Soulmates
2
Mommy
Jaime and Mommy (Nola)
IN FACT, Jaime’s mother did offer some shielding from the onslaught of mental voices pounding at his head. Her soft and loving caresses soothed him and helped block out the cacophony. She was calm and all her thoughts were about him. He instinctively reached out with his mind to share his love for her, but she didn’t seem to be aware that he was talking to her. He simply clung to her more closely than ever.
He was uncommonly quiet, even in instances where he was hurt and crying, he made no noise. Nola had to be ever more attentive to him, mindful of danger and injury, since he never cried out. She and David were increasingly concerned, and Nola’s full-time job became caring for Jaime.
She played with him and read to him, pointing out words as she spoke them. In this way, Jaime learned rapidly, but even when he laughed, the sound was little more than a squeak. Nola and David became more and more convinced that the birth trauma had somehow damaged the connection from his brain to his voice box. They gave him constant words of encouragement, asking him to select the blue block or the red crayon—tasks Jaime always completed with ease. They praised his accomplishments. Sometimes, Jaime thought they were talking to him in his head, but when he responded there was nothing. They never responded directly when he tried to ask a question.
Jaime withdrew even further into himself. When he was taken to a play group with other children his age, none of them would respond to his thoughts, either. He sat off to the side and watched children laughing and talking, unable to comprehend why they didn’t like him. He had so many questions and all he could do was listen and wait, hoping the answer would come. He pointed to things and his parents responded, but they often ran down a litany of what his gesture might mean before they arrived at the right conclusion.
He became more and more frustrated. People just didn’t listen, no matter how he shouted at them in his mind. He found himself sitting alone with a book or a toy, obsessed with some intricate detail. He was pleased when his mother began teaching him the alphabet and showing him how the letters went together to form words.
Jaime gradually became aware of another phenomenon. People often didn’t say the same thing with their inside voice as their out-loud voice. As time went by, even his mother talked aloud to him in comforting and caring tones, while her inside voice was filled with anxiety. Words like ‘slow developing,’ and ‘autism’ were in her inside vocabulary—words Jaime didn’t know the meaning of but knew they were bad things about him. That was why no one would talk to him in his head, he thought. He was bad. He was an autism. No one liked an autism.
When guests came to their house or when they visited elsewhere, Jaime hid and found places where people’s inside voices didn’t reach him as relentlessly.
Jaime was five years old and had resigned himself to never being listened to and being a bad person no one liked. He was playing on the floor with a toy xylophone he’d learned a tune on. His parents were very proud that he didn’t just hammer on the keys. His mother was finishing the dishes from their quiet lunch together.
He hardly ever tried to reach his mother with his thoughts any longer because she never answered him. He simply couldn’t understand why people bothered with their out-loud voices when they were perfectly clear with their inside voices. They never said what they meant.
The peanut butter sandwich he’d had for lunch left bits of gummy bread stuck in his mouth. He wanted another glass of milk.
«Milk, Mommy,» he thought as clearly as he could.
His mother continued washing the dishes. Jaime was getting more and more flustered as time went by. He thought perhaps if he was more polite, his mother would pay attention. He organized his thoughts and directed them to his mother again.
«May I have milk please, Mommy?» he thought as clearly as he could.
Still no response. Maybe it was all a game people played that he didn’t understand. He organized his words again and did his best to speak with a squeaky little out-loud voice.
“Mother, may I please have a glass of milk?” he said, mimicking people he’d heard being polite.
Nola spun in place, dropping a glass that shattered on the kitchen floor. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as she seemed not to be able to get air in her lungs. She stared at her son, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the floor, landing on the broken glass. Blood flowed from her arm and her head where they were cut and Jaime couldn’t understand the jumbled thoughts that seemed to crowd each other out in her mind.
“Mommy?” he squeaked again. «Mommy!»
She didn’t respond at all.
He considered getting a Band-Aid from the high cabinet in the bathroom. Mommy had fixed all his cuts and scrapes growing up with dinosaurs, Mickey Mouse, and fire trucks. He never bled as much as his mother was, though. He didn’t think a Band-Aid would help. There was only one thing to do. His parents had taught him carefully to dial 9-1-1 in an emergency.
