Seriously, I hate the psych ward. All I do here is sit and twiddle my thumbs. I can feel my thumbs. This place feels sterile, monochromatic, dead. The nauseating fluorescent lights glare down from the ceiling onto whitewashed walls with curtained rooms. The A counselor walked the halls waiting for one of us to say something. It's surreal, terrible. A chill ran up my spine. I am alive. Still alive.
Caitlin visited me two days ago. She's doing it out of obligation. These nurses aren't here because they want to be. I can tell from their apathetic sighs. Who thought I was worth saving? Who was it? It must have been Caitlin. Who else would continually ignore my mistakes? I went back to sleep since I had nothing else to do.
A nurse prodded me to ask me how I was doing. I just smiled and nodded as usual. I wanted to be anywhere but here. There was no sweet sound of music. I was cut off from the world. The group therapy sessions were useless because I could not contribute to them. (Thaaaanks, aphasia.) Aside from the reporters invading at random intervals, I had almost no stimulation. Wouldn't it be nice if a creeper could blow this place up?
Whoever decided to save me made a terrible mistake. If you know me because I slayed the Ender Dragon, I just want you to know that I am not that man. I am not the same young, impulsive sword swinger I was last year. I was escorted to yet another ineffective group therapy session that I could not contribute to. I got a different group this time.
I got sneering looks that said things like What are you doing here? from the other mostly middle-aged people. Frankly, I was surprised that people getting treated for heavily stigmatized conditions could be so judgmental. Mallory, a mother of four children, spoke up about how she worked up the guts to get herself here. Her hooded green eyes were inviting and warm. Richard, however, eyed me with suspicion. He said he couldn't trust anyone. Andras, a young college student, kept wringing his hands anxiously. He shrank into the background shamefacedly and spoke shakily. His black hair was messy.
When my turn came, I sputtered trying to find the words. They were on the tip of my tongue. I kept trying. I repressed my tears. I couldn't say anything. The others moved on. Had Kyle ever felt this way at the psych ward? Here I am, a young teacher, just as out of place as a student...again. I hate this place and I want to get out of here, but I'm beginning to like Andras already.
I have to run the band for a dress rehearsal with Steve gone. I don't have his commanding presence or energy, but he needs me to do this. I steeled my nerves to the idea of managing 50 high school students.
Emmeline came to run Reboot. She was a bit off pitch, which was easily remedied by some lip trilling. I met the two other girls, Caroline and Amity. Amity is shy and reserved, but still somehow suited for the stage. Caroline is a bit brash and temperamental, but charismatic. Reminders of Steve pop up in the unlikeliest of places. The Havencraft drama teacher kept rearranging them. I conducted the band, making sure the flutes were in tune. Amity came out with her lines.
Feedback rang out from the sound check. Some of the students cringed, but I'm sure none of them had my reaction. My heart pounded. I lifted my hands to see them trembling violently. I felt like I couldn't breathe.Kyle ran over to me, asking if I was okay. I nodded, but he looked doubtful. Apparently, the little color I had drained from my face and he thought I would faint. His concern touched me. I resumed conducting as normal. I stopped to run through the jumps with the trumpets.
The flutes and saxophones had the electric guitar part. I had them write in the counting. Aside from a few finger bobbles, they did quite well. Emmeline was advised to sound more nasal on her "on" and come out more over Caroline. The band was told to make some last minute changes. Amity came out on her parts sounding a little shakily, but she steadied gradually. We stopped to let the vocalists perfect their parts.
Emmeline is like me, but, at the same, not. For one, she is taller than I am and has a robust, athletic, figure, strong gait, and a powerful voice that can carry for days. I would say she is a mezzo soprano. I saw her leading the others and helping them with their lines. The drama teacher had to do hardly anything because of her! I shifted and felt that I was wet, more so than I had expected. The feedback had affected me that much. Knowing that I'd leak if I went through much more of this, I placed Mira in charge of the band until I returned.
I used the office bathrooms because they were closer. The doors are heavy, so I need to do a "controlled crash" to open them. My legs swung underneath me as I made my way in. The office bathrooms have hand rails, which is nice, a wastebasket, and even a shower. I was familiar with their location because Fallon, a Mindcrack beginning band clarinetist, puked on herself during a performance. I had to escort her to the restroom and help her clean up. I changed as quickly as I could, using the handrails to steady myself. I disposed of the used diaper in the wastebasket, washed my hands, and got back to the band.
