Chapter 2: Mommy

Jaime and Mommy (Nola)

IN FACT, Jaime’s mother did offer some shielding from the onslaught of mental voices pounding at his head. Her soft and loving caresses soothed him and helped block out the cacophony. She was calm and all her thoughts were about him. He instinctively reached out with his mind to share his love for her, but she didn’t seem to be aware that he was talking to her. He simply clung to her more closely than ever.

He was uncommonly quiet, even in instances where he was hurt and crying, he made no noise. Nola had to be ever more attentive to him, mindful of danger and injury, since he never cried out. She and David were increasingly concerned, and Nola’s full-time job became caring for Jaime.

She played with him and read to him, pointing out words as she spoke them. In this way, Jaime learned rapidly, but even when he laughed, the sound was little more than a squeak. Nola and David became more and more convinced that the birth trauma had somehow damaged the connection from his brain to his voice box. They gave him constant words of encouragement, asking him to select the blue block or the red crayon—tasks Jaime always completed with ease. They praised his accomplishments. Sometimes, Jaime thought they were talking to him in his head, but when he responded there was nothing. They never responded directly when he tried to ask a question.

Jaime withdrew even further into himself. When he was taken to a play group with other children his age, none of them would respond to his thoughts, either. He sat off to the side and watched children laughing and talking, unable to comprehend why they didn’t like him. He had so many questions and all he could do was listen and wait, hoping the answer would come. He pointed to things and his parents responded, but they often ran down a litany of what his gesture might mean before they arrived at the right conclusion.

He became more and more frustrated. People just didn’t listen, no matter how he shouted at them in his mind. He found himself sitting alone with a book or a toy, obsessed with some intricate detail. He was pleased when his mother began teaching him the alphabet and showing him how the letters went together to form words.

Jaime gradually became aware of another phenomenon. People often didn’t say the same thing with their inside voice as their out-loud voice. As time went by, even his mother talked aloud to him in comforting and caring tones, while her inside voice was filled with anxiety. Words like ‘slow developing,’ and ‘autism’ were in her inside vocabulary—words Jaime didn’t know the meaning of but knew they were bad things about him. That was why no one would talk to him in his head, he thought. He was bad. He was an autism. No one liked an autism.

When guests came to their house or when they visited elsewhere, Jaime hid and found places where people’s inside voices didn’t reach him as relentlessly.

Jaime was five years old and had resigned himself to never being listened to and being a bad person no one liked. He was playing on the floor with a toy xylophone he’d learned a tune on. His parents were very proud that he didn’t just hammer on the keys. His mother was finishing the dishes from their quiet lunch together.

He hardly ever tried to reach his mother with his thoughts any longer because she never answered him. He simply couldn’t understand why people bothered with their out-loud voices when they were perfectly clear with their inside voices. They never said what they meant.

The peanut butter sandwich he’d had for lunch left bits of gummy bread stuck in his mouth. He wanted another glass of milk.

«Milk, Mommy, » he thought as clearly as he could.

His mother continued washing the dishes. Jaime was getting more and more flustered as time went by. He thought perhaps if he was more polite, his mother would pay attention. He organized his thoughts and directed them to his mother again.

«May I have milk please, Mommy?» he thought as clearly as he could.

Still no response. Maybe it was all a game people played that he didn’t understand. He organized his words again and did his best to speak with a squeaky little out-loud voice.

“Mother, may I please have a glass of milk?” he said, mimicking people he’d heard being polite.

Nola spun in place, dropping a glass that shattered on the kitchen floor. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as she seemed not to be able to get air in her lungs. She stared at her son, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the floor, landing on the broken glass. Blood flowed from her arm and her head where they were cut and Jaime couldn’t understand the jumbled thoughts that seemed to crowd each other out in her mind.

“Mommy?” he squeaked again. «Mommy!»

She didn’t respond at all.

He considered getting a Band-Aid from the high cabinet in the bathroom. Mommy had fixed all his cuts and scrapes growing up with dinosaurs, Mickey Mouse, and fire trucks. He never bled as much as his mother was, though. He didn’t think a Band-Aid would help. There was only one thing to do. His parents had taught him carefully to dial 9-1-1 in an emergency.

