Stutter

     I love talking. It’s so great.  I love having a captive audience, whether it’s a toddler or a best friend who’s already got tears of laughter in her eyes. And if there’s no one there to listen but me the story is still amazing, the laughs still so real.

     It’s really strange to remember that there was a time when I stuttered horribly. One of the possible factors could be the fact that by time I was six years old I had lived in three different countries and spoke all their respective languages. Remembering who in my life spoke which language was fucking exhausting.

     What I do know is that when someone asked me a question, or made a comment and expected one in return, sometimes it took longer for me to make the words come out. I realized there was something wrong with that when I connected people’s mocking laughter, smirks, and awkward glances with the pause that preceded my responses. 

     Which only made it worse.  My forehead would itch, my cheeks would get warm and sweaty, and my mouth would open and close several times as if I were a fish trying to breathe. I learned to buy myself time by pretending I hadn’t heard the question at first, leaning forward with a curious smile on my face. I would cough as if something was stuck in my throat, hoping to forcibly expel out some words instead.

     I was in 6^th grade the first time I wanted to commit an act of great violence to someone for making fun of my stutter. My teacher had called on me to read out loud from the textbook, which was just absolutely great on her part considering I was still learning how to speak English.

     I stood up and bent over the heavy book, calming my hand tremors by pressing them down on the desk. I read, stumbling over the words and looking up often for approval from her about the general pronunciation of every word. After a few minutes the scattered laughter in the room grew loud enough to draw me out of my concentrated fog, and I saw that the current class clown was softly repeating the words after me, exaggerating my accent and stutter.

     I stared at him in shock. Could he not see how hard I was working? How painful this was for me? How could he be so mean?

     I briefly considered calmly walking up to him and punching a hole through his scrawny neck. Instead I made firm eye contact with him, took a deep breath, and flipped him off.

In class. With the rest of the students and my teacher watching. The instant hush that fell over the room was tangible and just delicious! Later on that day I came back to the classroom and begged that teacher not to write me up, explaining that I was reacting to a bully and that I wouldn’t do it again. It would have been my first detention and I was sure my parents would have punished me horribly no matter the circumstances.

     I like to think that I’ve come far from reacting out in anger and self-defensiveness, but I will never deny how good that moment felt.

     I still stutter when I get really excited but go to this link and watch me do a poem super smooth. Poetry is magic. https://youtu.be/Bl7cRiOBscM