her with teaching aids and books on how to work with the deafblind. And when Pierce was a toddler, a nice old woman from Portland had driven up almost every day for three years to help Mandi
reach
him. It had been a major breakthrough when Pierce suddenly realized that he could communicate. Little things at first.
Hungry.
Hurt.
Sad.
That had been another hurdle, communication of an abstract thought. But Pierce learned quickly, faster than anyone the woman had ever worked with. Mandi was pretty sure he was a genius. He could focus on one subject to the exclusion of all others, often for days, and you only had to tell Pierce something once for him to remember it.
He intuitively understood that there was a larger world around him that reached far beyond the limits of the darkness and silence encompassing his body. When he was younger Mandi had spent every free moment with him, patiently finding ways to explain things like sky, and telephone, and television. By the time Pierce was four he could read braille, and he spent almost as much time asking Mandi for explanations as he did reading. Now Ernie was trying to get donations to buy Pierce a used laptop with a braille display. Mandi hadn’t told the boy yet because she didn’t want him to get his hopes up. But Ernie was determined.
Pierce was remarkable in many ways, not least of which was his uncanny knack for fixing things. Things he shouldn’t have been able to understand, let alone repair. Mandi had first discovered
He turned, but there was only thin yellow sunlight and sharp black shadows delineating the trees.
HE DAY WAS ALREADY SURRENDERING to evening by midafternoon, white tufts of clouds thickening to gray, the air so heavy it clung to the walls of the house. By six o’clock the darkness outside seemed impenetrable. It was the kind of weather that bred its own sense of gloom. Mandi fought to break through the depression that gripped her by getting ready for the fellowship meeting at the church, but Pierce was running behind schedule as usual.
“Hurry up, honey,” she called, out of habit.
She often spoke to Pierce, even though he heard not a word.
Her son spat toothpaste into the bathroom sink, wiping his face unhurriedly with a towel. She tapped his chest, and he buttoned his shirt, and when she wrapped the tie around his neck he completed the knot himself. When he was finished she took his hand and used the American Sign Language that was faster than simply finger spelling each letter into his palm.
We’re going to be late.
He signed back into her palm.
Makes us seem important.
She laughed, kissing his cheek.
You are important.
She handed him his cane, waiting patiently as he made his way down the walk to the car, letting him find it. But she made sure he buckled up before she started the Subaru station wagon. As they drove, Pierce leaned back against the seat, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest, where she knew he could feel every vibration of the engine and the road.
Mandi always volunteered to help out at church affairs. That was why she and Pierce had to be there early tonight, to get ready for the small group of staunch parishioners. Every Sunday morning she and Pierce sat in the front pew next to Pam, and Mandi would sign the service into Pierce’s palm. When he was younger he had missed a great deal because he kept stopping her to ask questions, but as he grew older Pierce became quite a Bible scholar.
Mandi was torn between wishing that the state had more money to fund better schools and equipment for kids like Pierce and being happy that he was homeschooled. What he had lost in socialization with children his age, she thought he had gained in the time to learn to deal with his disability free from the hazing of other kids. She knew she was often overprotective, but Pierce seldom complained unless she got into what he considered his personal territory. The government
had
at least been good about supplying her with teaching aids and books on how to work with the deafblind. And when Pierce was a toddler, a nice old woman from Portland had driven up almost every day for three years to help Mandi
reach
him. It had been a major breakthrough when Pierce suddenly realized that he could communicate. Little things at first.
Hungry.
Hurt.
Sad.
That had been another hurdle, communication of an abstract thought. But Pierce learned quickly, faster than anyone the woman had ever worked with. Mandi was pretty sure he was a genius. He could focus on one subject to the exclusion of all others, often for days, and you only had to tell Pierce something once for him to remember it.
He intuitively understood that there was a larger world around him that reached far beyond the limits of the darkness and silence encompassing his body. When he was younger Mandi had spent every free moment with him, patiently finding ways to explain things like sky, and telephone, and television. By the time Pierce was four he could read braille, and he spent almost as much time asking Mandi for explanations as he did reading. Now Ernie was trying to get donations to buy Pierce a used laptop with a braille display. Mandi hadn’t told the boy yet because she didn’t want him to get his hopes up. But Ernie was determined.
Pierce was remarkable in many ways, not least of which was his uncanny knack for fixing things. Things he shouldn’t have been able to understand, let alone repair. Mandi had first discovered
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