Talk

The pain is so strong, it makes me cry out. I don’t have it all the time and when it goes, she lets me eat. I have to eat as fast as I can before the pain comes back.

I want to go home but she won’t let me. When the pain comes, I think of home. I remember a time before the pain when the rhythm of life kept me happy. I long to return but know, deep down, that I never will.

When the pain has a rest and I’m not gulping food, I listen to the silence. It’s so different from what I’m used to but I must be getting accustomed to it because quite often now, I frighten at the slightest sound. Even her voice, when she carries it silently to my bed, can make my weak limbs twitch in surprise.

She talks a lot. She doesn’t seem to care that I won’t speak to her, she just keeps telling me things that I don’t care about and asking me questions that I have no intention of answering.

She also brings the shadows. They come from the direction of her voice and sometimes they remain after she has gone but they don’t scare me. I watch them as they jump around, glowing and dimming, texturing my view until I feel tired and close my eyes. I know that the shadows might gather round and hug me so that when I wake, all the light has gone or they  might creep away to return with her, which is never long.

The little ones are always coming and going, wherever I look there are always a few, dancing and bouncing. They seem to like me. I’ll keep an eye on them just in case.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

The pain doesn’t come as often now and doesn’t seem as bad although I still eat fast.

I think she’s fallen out with the shadows because they don’t follow her around any longer. They still come and hug me to make it dark, only the big ones. The little ones never come to see me anymore.

I’ve begun to notice that she smiles a lot, sometimes she even laughs although I don’t know why. Of course she still talks but I’ve decided I quite like it. The sound of her voice makes me feel nice most of the time.

I also like looking at her. Her face moves all over the place and her mouth moves all over her face. Her eyes roll about and make me feel dizzy. Sometimes, I’m sick.

I think of home less and less and am fast losing the desire to return. There is just so much I need to think about here. I have so much to learn and it seems as though, every time I turn my head, there is something new to see. I can’t leave all this.

She sang to me today. It was a strange noise, kind of funny. I tried to laugh but only managed a smile. She laughed loudly enough for both of us and I got a fright. Then she left me alone for a while. Just me. No her, no shadows. I felt strange, not nice.

I don’t think I like it when she’s not here.

Lately, I’ve started to look at my hands. They’re amazing. I can hold them up in front of my face and wiggle my fingers, I can put them together and kind of make them hold onto each other and I can hit things but sometimes that hurts a little.

Sometimes she lets me hold her hand and then she makes a funny noise because I dig my nails into her skin. I don’t mean to do it, though. I’d much rather pull her hair but I can’t quite reach yet.

I’m getting quite good at sleeping and when I wake up, she always comes in to see me. I like that and I give her my biggest smile just so she knows.

I like her even more when she feeds me, of course.

I’ve decided that this is home. I never want to leave here.

I’ve also decided I love her.

The pain has returned but it’s different from before.

It aches and won’t go away. She puts things in my mouth which are cool and I chew on them. This helps a little. If I cry out really hard, she’ll put her finger in my mouth and rub on some goo which makes the pain go away even more.

I also have a few things of my own that I can bite on. I can do that now; hold things by myself and put them into my mouth. It’s all because of those hands I told you about earlier. They’re really brilliant.

At least I still have my appetite and she’s giving me really interesting things to eat at the moment although I don’t really like Lancashire hot pot. I’m still sick sometimes but I don’t think she minds.

She still talks as much and smiles and laughs. I like to smile and I’m even getting quite good at laughing when I don’t have my hand or her finger or something chewy stuck in my mouth. There’s so much to see here, so many shapes and colours. I can smell things too and I hear lots of strange noises. She’ll probably sing another song soon.

I don’t like being alone. It’s okay for a while, especially if there are lots of things to touch and feel and put in my mouth, but sooner or later I just want her to come and talk to me or make funny faces or laugh for no apparent reason.

Or even sing, I suppose.

I can sit up now and watch her. She’s always moving around doing things. She carries things and moves things around and wipes things (including me). Quite often it can be difficult to decide where to look. Should I watch her or one of the bright lights above me or the television (which is great, almost as good as my hands), so I just have to try and watch everything.

I love watching things as much as I love chewing things.

I spoke to her for the first time today.

All I said was ‘Mama’ but she laughed at this just like she seems to laugh at everything else. It was a funny kind of laugh, though. Different. The kind where water came out of her eyes.

Then she picked me up and hugged me and kissed me and shoogled me and then hugged me again. It was excellent! I laughed and used my hands to pull her hair to show her I was happy, then I was sick. I think she quite likes it when I’m sick.

Ever since we had our little talk, she’s been even more fun. She’s telling me what lots of things are called which is quite difficult to remember but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it. She talks to me constantly, so much so that she doesn’t sing as much now which can only be a good thing. All in all, I think opening my mouth was a really good move.

Can’t wait to see what happens when I say ‘Dada’ to him.           

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