Page 87 of The Sound of Him

Then I pull out my notebook and pen from my front pocket and flip to a new page. The words come easily enough, which I’m pretty sure might be from that magic feeling still, which is… too overwhelming to even think about right now.

He doesn’t make me feel rushed. In fact, when I glance up at him quickly, he’s not even paying attention to me. He’s reading something in his journal, looking kind of goofy because he’s trying to take another sip of his drink at the same time. His glasses look like they might fall right off of his nose and into the mug.

When I finish writing, I look the words over. They aren’t exactly what I wanted, but they should be enough. I trust him to tell me if they aren’t.

That’s weird, too, I think. Me trusting him.

Today is…weird.

I shake the feeling off and turn the notebook to show him. When I realize the writing might be too small, I offer it to him instead. The movement draws his attention, but he only leans forward to read it, reading the words out loud as he does. “For questions, notes, from you, from me, just us, no time limit.”

He smiles at me. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

He goes on to explain the reasoning for the flags. If I put something into the mailbox, I should also lift the red flag so he knows there’s something waiting for him. When he takes it, he’ll put the flag down. If mine required a response, he’ll put the response inside and lift the white flag to let me know it’s ready for me. There’s no timeline or rush. If I show up for a session and see something was waiting for me, I shouldn’t feel bad about not seeing it sooner. No pressure.

He says that a lot - no pressure.

He smiles a lot, too.

He’s smiling again when he takes the mailbox from me and sets it aside.

I’m feeling even closer to that urge to smile back. The urge isn’t there yet, but I think if I tried hard enough, I could find it.

A weird, weird day.

“One final thing that doesn’t have to do with the mailbox, butisin the same sort of realm.” He leans forward to place a wipe-off board on the coffee table. It has a little plastic nub on the side where a black marker is currently cradled. I pick it up when he gestures for me to and see that there’s another little piece of plastic that seems to have been added onto the top. It’s barely noticeable at first, but when he tells me to rotate it, a strip of bright red slowly makes its way out and up in the air. It’s a lot like the flag of the mailbox, just less clunky and tall. When I put it back down without him asking, trying to figure out how thateven worked, I realize it tucks against the back of the board, most of it remaining out of sight unless pulled up.

There’s a word my papá used to use whenever my mamá would bring home a new trinket or tool.Nifty.He said it about the little clips that would keep our potato chip bags closed after first opening them, about the electric can opener, about the little porcelain doll she found at the flea market that kept opening up to reveal another doll inside the previous. “Oh gordita, how nifty!” he’d practically croon.

Nifty.

This wipe-off board is nifty.

“Matt?” I blink, realizing I must have spaced out. He’s smiling when I look at him, though, so I don’t apologize. “I figured it would be good for you to have this board while we’re together. You’ll still have your flashcards, of course, and your notebook. We’ll often have other tools as well. You can use this whenever you want. Some days, it’ll feel easier to write with that. It’ll take up less paper, too - not that you have to worry about that, but still. Plus, wipe-off boards are fun. I even have other colors for markers.”

I must make a face because he laughs. “What, you don’t think therapy can be fun? Therapy cantotallybe fun. Just you wait and see. I might even get crazy and buy some neon-colored markers. If you want to go really wild, I think I could even get my hands on some glitter for any art project we do in the future.Glitter, Matt. What’s more fun than glitter?”

He’s so genuine, like he truly believes neon markers and glitter are going to help make therapy fun. I find myself wanting to believe him. I find myself thinking that therapy might not be so bad after all.

He catches it, pointing a finger at me with a little, “Ah-ha!” that suddenly makes him seem ten years younger and a lot lessserious. “I saw that. You nearly smiled there. You do believe in the power of pretty markers and glitter. I’ll remember that.”

I roll my eyes playfully, truly on the edge of a smile.

What a weird day.

He laughs again.

He has a nice laugh.

Ace’s is nicer,I can’t help but think.

Ace’s is sowarm. Just like his smile. Like his eyes. His voice. He’s like the flickering flames in the fireplace when the fire is low, but not ready to burn out.

“Alright, alright, in all seriousness, though, the wipe-off board can be used however you like, or not used at all. The red flag attached is a way for you to signal to me that you want to answer my question or say something in response to whatever I just said, but you need time. It’s like you’re putting me on pause until you’re ready to continue. Does that make sense?”

Like a pause button.I nod. That makes sense.

That also sounds really nice. The world is so fast now. Or, I guess,I’mso slow. When we were together before, I’d get drowned in his words. He’d talk so much and so fast, and by the time I wanted to say something, he’d be moving on. It hasn’t been that hard to keep up with him this time, maybe because he understands me a little more now, or because it’s a better day with that weird magic still lingering, but either way it’ll be nice to have the option when I need it.