He’d heard his father’s thoughts when they taught him how to use the phone.

«I don’t know what good it will do if he can’t talk. Maybe just making the call and leaving the line open will be enough.”

Jaime went to the phone on the table, crawling up on his chair. He carefully dialed the three numbers.

“This is 9-1-1 emergency. State the nature of your emergency, please.”

Jaime thought really hard, trying to get the person on the phone to see his mother lying on the floor bleeding. There was no response. In fact, Jaime couldn’t hear her in his head at all.

“Hello? Can you speak?” the operator asked.

Jaime took a deep breath. Maybe no one could read thoughts over the telephone.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Mommy fell on broken glass. Lots of blood,” Jaime squeaked. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

“Can she speak to me?”

“Not awake.”

“I have located your address as 571 Crescent Drive and have alerted an ambulance. Help is on the way,” the operator said. “I’m transferring you to a nurse who will ask you some questions. Please stay on the phone, little girl.”

«Girl? I’m a boy!» Jaime thought at her. Then decided the telephone must change people’s out-loud voices, too. So, he just stayed on the phone staring at Mommy. He still couldn’t make sense of any of her thoughts. Then another voice came through the phone.

“This is Nurse Janet,” the voice said calmly and gently. “What is your name?”

“Jaime,” he said, trying to use the same calm tone through his tears.

“Jaime, can you see your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me where she is bleeding.”

Jaime couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mother, constantly calling to her. «Wake up, Mommy. Nurse Janet wants to talk to you!»

“Her head and her arm.”

“Oh, dear. What part of her arm is bleeding?”

“Near her hand.”

“Jaime, this is very important. Some people are on their way to help your mommy, but she needs your help right away. Can you reach her and still talk on the phone?”

“Not supposed to take the phone off the table.”

“I’ll explain it all to your mommy. Right now, you need to take the phone close enough to touch her.”

The woman had a very nice voice, but Jaime wished she would just show him what he should do. The telephone didn’t let any thoughts come through.

“Is there a long cord on your phone?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Jaime, this is very important. You need to wrap the cord around Mommy’s arm between her elbow and where she is bleeding. Do you know where her elbow is?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Wrap the cord around her arm and twist it as tight as you can make it.”

“Mommy won’t like it,” Jaime complained. “Hurt Mommy.”

“Jaime, we need to do this so Mommy can wait for the ambulance. Please do what I’ve told you to do. I’ll explain to Mommy.”

She sounded urgent, even though he couldn’t hear her inside voice. He knew sometimes people tried to stay calm when they were very frightened. He did. And he was very frightened right now. It didn’t seem right, but Jaime picked up his mother’s bloody hand and wrapped the cord around and around her arm. There wasn’t as much blood coming out any longer. He couldn’t hear the phone as well now.

“The ambulance is almost there, Jaime. Tell your Mommy you love her. That will help her on the ride to the hospital,” Nurse Janet said.

“I love you, Mommy,” Jaime squeaked. Then he doubled it in his mind and screamed, «I love you, Mommy.»

Then the most remarkable thing happened. Jaime heard his mother speak in his mind.

«I love you, baby boy.»

Then her thoughts sort of disappeared.

There was a noisy whining sound outside and, in a minute, two men crashed through the front door. They ran into the kitchen talking fast and thinking faster than Jaime could comprehend. He dropped the phone and ran to his room. More people came into the house, bringing things the men needed and shouting in their minds.

Jaime was overwhelmed by the thoughts. He held his hands against his head and hid beneath his bed where the thoughts weren’t so noisy. In minutes, the ambulance drove away with Mommy. Jaime stayed hidden, quietly crying.

He’d spoken exactly fifty-two words in his life, and men came to take his mommy away in a red truck that made lots of noise.

Jaime and Daddy (David)

Jaime spent the rest of his day crying and calling out mentally to Daddy. Other people came in the house, jabbering with each other about helping repair things and who should bring meals. No one thought about Jaime.

David returned to the house late, frantically calling out for his son and searching the house.

“Jaime! Jaime! Where are you, son? Come here to Daddy. Please don’t be lost, baby boy.”