His name was Jasper Ing. It took me a bit to figure out that people had surnames. His was Ing. He explained that to me while we separated the sheets and blankets into piles – those that had urine, those that had feces, those that were simply two weeks old and ready to change…
Shame became the word that meant, me.
“Shame on you.”
“What a shame, you’re…”
“What a shame he’s…”
That last one hurt most, because I ceased to exist. I was a case. I was a number. I was not a person, but then, I didn’t really expect to be…
So, I thought, that is what love means. And I went back, because I got food, and a bath, and attention, and sex was the price I paid because that was the currency I had. After a while it seemed normal to me – having absolutely no idea what normal really meant. Brother Darwin taught me things. We would go to the museum and he would talk to me about history. He taught me a bit about reading and writing – more than I thought, actually – but mostly he was an oral sort of a fellow, in oh, so many ways. I cannot describe the dichotomy of emptiness, despair and hope that filled me in those years…
Showandah Terrill is a scifi/fantasy author from Forks, WA.Learn more than you ever wanted to know about her here.