After a little more of running through Lost One's Weeping, we heard the choir perform World's End Dancehall in its original language. The dance team did very well with Outer Science. They were almost as flexible as me, but with way more stability. Dance sorcery. The programs had the romanji and English translations of the songs sung in Japanese. Reboot was performed in English.
Left standing on this lone monochrome stage\Can't run away in this TV like play. Emmeline sang her lines loud and clear. And yet, here I was rehearsing with the band on this lone monochrome stage. Caroline made an excellent Megurine Luka for Reboot. After one last run of Lost One's Weeping and Reboot, we all departed for home.
While there, I came home to someone surprising me with a chicken pot pie and a cake. We talked and ate it together. Alarian sounds like Caroline cranked up to eleven. The chicken was tender, the crust flaky, the sauce silky and flavorful, and the carrots melted into a puree the moment they hit my tongue. Everything about it was beautiful. I hated that Steve wasn't here to eat it.
No....
I burst into tears. I couldn't really help it. My guest, identified as "Olivia", put her arm around me and let me cry it out. Emmeline, in her Miku wig, sang with a raw power. Luckily, I had recorded the last run-through. It was rare that I saw her in skirts or pink, but, in both, she played her part as she would any other.
When Olivia had left, I rolled up my sleeves to reveal a faint string of horizontal slashes of various ages that ran from the lower portion of my hand to almost my elbow. They were different from my other scars that were inflicted by my sisters or my peers. These were self-inflicted, controlled. They were reminders of my low self-esteem. All through middle school until becoming a teacher, I slashed my wrist for every time I had failed. I took out an iron sword.
I failed to save Steve from himself. Five slashes.
I was too petty and hedonistic to notice that something was wrong. Two slashes.
Bad Day is going nowhere. I knew I shouldn't have made Carmen cross the break that much. Another slash.
Eight fresh slashes on my wrist. If only I could die and be reborn.
(A/N: The second video contains numerous shaking and flashing effects. Proceed with caution and an open mind.)
Something is wrong and I know it. Miss Caitlin seems kind of distracted and tense. I can tell because she acts like she's sitting on a block of TNT. Carmen seemed to be her go-getting self, which was a relief. I wish I knew what was wrong, but I definitely knew something was wrong. Alice looked more tired than usual. I guessed that it was the effects of middle school. Nathan was fine, but rather concerned. It was rare that Nathan was concerned with anything.
Alice works too hard. She should relax and play once in a while. Life is meant to be enjoyed and I don't Alice gets that. It's not uncommon for my father to get paid in food, so I give her half the food...when she accepts it. She feels like she needs to work for everything because she feels that it is right. She doesn't even understand what to do with a birthday present.
We ran through Bad Day, but with so much on my mind, it was hard to sing.
"You sound a little detached, Alex. What's wrong?" Miss Caitlin was concerned, but I didn't know if I could properly voice my thoughts.
"I don't know. I just can't put my heart into it. Something's on my mind."
"Try channeling those feelings into the song." That was new for me. I thought I was always supposed to feel the music, not let it feel me. "Let's look at the lyrics. It helps to know what the song means" Even now, she seemed hurried and anxious. We looked at the lyrics together.
"Now Carmen, Alex, and Nathan, play together." It's fairly unusual to blend with a clarinet as a vocalist, but I managed. Nathan came out a little more. "Carmen, back down a little. Nathan, come out a little more. Alex, you were fine. Add Alice." We came in with our different notes.
"Alice, you're a bit off. Try relaxing."
"Okay." We ran those measures again. Alice was more on pitch. She was a bit flat, though. I sang the lyrics: You had a bad day\You're taking one down.\You sing a sad song\Just to turn it around. Somehow, I felt myself not just matching pitches, but actually singing. We got to the bridge and I drifted back to my dull state. Miss Caitlin left the room, telling us to talk amongst ourselves.
"Alex, if there's something wrong, you can tell me." Nathan pulled me aside.
"Something is wrong. I can feel it in the back of my head."
"Do you know Mr. Lowell?"
"I know him. I walk his dog and he pays me 1 iron ingot for 20 minutes. He's nice. I think the something wrong has to do with his absence. Miss Caitlin seems happier when he's around. She feels safe when he's around and now he's gone, so she doesn't feel safe."
"I know why he's gone. He's in the hospital. I don't know what for, though." Nathan sighed. It was hard to lean on his shoulder because of his wheelchair, but I managed.