He’d heard his father’s thoughts when they taught him how to use the phone.
«I don’t know what good it will do if he can’t talk. Maybe just making the call and leaving the line open will be enough.”
Jaime went to the phone on the table, crawling up on his chair. He carefully dialed the three numbers.
“This is 9-1-1 emergency. State the nature of your emergency, please.”
Jaime thought really hard, trying to get the person on the phone to see his mother lying on the floor bleeding. There was no response. In fact, Jaime couldn’t hear her in his head at all.
“Hello? Can you speak?” the operator asked.
Jaime took a deep breath. Maybe no one could read thoughts over the telephone.
“Yes,” he squeaked.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Mommy fell on broken glass. Lots of blood,” Jaime squeaked. Tears were welling up in his eyes.
“Can she speak to me?”
“Not awake.”
“I have located your address as 571 Crescent Drive and have alerted an ambulance. Help is on the way,” the operator said. “I’m transferring you to a nurse who will ask you some questions. Please stay on the phone, little girl.”
«Girl? I’m a boy!» Jaime thought at her. Then decided the telephone must change people’s out-loud voices, too. So, he just stayed on the phone staring at Mommy. He still couldn’t make sense of any of her thoughts. Then another voice came through the phone.
“This is Nurse Janet,” the voice said calmly and gently. “What is your name?”
“Jaime,” he said, trying to use the same calm tone through his tears.
“Jaime, can you see your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me where she is bleeding.”
Jaime couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mother, constantly calling to her. «Wake up, Mommy. Nurse Janet wants to talk to you!»
“Her head and her arm.”
“Oh, dear. What part of her arm is bleeding?”
“Near her hand.”
“Jaime, this is very important. Some people are on their way to help your mommy, but she needs your help right away. Can you reach her and still talk on the phone?”
“Not supposed to take the phone off the table.”
“I’ll explain it all to your mommy. Right now, you need to take the phone close enough to touch her.”
The woman had a very nice voice, but Jaime wished she would just show him what he should do. The telephone didn’t let any thoughts come through.
“Is there a long cord on your phone?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Jaime, this is very important. You need to wrap the cord around Mommy’s arm between her elbow and where she is bleeding. Do you know where her elbow is?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Wrap the cord around her arm and twist it as tight as you can make it.”
“Mommy won’t like it,” Jaime complained. “Hurt Mommy.”
“Jaime, we need to do this so Mommy can wait for the ambulance. Please do what I’ve told you to do. I’ll explain to Mommy.”
She sounded urgent, even though he couldn’t hear her inside voice. He knew sometimes people tried to stay calm when they were very frightened. He did. And he was very frightened right now. It didn’t seem right, but Jaime picked up his mother’s bloody hand and wrapped the cord around and around her arm. There wasn’t as much blood coming out any longer. He couldn’t hear the phone as well now.
“The ambulance is almost there, Jaime. Tell your Mommy you love her. That will help her on the ride to the hospital,” Nurse Janet said.
“I love you, Mommy,” Jaime squeaked. Then he doubled it in his mind and screamed, «I love you, Mommy.»
Then the most remarkable thing happened. Jaime heard his mother speak in his mind.
«I love you, baby boy.»
Then her thoughts sort of disappeared.
There was a noisy whining sound outside and, in a minute, two men crashed through the front door. They ran into the kitchen talking fast and thinking faster than Jaime could comprehend. He dropped the phone and ran to his room. More people came into the house, bringing things the men needed and shouting in their minds.
Jaime was overwhelmed by the thoughts. He held his hands against his head and hid beneath his bed where the thoughts weren’t so noisy. In minutes, the ambulance drove away with Mommy. Jaime stayed hidden, quietly crying.
He’d spoken exactly fifty-two words in his life, and men came to take his mommy away in a red truck that made lots of noise.
Jaime and Daddy (David)
Jaime spent the rest of his day crying and calling out mentally to Daddy. Other people came in the house, jabbering with each other about helping repair things and who should bring meals. No one thought about Jaime.
David returned to the house late, frantically calling out for his son and searching the house.
“Jaime! Jaime! Where are you, son? Come here to Daddy. Please don’t be lost, baby boy.”
