Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: OVERSEAS VACATION (08/13/15)
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TITLE: What A Thousand Words Couldn't Say | Previous Challenge Entry
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08/19/15 -
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Knowing the peace downstairs won’t last, I drag myself away. I unzip the first behemoth of a suitcase, which bursts open on the bed. How we managed to get four people’s worth of luggage for a week plus Christmas presents into two suitcases and still be within our luggage allowance is beyond me.
Downstairs, the squeak of the back door and excited cheers herald the return of my daughter, Holly, and my husband, Richard. I leave the unpacking and get downstairs just as my niece Clara, and my brother-in-law, Johann, come clattering into the house. Their warm laughter mitigates the freezing arctic blast that’s blowing through the open door.
Ann appears from the kitchen and together, we brush the remains of the snowball fight off the girls’ discarded boots and gloves. Once the hallway is clean, Ann fetches a plate of gingerbread from the kitchen. The children descend upon it like gannets. But Jack, my youngest, remains oblivious to all the commotion, and continues playing with the trainset in front of the Christmas tree.
I take over the biscuit Ann made especially for him, a biscuit in the shape of a train. As usual, he just wants to tell me about his trains. I have one ear tuned in to him, and the other to Clara, who’s telling Ann, “I love you, Mama.”
They’re the same age – just five years old. Yet so different. Clara’s world is made up of friends, make believe and magic; Jack’s is a safe and predictable world of trains, which are restricted to moving forward or backward along the tracks all day. Signals and timetables, not emotion and circumstance, control everything; a much simpler world than mine. I suppose I should be glad he is verbal, to some degree – there are other autistic children who aren’t – but I often wonder, will I ever hear my son say, “I love you, Mummy?”
Something about watching Jack is getting to me. I figure that maybe taking a walk might do me good. As I’m doing up my coat, Anna hands me a phrase book and map of the town.
Even in my tiny hometown in England, I can never find my way around, but at least I can understand the road signs. I flounder around Anna’s small town, clueless as to where I am. It’s getting colder; the lengthening shadows and the purple and orange hues of the sky ignite a sense of urgency within me to get home. Finally forced to admit that I’m lost, I stop a passer-by. But I can neither explain where I need to go nor comprehend his reply. The communication barrier is frustrating, isolating and scary – and I cannot overcome it.
The light deteriorates by the minute. My feelings of defeat become as deep as the snow around me, and I’m chilled to the bone. The truth is unescapable: I am a foreigner here.
Is this how Jack feels? Lost in a confusing, perplexing world that he neither understands nor is understood by.
Pure white flakes of snow land like jewels on my cerise glove. Although too tiny to see, I know that each one is unique and beautiful. Thinking about them, I nearly miss the muted headlights of an approaching car until they pierce the gathering gloom and illuminate the falling snow. Ann’s familiar voice calls through the window ‘Want a lift?’
Ann offers me a coffee. I sip gratefully as the warmth spreads through my hands and the steam clouds my glasses. Holly and Clara show me the paper snowflakes they made while Jack drew pictures of trains. I sift through Jack’s pictures in awe – how is it possible for a five-year-old to have such powers of observation, to get the proportions of a train right, even if the lines are not straight? And to include all the little details that everyone else would miss? Yet each engine picture is as unique as a snowflake, as unique as him…
Jack presses one of his precious drawings into my hands, his one action voicing what a thousand words could not.
All my Christmases have come at once.
Author’s note:
This story is fiction.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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Your story is brilliant. Rich in detail, unique for this week's topic and raising awareness of the world of autism.
You could say I'm biased but this story deserves a win. You should write a book.
Great work.