Unspoken - 28. The A’s Have It

“Dad?”

I turned from where I was hand washing some dishes, to show that I was listening, and nodded to Bryce, who was finishing the last of his steak and potatoes. Nicolo was beside me, wiping crisco on the hot Griswold #8 that was the primary pan I used to cook.

“You said that when you decided not to try that experimental treatment that there was shouting involved with Uncles A.” I nodded again without turning, knowing that he was talking about what I’d said before my little late-night breakdown some time ago.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Se Alex ha detto che ci sono state delle grida, deve esserci stata una bella rissa.”

I stopped to glare at Nicolo, poking him with a foot.

“Amore mio, lo sai che sei uno che minimizza tutto.”

I glared at him for a moment more, before giving an innocent shrug, and going back to the dishes, pulling a laugh from him. He wasn’t wrong. I can be dramatic at times, but it’s said that I’d make a mole-hill out of a mountain. I sighed to myself, pulling the plug on the sink to start draining the dirty soapy water. The Griswold had been cleaned before filling up the sink, so it was cooling on the stove by this point. The other side of the sink was then used to rinse the dishes. I’d hand them to Nicolo who would put them on the drying rack.

Dishes done, I started brewing a caffélatte for Nicolo, decaf of course, and while that was brewing I popped a hard cider for myself, and poured a glass of juice for Bryce. We retired to the living room, relaxing on the couches, and we sipped at our beverages before I started my story.

‘Funny enough,’ I signed, ‘there probably wouldn’t have been any shouting if my father hadn’t found me crying in my closet, curled up under my shirts.’

———

“Aklen?” My da’s voice startled me, and I twitched. “Wot are ye doin’ hidin’ ‘ere. Ye been cryin’? Why’ve ye got a blackie?”

He pulled me out effortlessly, and carried me to the bed, sitting me down beside him, an arm across my shoulders. “Wot ‘appened?”

I was still shaking and crying, wondering why my brothers would call me a freak, and I could barely sign, but managed to spell out ‘A A F R E A K’ before rage purpled da’s face.

“Did they say tha’ tae ye?” He whispered, voice quivering in barely suppressed anger.

I nodded, wiping at my eyes. He knew they would never hit me though, mam would literally murder them. I still felt so small compared to everyone. I was twelve but still looked like I was six. It was difficult to get taken seriously, and it meant the world to me that my family treated me my age instead of how I looked. Except my brothers had been pretending, it seemed.

“Dinna worry. We’ll set ‘em righ’.” We meant mam as well, and I worried that she would actually kill them. I quickly signed ‘dad no’ as he stood, and he turned and kneeled in front of me, grasping my small hands in his massive ones. “Nay Aklen, if they called ye tha’ there’s punishment tae be had.” He pulled me into a tight hug. “Worry not, ma wee bairn, death’s not on the menu today.” He stood and ran his fingers comfortingly through my black and orange spikes - the colors of Toano Middle School - lightly scratching my scalp, before swiftly leaving my room. I followed shortly after, creeping along the hallway to sit at the top of the stairs. I heard da downstairs, throw open the porch door, and howled out of it “AARAN! AODH! GET YER FUCKIN’ ARSES IN HERE RIGH’ FUCKIN’ NOW!”

Mam’s voice cut in “Archie?! Wot’s the hubbub?”

“One moment my love, I’ve got a question for the boys.”

I could hear them entering the house, and sliding the door closed behind them.

“The fuck, da?” One of them said, “what’d we do?” followed the other.

My brothers Aaran and Aodh were identical twins, two years older than me, now in Lafayette High School. They managed to stave off bullies as best they could, but with new students in my school this year I was getting bullied again. I had a couple friends, and the swim team, but they couldn’t be everywhere, and hadn’t been as effective as my brothers had at keeping them away. The black eye had been received today.

“Would you two like tae tell me and yer mam why I found Aklen cryin’ in his closet upstairs?”

“Wot?!” Called out mam.

“Crying?” asked one brother, “why?” finished the other.

“Well,” da spoke again, rage lacing his voice again, “he seems tae be under the impression ye called ‘im a freak.”

Mam let out a hissed “wot,” before I heard a drawer slam open and closed. Shite she’s getting The Spoon.

