Chapter Text
He was alone again today, as he is often. There wasn’t a person who would stay around him long enough for them to become more than acquaintances. Sure, he had those - the people he would occasionally talk to, the people who would grant him more than total ignorance. However, these people still didn’t really respond with anything more than a measured indifference which they used to so avoid any confrontation with others. It wasn’t easy being the outcast. Everyone was scared of his silence. They all thought he was looking down on them because he chose not to speak to them. However, the truth was something far from this. The thought that he wasn’t choosing to be silent had never crossed their minds. The idea of a person who does not have the ability to talk is one that has yet to cross the minds of those he goes to school with. And so, he spends his days in solitude, despite his longing to make friends.
Max stood up as he heard the bell signal the end of the lunch break. He started to walk back to his classroom for his afternoon classes. He was stopped in his tracks as he ran into Cal – the one person he never wants to run into.
“Hey there Maxie, how you feeling?” he asked mockingly. Max didn’t reply, he merely stood there and signed that he was in fact, fine and that he was appreciative of Cal’s concern. He also sighed internally at the thought of what Cal’s concern consisted of - or more appropriately, what it didn’t consist of; this being actual, genuine concern.
While many would disagree with him, he has never thought that Cal was a bad person; he was merely desperate for attention and motivated by this and some ignorance, he had never thought there was malice in his actions. Or at least that’s what he has always hoped. It was in this respect that Max could relate to him. He too was starved of the attention of the people around him – though the reasons for the two boys were complete opposites. Cal was avoided as he was too loud and annoying; whereas Max was avoided because people thought it strange he made no noise at all – again, something he believed (and hoped) was motivated by ignorance rather than a genuine desire to cause pain and harm.
“Don’t do this again”, Cal smirked, “You can’t just stand there and not say a word when someone has taken the time to come and speak to you, you should, you know, say something back”. Once again Max made no reply. He was trying desperately to communicate to Cal that he was appreciative of the fact that he was talking to him, it’s just that it was difficult trying to make him understand, especially when all he could do was use sign language and even more so when he knew that there wasn’t anyone within the school he could either. This was something he had long hoped would be addressed, but with - as the school said, ‘no parental initiative’ - the school had politely told him that it would be impossible for them to provide the assistance he had requested. They had claimed that as a school with already minimal resources, there was nothing they could do. Or, as he read it, they just could not be arsed to help.
“Why are you waving your hands about like a retard?” Cal spat. Max ceased quietened his thoughts and looked down. He hated this. He hated it when Cal acted this way. He would never understand what he was trying to tell him. It hurt to be called such a thing by someone, especially when he believed that that someone was genuinely trying to harm him - or at least his naivety allowed him to believe that.
Cal waved to him as he walked away laughing, and yelled “I’ll see you later Maxie”, over his shoulder. This made Max smile. There was something about the way Cal said ‘Maxie’ that carried with it a note of promise. He felt as though it carried the thought that if Cal were to just understand him (or at least make the effort to) they would be able to be friends. It made him feel that even though he would probably behave in the same manner as he has done previously – both today and on other occasions – at least he was supplying him with the human attention he has been craving. Never did the thought cross his mind that it was purely his desperation for human contact that was responsible for these thoughts entering his mind.
As Cal walked away, he asked himself the same question he had asked himself on a number of occasions: ‘why won’t Max talk?’ He can’t explain it himself, but within him there burns the desire to be able to hear Max’s voice – even though he doesn’t know whether or not it’s possible. He wants to hear his voice. Another repeated sentiment that makes its way into his head. He can never understand what Max is trying to say when he waves his hands and arms about. He knows that he is trying to communicate, but he just doesn’t understand, and this ignorance he feels makes him feel stupid and angry. An anger which forces itself from him and directs itself at Max. On a number of occasions he has though that if he doesn’t make the effort to understand Max, then maybe out of frustration or, or perhaps anger, he would talk to him and all would be solved. No matter how little he says, or if he does in fact even speak, Max has never once said a word to him. He doesn’t know why, but it saddens him to think of that.