Jaime came out of his room and ran to his daddy’s voice. He was still crying and didn’t know what to do. David was just as relieved to see his son, but he continued to talk as he tried unsuccessfully to soothe Jaime.
“I can’t believe they just left you here! The stupid people! They couldn’t even keep Nola alive. And they left you here alone. I’m so glad you’re okay! I’ll sue the city and the hospital and every fucking one of them! Oh! Thank God, you’re okay.”
Jaime was thankful his daddy was home and holding him, but his father’s thoughts were a worse jumble than what he was saying.
We’re alone. How will we survive. Nola is dead. How can we go on? Everything is bad!
Jaime tried to ask him what dead meant, but his father, too, refused to respond to his thoughts. He was afraid to use his out-loud voice because when he used it Mommy fell down and they took her away. Everything was wrong and Jaime was hungry.
David finally understood that and managed to stop crying a little.
“My God! You’ve been here all afternoon alone. You must be starving. Don’t worry, son. We’ll get through this somehow. It’s just you and me now. We’ll manage. I don’t know how, but we’ll manage.”
He carried his son out of the room, even though Jaime was perfectly able to walk. Daddy seemed to need to hold him, so Jaime lay his head against his father’s strong shoulders and relaxed. He carried Jaime downstairs and out the broken door. In the kitchen, there was still broken glass and blood and the telephone on the floor.
They drove to the food place with Jaime in his car seat. At the restaurant, his father ordered Jaime’s favorite pancakes and syrup with a glass of milk. While Jaime ate, he kept trying to figure out what his father was thinking. His thoughts were a jumble, asking questions Jaime couldn’t answer.
What am I going to do without you? Who can I get to help? I need to call the office and tell them. How can I tell them? What can I tell them? How can I ever raise our son by myself? What made you fall? Nola, please don’t go!
Jaime ate pancakes while Daddy just drank coffee and made phone calls. When they got home, some neighbors were there with Uncle Kenny. He wrapped his big arms around both David and Jaime and held them for a long time. Jaime needed the bathroom, though, and began to squirm. David put him down. He ran upstairs to the bathroom so he wouldn’t wet his pants.
There were women in the kitchen cleaning up the glass and the mess. Uncle Kenny was working with men to repair the door the red truck men had broken in. Everyone’s thoughts were as jumbled as his father’s.
It’s too bad. Poor Jaime. How will David cope? We’d better get some food organized. I can watch Jaime while David makes arrangements. Did anyone check to see if things were all still here and nothing was stolen? Why didn’t we think to check on Jaime when they took Nola?
Daddy took Jaime to bed. After he was in his pajamas and snuggled under his blankets, David read him a story and turned out the light. There was still a lot of racket in the house with people talking and thinking. Jaime slipped out of bed to turn on his music. If he focused on listening to the music, he could block out the noise from people shouting in his head.
Eventually, he covered his head with his pillow and went to sleep.
Jaime understood one thing clearly: His out-loud voice was bad—even worse than being ignored. He’d spoken once and Mommy was never coming home again. He would never use his out-loud voice again.
Sadly, everyone still refused to answer him when he spoke to their heads with his inside voice. They just ignored him, unless he physically got their attention and pointed to what he wanted. They couldn’t ignore that and made a big fuss about all he needed to do was tell them.
It was frustrating. People talked about everything in their heads, including about Jaime, as if he wasn’t even there. A nice woman came to stay with him while Daddy went to work, but before too many days passed, Daddy’s work changed and he was at home a lot, working on his computer in the basement.
Jaime liked hanging out there with his father. The basement was quieter. And when his father was working, his mind was quieter and calmer. He got Jaime earphones so he could play his music without making noise in the ‘office.’ Jaime was happy there.
He did have to learn when he could and couldn’t interrupt his father. If his father was using his out-loud voice on the telephone, for example, Jaime was not to interrupt. Jaime knew where most things were in the house, so he could find where snacks were in the kitchen—he liked pudding—and could get his own plastic glass of water. He could use the bathroom and knew he had to stand on the stool to wash his hands afterward. He knew which handle was hot water and which was cold.