"Oh. Well, how do you know him?"
"He subbed for my band once. He is...different from other teachers I've had. For one, he made me feel like Nathan instead of the inspirational wheelchair-bound hornist." I read that article about my teacher in the newspaper. I just saw my teacher as my teacher, nothing more. Why did other people feel the need to do otherwise? Alice had left to go to work. Carmen was weaving something on a small loom. I left to go get the dog, Hutch.
Hutch is a handsome wolf with fluffy fur and a solid frame. He weighs more than I do and likes attacking creepers. (I discourage this, however, as creepers are dangerous to get too close to.) Knowing the routine, he sat obediently as I put the collar on his neck and we went for a walk. I needed it to remedy my unease.
Pulling my trumpet out of case, I started stumbling through the eighth note runs. How did the flutes breeze through sixteenth notes so easily? I hit the notes on the bottom of the staff quite easily. Here comes a high note. I'll probably frack it as usual. Using the techniques my new music teacher, Miss Netherfield, acquainted me with, I pushed with all my might and, as usual, fracked. I tried harder and, even if I put so much air into my horn I was out of breath, I. Still. Fracked. I was told that all I needed to do in order to achieve what I want was to try harder, but I remembered my wise teacher's advice: Sometimes, you need not try harder, but try smarter.
I pulled out my part for "Bad Day", the song I felt my teacher needed to hear the day I found him. I was going to ask about a good practice mute that I could use because mine doesn't work. but I saw him slumped over his desk with a bottle of pills near his hand. The sight made me feel, honestly, like my heart was pounding out of my chest. I had to gather my last bit of courage in order to get help because he needed it--and as soon as possible. I guess the slayer of the Ender Dragon was battling another dragon as well, one that no one else could see. They could only see its effects. No student wants to find their teacher upset, let alone almost dead. Everyone wants to be the hero until the opportunity presents itself.
I wanted to cry, but, honestly, I could never bring myself to do such a thing. Instead, I got to work on my math and science. It was my sole comfort nowadays, something that just was instead of laced with subjective interpretation. Despite anyone's assertions, I was not particularly good at academics, music, or anything else for that matter. Why is it that someone can get twice the results working half as hard as I do? It is one thing to be intelligent or talented and another to work in order to acquire a skill. When I got that out of the way, I turned to my English homework.
Today's journal prompt was: Write about a time someone encouraged you to do what is right.
I tried again and again to find the right words. Kyle found me crying in the hallway because I tried to get into youth orchestra, but failed...for the third time. I wasn't even crying about not getting in. My parents want me to be good at stuff like Melanie. It's not fair, though. Melanie get away not studying for a test and still get an A. Me? I have to stay up all night just to scrape up a C. Melanie, Melanie. All they talk about is how wonderful she is and how worthless I am. I saw Kyle occasionally in the band room. He said that I came in day after day consistently like no other.
That and I have to go to work after school today. Yes, work. Villager kids take up trades as young as the age of six. Even though I'm half human, our family still doesn't make much. Melanie got into Mindcrack via an IQ test; I got in because of Melanie. Everyone expects me to be like her. It's all I hear every day: Why can't you be like Melanie? Why can't you be talented or pretty like Melanie? It comes from my teachers all the time. However, Mr. Lowell, the band teacher, was different. Despite Melanie being the flute section leader, he sees me as Alice and not a broken replica of my sister.
But what gave me the strength to save his life? What makes a hero? Is it just someone with the guts to do the right thing or is there more to it than that?
Kyle respected that I work hard for the things I want. He encouraged me to be Alice and to hone that identity to its utmost quality. Not only that, he taught me how to relax and love myself. No one ever taught me how to do that, not ever. I thought I just needed to work harder and then, maybe, I would be respected. But what good is respect if I cannot give it to myself?
Mr. Lowell is a hero, not just in the sense of his slaying the Ender Dragon, but the fact that he does things because they are right, even if they are not popular. Talking about mental health is one of them. He works hard and plays hard. That I respect. I rarely let myself play. I hope he is okay. Knowing that I probably saved his life, I headed off to work to scrounge up some iron ingots and then make dinner for all four of us. It's been a bad day for me, for all of us.
Why won't Steve just talk to me? His new silence bothers me. If he is mad at me, why does he not bring it up so that I may resolve it? He just lies there rather than fighting, mining, or practicing. Before, he was constantly active asking me to do things with him. With our wedding day two weeks away, the tension has escalated. I want him to approach me. Day after day, I fill his coffee cup, make meals, help with paperwork, and he doesn't appreciate any of it.
