She clicks the tip, and it morphs into a pencil.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I peer over my shoulder. The ghost of an eraser bounces off the surface of a desk, trapping my attention.
“Everett? Are you okay?” Miss Amy asks, but instead it’s Mrs. Fuller’s voice I hear.
Can you draw an oval for me, Everett?
Woosh. Woosh. Woosh.
I glance to the left. How long has the computer been making that sound?
Mrs. Fuller lifts the pencil and closes my hand around it.
Why is she squeezing so tightly? I can hold it myself.
I flex my hand.
“Are you okay? Can I get you some water or something?” Miss Amy asks.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
What is that? Where is it coming from? Why won’t she let me find it?
You hold it like this. Here, let me help you.
There! It’s the clock on the wall above her desk.
Cht. Cht. Cht.
Her shoes, my pants, the carpet. Why is everything so loud?
How do they not hear it too?
Mrs. Dawson, he struggles to focus.
Why can’t I block out these sounds?
Why am I the only one?
“Everett!” Miss Amy shouts my name, snapping me back to the present.
The legs of my chair scrape against the carpet as I scoot away from the table. It’s no longer just my seat that feels small. This whole room is suffocating me. I swipe the business card to appease her and stuff it in my pocket.
“We won’t be needing the help but thank you for your time.” Dismissing myself, I head for the door.
She stops me before I can exit. “Accepting help doesn’t mean you’ve failed as Quinn’s father. It means you’re her biggest advocate.”
I used to believe in help. As a kid, it was something I thought everyone needed. Learning to ride a bike, tie your shoes, make a waffle in the toaster. I expected it the first time I tried anything new. That everyone struggled once in a while, and it was normal.
Normalis exactly what I want for Quinn. It’s what I want forme.
But that ended the day I was told I was different. The seemingly generic term—help—suddenly didn’t seem so okay anymore. It felt ugly and wrong and embarrassing. As if a four-letter word had the power to destroy me. Even as an adult, helpis filled with nothing but expectations and invisible strings. I don’t want any part of it.
“As parents, we allhave limitations. Something my therapist said to me after I found out Johnny needed speech therapy too.” Miss Amy shrugs.
I appreciate what she’s trying to do. Everyone wants to feel relatable. But being relatable is not how you survive in this world. It doesn’t make you special or unique in the same way finding out what you’re good at something and sticking with it does. We’ll find Quinn’s strengths and lean into them just like I did. Everyone will see.