Once Cal walked into the classroom, he saw Max sitting in his seat, which was located in front of his own. Cal could see everything Max did from his seat, and for some reason he’s never able to look away. He has never once understood why whenever he sees him diligently writing down the notes that he feels a small constriction in his chest. It is a feeling that both excites and scares him. He wants dearly to understand this feeling yet every time he tries to, he is met with a wall.
After slaving away throughout the afternoon’s classes, Cal follows Max out of the school. Today was the day he would find out the reason why Max doesn’t talk. He had promised this to himself this morning as he walked away from Max. He had to know the reason, as the not knowing was eating him alive. He didn’t care how he would manage it, he just knew it needed to be done.
Max walked out of school and headed towards the bus stop out the front of his school which served as the collective stop for the few schools in the immediate area. Max’s bus was the eighth to come. It wasn’t as though Cal was counting as each bus went passed or anything, it was just that his intuition was in fine touch. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
Once Max boarded his bus, Cal followed him on and sat well behind him. Max didn’t notice a thing because his iPod was in and all he could hear was whatever music he was listening to and he was staring out the winder taking no notice of the other people on this bus. They too took no notice of him. Well, all except one of course. After riding the bus for twenty-seven minutes and thirty-one seconds – again, it wasn’t as though he was timing how long it took on his phone, but rather that like before, his intuition was on fire – he alighted from the bus. He was surprised. He had always suspected that Max lived in the high-end of town, but was shocked when he looked around. He saw run down houses and apartment blocks degrading the streets he walked along.
Max walked on for a further ten minutes and then turned a corner and walked towards a public park. It wasn’t the kind that you would see in movies where everything is groomed and well presented, but rather the ones you would only hear about. Where everything was covered in graffiti and litter was strewn across the place. He couldn’t understand why Max had come here. Max walked over to the run-down graffiti cover play equipment that was located in the centre of the park. Cal hid behind the bushes and watched as Max walked towards and got on the swing. He started swinging with a gentle relaxed rhythm that was building in speed that just continued building. ‘What is he doing?’ Cal wondered. After spending half an hour on the swing, he got off and started to walk again. He continued heading across the park. Cal could see some old apartment blocks which were situated on the far edge of the park. ‘He couldn’t be going there’, he thought as he looked closer at them. They were overgrown and decrepit. They looked neither welcoming nor homey but rather carried an overall sense of menace. They looked as though they could eat a person and spit out his skeleton. But still Max continued walking towards them.
Cal waited behind a tree at the edge of the park as he watched Max. He made his way towards the closest apartment block and headed inside of it. For the umpteenth time that day he found himself completely shocked. Max lived in this house – if it can be truly called so. He couldn’t believe it. Yet he had no choice but to believe as he saw with his own eyes Max entering the apartment block. The day was becoming too much for him.
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As Max arrived home he was greeted with his mother’s cruel smile once again. His father had left when he was young to run away with some younger woman and abandoned him with his mother. She blamed him for his father leaving her. She thought it was because he was ashamed to have a son who couldn’t speak.
“Our little Maxie is home. My day is now complete”, she said through a smirk. “I was wondering when you were going to get home. Aren’t you going to say hello to your precious mummy who has been waiting so long for her little boy to come home.”
Max looked at her with fear in his eyes. He knew what was coming. It was the same thing that always happened when his mother didn’t get a response out of him.
She pulled him towards her by his ears and shoved her face close to his and threatened through gritted teeth, “You know what will happen if you don’t”. When he didn’t respond she began to beat him. She hit him over the head, on the stomach, on the back, everywhere and with whatever was close at hand. He was lucky today; just yesterday she had been sweeping, whereas today she was only cleaning the dishes. And so, she only had a wet towel. Yet she used it with an efficiency that betrayed her intentions. She was definitely aiming to inflict pain on him. Max has never been able to tell her the truth, about why he doesn’t talk. He has yet to tell anybody, but he has always longed for there to be at least one person who he can trust enough to reveal it to. If only there was such a person.