He forgot my prescription a few times. I mean, WHO DOES THAT!!?! I'm sure he never meant to endanger my life, but that's what forgetting does. He says everything is fine although it's obviously not. My students wrote about the musical qualities of their favorite songs for this assignment. Some of the songs held a great deal of personal significance to these students. My mind is racing a chunk a minute.
In the meantime, I will keep my mouth shut and wait until Steve is ready to express his feelings to me. I can hear his apathy in his music. His articulations have gotten sloppy, his dynamics were nonexistent, and he faded at the sight of a forte. Kyle's return helped with the way Lost One's Weeping sounded. The timpani part was restored to its former glory. Austin was on snare. The band was a band again.
They would rehearse Reboot with Emmeline after school, so I would need to perform at the symphony orchestra concert alone. To top things off, I was selected to be a supporting soloist to Sylvia's main solo. Was I really ready to be the associate principal clarinetist? I trembled thinking about it.
Minutes before the concert, I shuffled around awkwardly, found a concert-worthy reed, and placed it in my mouth. Sylvia and I ran through our scales together in order to achieve a good blend.
"Pull out. You're a bit sharp." I pulled out. We played again. "Much better." After that, we relaxed. We decided not to play after that to prevent our reeds from breaking. "How is Carmen doing?"
"Carmen is doing very well. She's already onto sixteenth notes."
"That's great." Sylvia paused, leaning into me to tell me something. "You know, you're more than just a great musician. You're a great person--and I mean that."
"Thank you." To be honest, that caught me off guard.
"You too." I awkwardly returned the compliment and felt myself blushing as I did so.
"Actually, I'm not. I'm the one who abandoned my son at the hematology ward because I'm deathly afraid of blood." She turned away, tears filling her eyes. The gray hairs she had were apparent in this light. "And knowing Adrian's nature, he will never forget this. You stepped up as more than just some music teacher doing something for some student." We walked onto the stage as colleagues, as friends.
The curtain raised to reveal lights that seemed to suck the moisture out of my eyes. I watched the conductor, following the low brass, basses, and cellos' rich tones and the flutes' sprightly grace notes. The other clarinets played around me. How I wished I could blend in with them, not stand out. A bit nervous, I came in just in time. I controlled my vibrato and stilled my fingers despite the fact that I was terrified. I took a breath and let the notes flow from my mind into my instrument like I was singing.
Sylvia came soaring over me ten measures later, her tone sublime and pure. Her confident repose was evident as we played together as an indistinguishable blend of tones, no distinction between her experience and my lack thereof. When we rested, the trumpets came in. Their blend seemed off somehow. I could tell they were absent a certain trumpeter.
It was so unlike him to miss out on anything music-related. Though I felt uneasy, I decided that it wouldn't show. Not onstage. Not through my intonation. Or my face. Or my posture. At intermission, Mark yanked me from my seat and dragged me backstage.
"Phone's for you. I hope everything works out." He joined the other brass players. "I'll give you a ride to brass band."
"Do you know Steven Lowell?" I gulped.
"Yes."
"He's with us being treated for an overdose on anticonvulsants. We suspect that he attempted suicide." No. No. No. No. No. No. I wanted to hang up, but I couldn't think to do it in the moment. I collapsed into a nearby chair and heard the story unfold. "Some girl, probably 12 or 13, self-identified as 'Alice' called 911 because she found him, in her words, 'half-dead in his office slumped over his desk with a pill bottle near his hands'. Alice said she was waiting for him to ask him about something music-related." Seeing that my legs, on a good day, have the strength of limp noodles, I stayed in the chair violently trembling head to toe. I was in too much shock to cry, much less think rationally. And of all people, why Alice? Why one of my students? Alice was older than the others at age 13, but she still should not have to suffer like that.
Sylvia must have been very concerned about me because she kept shouting my name. However, her voice sounded as if it came from a tunnel. I closed my eyes and steeled my nerves enough to not break down.
"Do you need to go home?" The question was simple enough. Performing while undergoing emotional trauma is a skill I'm sure every professional musician has learned. I tried to breathe deeply. If I could breathe, I could play. A jagged, rasping sound came out as I inhaled. I tried again, yielding the same results. I tried to control the air flow, but I had no such luck. I needed to go home. Part of me knew leaving in the middle of a concert was unprofessional, but so was going on stage unable to play properly.