Mam didn’t spank like da used to, she had The Spoon. A good thwack on the stack or bottom was worse than a spanking.

“Ye’ve got three heartbeats tae explain why ye called Little Alex a freak!” she hissed.

“We never-“ “-called him a freak! We would never-“ “-call him a freak! We’d-“ “-beat the bogshite-“ “-out of anyone who-“ “-called him a freak!”

“Then why,” da broke in, “does he think ye did? Wot the hell happened today?”

“Ye start ‘em Aodh, ah’ll go see Alex.”

I could hear Aaran’s feet thudding as he shifted quickly through the house, stopping for just a second at the bottom of the stairs, before flying up and slamming into me. He heftily lifted me onto a hip – my brothers were strong from wrestling – and carrying me downstairs, as Aodh began explaining.

“We crossed him walkin’ home, and he’d signed he’d made a decision. We asked, and he told us he decided not to try that treatment.”

“Is tha’ righ’?” Da asked, glancing my way, I nodded, still on Aaran’s hip.

“Well?” mam hissed.

“Well,” Aaran continued “we asked why, and he signed that even if he could talk people’d still see him as a freak. He signed he was also scared of getting a voice and it sounding weird, or unnatural.” “But we told him,” Aodh took over “that he should at least try, because even if people still treated him like a freak oh-“ he stopped mid sentence. He and Aaran shared a look. “Fuck.” They both said together.

“Continue.” Spoke da, still managing to hold his temper.

“Well,” Aaran coughed, “we said that-“ “-even if people still-“ “-treated him like a-“ “-freak, at least he’d-“ “-still be less-“ “-of one…” they trailed off after finishing together.

I struggled against Aaran until he put me down, and made to bolt again, but da managed to grab me before I could make it out of the room. Mam stepped slowly over to Aaran and Aodh brandishing The Spoon, hissing “ye called yer brother a freak.”

They both raised their hands, fear sheeting their faces. “Naw mam we-“ “didn’t mean to-“ “-say it like that we-“ “-just meant that-“

“IT DINNA MATTER YE LITTLE BASTARDS!” She smacked them each one across the shoulder, eliciting “ow!” from both of them. “OW!” she smacked them again on the forearms. “YE KNOW HE RELIES ON YE TAE-“

“Aftyn.” Da spoke, calmly interrupting mam from smacking them thrice, “I dinna think a thrashing is needed. Is tha’ righ’ lads?”

“Yea!” they chorused. “Ye know we do-“ “-everything we can to-“ “-stop any from hurtin’ our-“ “-little Alex.”

“Ye just stop tha’ righ’ now. Ah’ll get a thrummin’ in mah head.” Dad said, shaking his head as he kept me in place, heavy hand on my shoulder. I’d tried to escape twice again, but he outmatched me in strength by probably tenfold. “Aodh, explain.”

They nodded. “I mean, he is a freak, but we don’ mean nothin’ by it. It doesn’t matter to us we love him just the same!”

“It’s like,” Aaran cut in “when I call me twin here,” he bonged Aodh across his chin but lightly, “donkeyshite. It’s jus’ playin.’”

There was dead silence.

“Alex,” Aodh continued, “face facts yer not normal, ye are a freak, but that’s not a bad thing! Ye are who ye are, and we love ya just the same! Even if ye got a voice that sounded weird it’d still be yer voice. We don’ understand why ye wouldn’ wanna try.”

“We jus’ want ye to be able to do more, and a voice would help with tha.’ If it didn’ go righ’ and it was wonky ya could jus’ not speak, like now.”

“Lads,” da sighed, “ye can’t control yer own voice the whole time; things slip out when yer angry or sad or excited, and it happens uncontrolled. Ye never sound tae others like ye do in yer head, too. If somethin’ went off wi’ the treatment who knows what could happen?”

“I think,” mam pitched in, “that Alex should have his say.”

I tapped da’s hand, and he reluctantly let go. I walked over to mam and hugged her across the middle, and she ran fingers through my spikes, lightly scraping my scalp just like da did, comfortingly. After releasing her, I strode to my brothers, and signed to them.

‘You think I’m a freak?’

“Well, honestly-“ “-yeah, we do, but to us-“ “-it’s just who ye are-“ “-just like we’re twins and-“ “-gingers.”

