Dr. Sterling laughed, and his staff joined after a beat, a little too loudly.
“He’s quite the wit, is he?” Sterling said to Father.
“Indeed.” Father gave me a pointed look above a thin smile, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. “But he has big shoes to fill. Big shoes. I presume arrangements have been made?”
Understanding passed between the two men.
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Sterling said. “This is Mr. Jameson, one of our best test proctors.” He gestured at an older, white-haired gentleman. “He’ll be presiding over Orion’s exams.Privately.”
Mum and Father exchanged approving glances.
I gazed at Jameson, my one and only accommodation for the disorder diagnosed when I was ten years old.
***
I crouched behind one of Mum’s gigantic vases, listening hard. My brothers and I were forbidden to even breathe on these antiques, but from this hiding spot, I could hear the adults in the sitting room.
“I’ve finished my evaluation of your son,” Dr. Billings said. “I have to say, Orion is an extraordinarily intelligent child, with an even more extraordinary gift for the piano. And his reading comprehension is incredible.”
“Yes,” Mum said. “He reads seven or eight books a month, at least. He’s far beyond his brothers’ level when they were in Year Five.”
“But his test scores are abysmal,” Father said. “And dear God, his penmanship.”
“Orion has classic attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,” the doctor said. “ADHD. I’ve seen cases like it many times. He’s a bright boy, but he can’t sit still during the exams, yes? That would account for his wonderful aptitude, but poor test results.”
I frowned. I could sit for exams no problem. It was the words that wouldn’t sit still.
I loved to read, but I didn’t understand a story until I’d read the whole thing. A book was a puzzle that only made sense when I had put all the pieces together, and then it came together in my mind like a tapestry. Or a film.
Short chapters in textbooks were hard. When teachers asked me to stand up and give a summary, I completely fell apart. Even math problems were hard if I had to explain my work. Writing was the worst. I couldn’t make the thoughts in my head into words on the page. But I could draw the images. I could draw really well, actually.
And music…
Music made sense in a way that nothing else did. It was air and water. It was light and breath and my own heartbeat. When I played piano, my hands worked perfectly, as if they heard the music coming from somewhere else and channeled it through me. The notes on the page didn’t have holes in them. They made patterns that I understood without even trying. And when I looked at the black and white keys, I saw sounds and melodies and could play them right out. It was as if the piano and I were not two separate things but connected somehow, and I never wanted to be apart…
“I’ll prescribe him some medication,” Dr. Billings was saying. “You should see improvement in his schoolwork immediately.”
The leather couch creaked, and then Father spoke. “I don’t need to tell you that discretion is paramount here.”
“Of course, but I assure you, ADHD is quite common.”
“Not in this house,” Father muttered.
“We just don’t want to make a fuss,” Mum said. “If it’s quite common, let’s not make more of it than we ought.”
Dr. Billings cleared his throat. “Well, it would be good if you spoke with your son about the challenges he’s been having. How he’s been feeling—”
“I’m sure your medication will do the trick,” Mum said.
“Indeed,” Father said.
A pause followed, and I could feel the doctor’s confusion. He didn’t understand that my parents didn’t discuss challenges or feelings. Not in this household. I’d never heard my parents so much as raise their voices to each other.
“We don’t rock the boat,” they liked to say.
When my brothers and I got mad or sad, we were meant to keep it to ourselves. Displays of intense emotions were messy. Distasteful. Growing up, we were like boats floating on the surface of Loch Ness, desperately trying not to plunge into the depths where feelings lived like monsters. But sometimes, even when the boat was still afloat, my feelings came bursting up from down below.
When that happened, I went to the piano. But even that wasn’t allowed. While Mum and Father said I was a gifted player, they insisted my talent was just a hobby.