"Yes." My legs were basically useless at this point. How many times have I failed to truly appreciate Steve, not only for what he does, but for who he is? How could I have overlooked the soul behind his deep blue eyes, his seemingly universal empathy? I've been so selfish that I only ever really focused on myself, partly out of necessity, but I have gone too far. What kind of example was I setting for my students? What could I have said to prevent this? Why did Steve even want to die in the first place?
Overcome with guilt, I finally brought myself to the point where I could cry. I cried, not only for myself, but for many others. I cried for Alice, for the doctors and nurses, for Mark and Andrew, for Alex as she would likely ask where he was and I didn't know how to tell her, for his students losing their band teacher, and for Steve. Normally, I would have wanted him to comfort me, but I hurt him. I was the one who landed him in the hospital. I took a deep breath and braced myself just to go home. To the house. Because nothing felt like home now.
I gained three new private students: Carmen, Alice, and Nathan. Carmen takes clarinet lessons from me. At age 8, she started at a rather young age compared to most clarinetists. She is also blind in one eye and this causes her difficulty in reading longer music selections. Luckily, I have remedied this by sourcing recordings (and making them myself if they are not available). Carmen's stubborn tenacity is apparent whenever she plays. Her default playing style is fast and accented, so I'm trying to get her to slow down and enjoy the legato passages.
Alice is one of Steve's trumpeters. He referred Alice to me because she was frustrated with her old music teacher telling her that she was bad all the time. That was not true at all. Though Alice has no especial gift for the trumpet, she has the strongest work ethic I have seen out of any student. She tends to pinch on high notes and play too softly, probably due to a lack of confidence on her instrument. Having been rejected from the Minecraft Youth Orchestra three times, Alice is suffering from a classic case of what I call "third trumpet syndrome."
Third trumpet syndrome is a phenomenon that occurs in musicians, particularly younger musicians, who experience long bouts of musical frustration brought on by a lack of perceived progress. It varies on a case by case basis whether the musical frustration or the lack of progress comes first. Rejection from ensembles, repeated excessive criticism from instructors, and long periods of being last chair when one cares about their chair position are common catalysts for the development of third trumpet syndrome. The most common symptoms of third trumpet syndrome are a sudden decline in musical interest, recurrent thoughts of self doubt, lack of practice, musical apathy, and a desire to quit one's instrument. Aside from third trumpet syndrome being detrimental to one's musical growth, it can lead to a systemic apathy and low self-esteem. Often, sufferers are naturally critical of themselves and need to learn to use this part of themselves constructively. I called it "third trumpet syndrome" because this occurs most with third trumpets.
Nathan is my French horn student. In contrast to Alice and Carmen, he prefers to take his musical growth easy. He has little regard for chair position and is in band for the sheer joy of the relationships within the ensemble. Nathan's musical growth came to a screeching halt after he came to dislike his other teacher, so his parents made the decision to switch him over to me. Alex's testimony had helped in all of these referrals. I am a firm believer in the statement "If you want feedback on a teacher, ask their student(s)." I found out that Nathan had a competitive teacher that forced him to participate in things he did not want to do. Rumor has it that he employed the help of several grad students to help him with a musical project and did not credit them for it.
Of course, I can't use the same teaching methods on such different students. Alice needs a to-do list, Carmen needs a challenge, and Nathan needs small pushes (key word: small). I have all of them working on scales, but I have each of them doing it differently. Alice enjoys checking off a circle of fifths. She struggles with the sharp scales as most concert band musicians tend to do. Pinching on high notes is another one of her issues. Getting Alice to push with her diaphragm and not her mouth has been quite the challenge; however, she is getting the hang of things.
Carmen is working on pieces with some sixteenth note runs even though it is her first year. Dotted rhythms trip her up. Counting and clapping works wonders for her as does fingering along. I am also preparing Carmen for playing in ensemble settings. We work on balancing and blending in our duets. Carmen will always choose the top part given the choice, but sometimes I make her play bottom. This reinforces the idea that a lower chair does not make her a bad musician. Sometimes, directors keep good musicians in lower chairs to make sure someone knows how to play harmony.
