The Language Lesson (Story by R.C. Peris)

Language is odd. They don’t know why humans developed it or even developed the capacity for it. It’s useful in a group. It’s useful if you want something. I don’t think it’s necessary most of the time. I’m bad at using language. The doctors didn’t know why. I didn’t even speak until I was eight and my words came out halting and nearly unintelligible. My parents sent me to a therapist – a speech one and a psychological one. I also got therapy at school. Every week, someone worked with me so that I could speak more effectively and, as my speech pathologist said, eloquently.

In high school, I fell in love with Becca. She was on the debate team and was the class president. She already knew she was going to law school. Her words were impeccable and quick. She opened her mouth and a tumble of facts poured out. I wanted to be nearer to her so I joined the debate team.

“Excuse me?” Asked Mr. Davies. “Sure about that?” He was in charge of the debate club.

“Y…yes…yes.” I had a note from my speech pathologist who thought it would be good for me.
We were split into pairs and had to debate each other. The first topic was whether to legalize drugs. Becca argued for it and left all but Brandon in awe. Brandon, also a soon to be lawyer, argued against her. He was brilliant too. Then it was my turn. I was paired with Nga Nguyen. I looked at Becca and tried to speak. The words were in my head but they tripped on my fat tongue. Becca and Brandon started laughing and I sat down. My face was hot and red.

Becca and Brandon went to the nationals and Becca placed second. She was going to Yale on early admission. I assumed I would go to community college. My parents couldn’t afford college anyhow. I didn’t even know what I wanted to be.

At the senior dance, I approached Becca. She was dazzling in blue.

“I…I…love you.” I squeezed my hands shut. Becca laughed. A deep laugh.

“You can’t even talk. Why would someone like me like someone like you?” She flicked her hair and walked off.

My Dad picked me up after the dance. He was in his work clothes. I figured he had worked a double. We sat for a moment in the car without talking.

“Does it get easier, Dad?”

Dad closed his eyes and then sighed. “Not really, Daniel. Sorry to say. It never gets really easy. You sort through things, adjust to other things.”

“Do you eventually get what you love?” I rubbed my eyes. Becca was burning them.

“Sometimes. You have to name what you love. Say it so the universe can hear. The universe doesn’t usually answer but you have to say it. That’s what language is for. Saying things to things you love. No point in talking otherwise.”

We drove home and I gazed out the window at the stars.

“Becca,” I said but the universe was quiet. I think that night I was no longer a child but an adult.

THE END

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