They kneeled down, pulling me close between them. “We love ya Alex, we-“ “-just want ye to be happy, and we-“ “-thought that having a voice would-“ “-make that easier. We just-“ “-don’t understand why-“ “-ye wouldn’t wanta try.”

I wriggled a bit between them to get them to let me go, and I started signing again. ‘Being able to talk wouldn’t change anything. People are always going to judge me anyway. If they would treat me different because I can’t talk, I don’t want them as a friend anyway. A-run would you get a different haircut if people asked you to only so people could tell you apart?”

Aaran shook his head, “naw, that’s not their choice!”

I continued. ‘Me getting a voice isn’t going to change who I am inside. I don’t want to be different than I am now to make other people happy. I don’t think that would make me happy.’

“We don’t” Aaran spoke, and Aodh joined him for “understand. But-“ “-it’s yer-“ “-choice.”

I crossed my arms over my chest in an X, and then poked them each in the chest. They hugged me between them again.

Mam cut in before long. “Well there we go. All back the way it should be. Supper’s in ten, go wash up, my loves.” She walked back into the kitchen, waving The Spoon over her shoulder, and da smiled and shook his head as the four of us split up to go wash before supper.

I felt bad for thinking ill of my brothers. They’ve risked expulsion from school coming to my aid before, and I’m sure they would again if it was necessary.

As I stepped up on the stool in front of the sink in my bathroom and flicked the water on, I promised to myself that I would never question how my brothers saw me or felt about me again.

——— 

“That’s a lot of cussing.” Bryce observed, wide eyed.

I nodded. ‘They curse much less now.’ I signed. ‘Dad came very close to losing a big contract when I was 14 because of it. After that they all changed their language.’

Nicolo pulled my hair tie out, and ran his fingers through the loose hair. Ever since I was little – well, young, I’m still little – my scalp being scratched has always had a calming effect. It was only after puberty that it’d become an erogenous zone.

“The Spoon gramma has now, is that the same one?”

‘Yes. She got it from her mother.’

He grimaced. “I’ll bet it’s whacked a lot of people.”

I nodded, and Nicolo laughed.

“You had your hair dyed black and orange?”

I nodded. ‘When I swam for Toano I dyed my hair the school’s colors for their mascot, The Tigers.’

“Lui era adorabile.” Nicolo said. I just blushed and shook my head.

“Do you have pictures?” Bryce looked amused, “I bet you looked awesome, dad.”

I sighed and shook my head, waving for Bryce to follow as I made my way around the island. We went to one of the two overpacked bookshelves flanking the entertainment center, and I ran a finger along the shelf containing the photo albums. Finding the one I wanted, I pulled it off the shelf, and flipped through it as we went to sit on the couch. I set it on Bryce’s lap, pointing to a picture date marked 2001.

The picture featured myself and my brothers. They were wearing their blue and gold wrestling team singlets, and had their biceps flexed upwards, and I was hanging between them from their arms, my hair tiger striped, matching my school team speedo, which was alto tiger striped, with a large white T for Toano on the front. We were all smiling widely. It had been my father who came up with the idea for the picture. ‘This was two weeks after,’ I signed.

Bryce leaned down close, examining the pic for a few seconds. “You look like a tiger, dad!” he laughed, sitting back upright. He poked at my hair in the picture. “You looked cute with spikes!”

I snickered silently, as Nicolo ran his fingers through my hair. He had been standing behind us, silent. Nicolo had said the same thing when I first showed him that picture. I took the album back, and signed ‘Bedtime B. Your first audition is tomorrow.’

He had the first of his auditions the next afternoon. He wanted to be the Rat King in The Nutcracker, and he and Miss Ducasse had set up auditions with three different groups. He stood up to give us each a hug before heading upstairs to bed. Nicolo waited until I had put the album back, before hefting me up and throwing me across his shoulder. As he carried me upstairs one of his large hands started rubbing my bottom, a finger intentionally running up and down my crack.

“Ora che Bryce ha avuto la vostra attenzione, è il mio turno!”

I went limp and shivered, an erection growing fast to stab his shoulder, looking forward to a draining night. Tomorrow would be a big day, but that was still tomorrow.