Nathan plays his scales in 120 bpm quarter note patterns. He can play a few two octave scales. A bit sluggish and indolent, I open him up to slower, more lyrical advanced pieces. Nathan is a better hornist than he makes himself out to be. I don't try to make Nathan someone he isn't. Instead, I take the motivation he has in order to assist him with his goals. Anyone can mold students into the people of their preference, but it takes a true teacher to assist a student progress in their own way on their own time. He uses multiple assistive devices throughout the course of a day due to his having spina bifida. Nathan's band director wants him to achieve more musically in order for him to be more of an "inspiration". I don't know why she thinks this way, honestly, as she respects the capabilities and motivation of her nondisabled students. Why won't she do the same for Nathan?
Alex has, of course, welcomed them all enthusiastically into her musical family. I think they will all benefit each other. Alice will give Alex more of a work ethic; Carmen will motivate Nathan to move at a faster musical pace. Likewise, Alex will teach Alice how to relax and have fun with her playing while Nathan's laid-back approach will temper Carmen's fiery nature. I plan to do an ensemble with them. It will be by no means conventional or easy to pull off, but it will do them all good.
J'adore mes élèves. Ils sont excellent, mais ils sont très différent.
I got an E-mail from Kaito's mother about his use of an AAC device and how it works. She told me he can speak some Japanese phrases, but the device is only in English purely due to its technical limitations. I was about to get a device myself because my speech hasn't really improved despite missing numerous orchestra and brass band practices in order to go to speech therapy. It was really taking a toll on my musicianship. Speech therapy took up time that could have been dedicated to music. I have no desire to improve my speech anyway, so why should I? It doesn't impede my ability to play the trumpet. I noticed that she used phrases like "to assuage your fears". What fears? I was honestly excited to have this student!
The only concern I had was evoked by the following statement: "If Kaito starts spamming words, silence his device." Okay, why would I do that? That was his voice. I would never forcibly tape a student's mouth shut because they were talking too much. I have done a variety of things when students would not stop talking, but removing their voice was not one of them. Why was it okay to do that to a kid like Kaito? He could be spamming out of frustration or for another reason. And spamming? Really?
I was honestly surprised that I could keep my job as the Mindcrack Middle and High School band director when it demanded the continual use of spoken and written language. However, I found ways to circumvent these problems. My students learn early on how to follow my baton and gestures. The foreign language department says being in band with me greatly improves their linguistic abilities. However, I think that can be said of learning music in general. One of them even said our students were "fluent in me". Aphasia, a language disorder, can become a language in itself.
But then I worried that a part of me that sent the message that giving up is acceptable. It took me three weeks to be able to produce any sound on a trumpet. Grateful for those little fracks, I somehow managed to end up a somewhat decent trumpeter. I was the last of the third trumpets in high school until halfway through my junior year. I was a second trumpet. I ended up an okay teacher and now I'm a horrible teacher. I want to be able count out loud again. I want to be the hero everyone makes me out to be. I suppose there's a reason for the lack of disabled heroes--true heroes, I mean, not the "inspirations" for doing everyday stuff.
And if that role has to be played, I suppose it's up to me. I went into the End a dragon slayer. I hoped for a triumphant homecoming, but I returned the same quivering mess I always was.
Caitlin and I decided to get lunch after that random stream of thought. We had been practicing our instruments for four hours straight; both of us were hungry and tired. I was lost in my head most of the time, just letting the notes flow from my mouth to fingers into my instrument. She slipped her hand into mine and smiled at me as if I were the hero she thought I was. Sure, I slayed the dragon, but I am not that man. He wasn't just happier than my current self. He was...free. More than anything, I wanted to be him again.
We sat down at a cafe while a waiter took our orders. Caitlin ordered for both of us in fluent French. I couldn't even order food in nonfluent English! She changed between French and English easily, never skipping a beat. The food was good. The steak was cooked the way I liked it and well-seasoned, the fries that came with it were crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and the house-made ketchup had the right ratio of tang to sweetness. However, I could not enjoy my food as the others, even Caitlin, did. She savored every cucumber in her salad (yes, a salad made entirely of cucumbers) with its light dressing. The taste of the pear juice she ordered seemed to bring a smile to her face. Her "Miam-miam" rang through the air as if she sang it. However, she eyed me with concern.
"You've haven't said a word all day. Are you okay?" No, I wanted to say. I wanted to draw my sword on the spot and drive it through my heart right then and there. However, I just nodded. I continued to pick at the remainder of my fries. Now, they just tasted like glue. "You know, finding a better way isn't necessarily about giving up." Seeing the cane rest on her chair, I nodded in assent. If Kaito was willing to participate in band, I should do the same.
Now, to find resources for teachers that use AAC....
