Read Online Louder Than Words by Laurie Plissner - Free Book Online
Authors: Laurie Plissner
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color of a freshly cooked lobster, and wrapped myself in a soft white towel. If nothing else, I felt like I had removed the top layer of skin and along with it any traces of those unwanted hands on my body. Unfortunately, I had also washed away all traces of Ben, and that made me sad. I wondered if he could read my thoughts all the way from Seashell Lane. I hoped so.
The front door slammed and I heard two sets of footsteps. “Sasha, we’re home,” called Charlotte.
As I stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Charlotte walked into the bedroom.
“Sash, you don’t need to use up every drop of hot water when you take a shower. Besides, you’re going to burn yourself one of these days.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “We brought home Chinese food, so hurry up and get dressed before it gets cold.”
Despite the enormous kitchen with miles of countertop, a commercial stove, and two huge ovens, our kitchen saw very little action beyond boiling water and the occasional bread-baking marathon. Charlotte and Stuart worked insane hours in New York, and a home-cooked meal was not high on their list of priorities. At seventeen, I was old enough to pick up the slack and probably should have been shopping and cooking for the family, but even going to the grocery store was traumatic for me. I was so afraid that someone would ask me a question and I wouldn’t be able to answer without my machine, and then I would have to explain my mental illness, that I avoided most situations that required me to interact with strangers. Hurting but true. Consequently, we had become connoisseurs of takeout, and dinner from You Can’t Fu Me was a regular fixture in our fast food rotation.
Stuart was at the kitchen sink, washing up for dinner—he could be a little OCD. Drying his hands carefully on a white linen towel, he looked less like someone preparing to eat dinner and more like a surgeon scrubbing up for an operation. He blew me a kiss.
“Hey, Sweets. What’s up? How’s Jules?”
Jules? We hadn’t run into each other at school, as we only had a couple of classes together, and they didn’t meet every day. I shrugged my shoulders. At home, I often resorted to exaggerated body movements to communicate. I had raised shoulder shrugging and eye rolling to a high art, and my aunt and uncle had become masters at interpreting the nuances of my various gestures.
“Wasn’t she here this afternoon?” He gestured to the pair of mugs in the sink.
Charades were no longer going to work, so I grabbed my Hawkie Talkie and briefly described meeting Ben in the library and how he had walked me home, leaving out all the juicy, embarrassing, illegal bits.
Charlotte pounced. “You met a boy? Is he cute? He walked you home?”
I nodded in answer to each question.
“I knew it. It was just a matter of time. You see, I was right. This is going to be your year. Everything’s going to change for you,” Charlotte said, smiling broadly and giving me a hug. I hadn’t realized that in her mind a boy was the cure for all that ailed me, or that she was clueless enough to believe that thinking about something could make it happen.
“HE LIVES AT 7 SEASHELL LANE.”
Charlotte turned the color of the cardboard Chinese takeout containers. “The boy you met is named Fisher?”
More nodding. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
As Charlotte stuttered, trying to find the right words, Stuart cut in. “Sasha, we spoke to Dr. O’Rourke at length about this, and she felt very strongly that if you didn’t bring it up, we shouldn’t go there. Charlotte and I weren’t sure that was the right thing, but Dr. O.’s the professional, and when you never talked about your old house or anything in it, we figured she was right. According to her, your failure to recall anything meant that your mind couldn’t handle it, and we didn’t want to take a stand against your doctor and test that theory.”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK.”
It was like I’d just
The front door slammed and I heard two sets of footsteps. “Sasha, we’re home,” called Charlotte.
As I stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Charlotte walked into the bedroom.
“Sash, you don’t need to use up every drop of hot water when you take a shower. Besides, you’re going to burn yourself one of these days.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “We brought home Chinese food, so hurry up and get dressed before it gets cold.”
Despite the enormous kitchen with miles of countertop, a commercial stove, and two huge ovens, our kitchen saw very little action beyond boiling water and the occasional bread-baking marathon. Charlotte and Stuart worked insane hours in New York, and a home-cooked meal was not high on their list of priorities. At seventeen, I was old enough to pick up the slack and probably should have been shopping and cooking for the family, but even going to the grocery store was traumatic for me. I was so afraid that someone would ask me a question and I wouldn’t be able to answer without my machine, and then I would have to explain my mental illness, that I avoided most situations that required me to interact with strangers. Hurting but true. Consequently, we had become connoisseurs of takeout, and dinner from You Can’t Fu Me was a regular fixture in our fast food rotation.
Stuart was at the kitchen sink, washing up for dinner—he could be a little OCD. Drying his hands carefully on a white linen towel, he looked less like someone preparing to eat dinner and more like a surgeon scrubbing up for an operation. He blew me a kiss.
“Hey, Sweets. What’s up? How’s Jules?”
Jules? We hadn’t run into each other at school, as we only had a couple of classes together, and they didn’t meet every day. I shrugged my shoulders. At home, I often resorted to exaggerated body movements to communicate. I had raised shoulder shrugging and eye rolling to a high art, and my aunt and uncle had become masters at interpreting the nuances of my various gestures.
“Wasn’t she here this afternoon?” He gestured to the pair of mugs in the sink.
Charades were no longer going to work, so I grabbed my Hawkie Talkie and briefly described meeting Ben in the library and how he had walked me home, leaving out all the juicy, embarrassing, illegal bits.
Charlotte pounced. “You met a boy? Is he cute? He walked you home?”
I nodded in answer to each question.
“I knew it. It was just a matter of time. You see, I was right. This is going to be your year. Everything’s going to change for you,” Charlotte said, smiling broadly and giving me a hug. I hadn’t realized that in her mind a boy was the cure for all that ailed me, or that she was clueless enough to believe that thinking about something could make it happen.
“HE LIVES AT 7 SEASHELL LANE.”
Charlotte turned the color of the cardboard Chinese takeout containers. “The boy you met is named Fisher?”
More nodding. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
As Charlotte stuttered, trying to find the right words, Stuart cut in. “Sasha, we spoke to Dr. O’Rourke at length about this, and she felt very strongly that if you didn’t bring it up, we shouldn’t go there. Charlotte and I weren’t sure that was the right thing, but Dr. O.’s the professional, and when you never talked about your old house or anything in it, we figured she was right. According to her, your failure to recall anything meant that your mind couldn’t handle it, and we didn’t want to take a stand against your doctor and test that theory.”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK.”
It was like I’d just
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