Sometimes, when he had his earphones on and wandered upstairs, he went to his room to read a book or get a toy. It wouldn’t be long before his father rushed in to see where he’d gone and breathed a sigh of relief when he found his son.
And David began to understand his son better all the time. He took time from his busy day to read Jaime stories and give him paper and crayons. He even set up an art place in a corner of his office. Jaime liked drawing and sometimes copied words or pictures from his books.
David spent time reading and practicing letters. He taught him how to spell his name. Jaime was a fast learner. He could see in his father’s mind what was wanted. It was easier to pick things out of his mind than it was to wait while he talked.
David began to think about school, something he would have left to Nola before. She’d been teaching him letters and numbers at home and Jaime would often sit quietly ‘reading.’ David didn’t know if he understood what he read or if he was just looking at pictures. He wondered how Jaime would do in a world where everyone talked. He read up on education for children with selective mutism and discarded most of it. Jaime wasn’t selectively mute. He never spoke. David read articles for communicating with the deaf, but Jaime heard just fine. It appeared the doctors’ diagnosis of autism was the only answer.
Then the question was whether to try mainstream education or to get him into a special education program. The problem with special education was that the operating assumption was that the child was slow at learning and had difficulty understanding instructions. Jaime had no problem understanding and learning. His responses were unorthodox, ranging from pointing and gesturing to occasional printed words as Jaime began to understand more language.
It was time to think about school.
David took Jaime to meet with a kindergarten teacher. The conversation was strained.
“He’s never spoken at all?” the teacher asked. She’d introduced herself as Miss Judy. Jaime and his father sat across from her at a little table on chairs that were much too small for the grownups. Miss Judy had immediately set paper and crayons in front of Jaime.
“Not a word,” David said. “He scarcely makes a sound even when he cries or laughs. When Jamie was born, his whole body shut down. He was rushed to intensive care and put in an incubator with breathing and feeding tubes. He was there for several days before he began to respond to stimuli. Doctors have proposed that the intense trauma after his birth resulted in a form of autism. Then last spring, he saw his mother bleed to death after a fall. That redoubled the trauma. We’ve been told not to try to get him to speak. If he can speak, it will come naturally. Eventually.”
“Oh, my. I’m not sure what to say, Mr. Stackhouse. I’m not usually a special ed teacher. Have you checked other programs?” Miss Judy asked.
“I don’t believe my son needs special education. He already knows his numbers and letters and can spell some words. He’s very intelligent. He just doesn’t talk, and I don’t want a well-meaning special education teacher trying to get him to talk,” David said.
“Hmm. In kindergarten, a substantial part of the curriculum is socialization. Children come from all backgrounds and this is an opportunity for them to learn about and from others. Much of that is through communication. If you would give me a couple of days to do some research, perhaps I can come up with a way to integrate Jaime into the class. I support your goals and my research is simply to see if I can find a way to advance them.”
“I will accept that and thank you for your efforts,” David said.
Jaime heard a very different conversation, though neither of the adults acknowledged what they were thinking. Miss Judy was very nice, but was at a loss for what to do. Jaime decided she really did want to have him in her class and was thinking of all the ways she could teach other children about something called ‘mutism.’ She didn’t seem to have any doubts that Jaime could learn in her class—perhaps faster than others his age.
Daddy was barely holding back his frustration. He was very protective of Jaime and wondered if he could believe Miss Judy or if this was just a wasted effort. Jaime decided he needed to help.
He drew a picture of Miss Judy. It wasn’t a Renaissance portrait, or even a good likeness. It was a woman with a ponytail and flowers on her dress. That much was clear. Under the picture, he carefully printed the word ‘NICE.’ He pushed the picture between his father and Miss Judy.
“It seems you have Jaime’s vote,” David laughed.
“That may be all that is necessary,” Miss Judy said. “Thank you, Jaime. May I keep the picture?”
Jaime could see she wanted to show it to another teacher when she ‘sorted things out.’ He nodded.
“I’ll be in touch on Wednesday afternoon,” Miss Judy said. “Thank you both for considering me as a possible teacher for Jaime.”
They left the school and Jaime could tell his father was feeling much better. They stopped for ice cream on the way home.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
