wendybirdstory

ok. so every time i write i close my eyes and just let my fingers go.
i've been wanting to write something---a play a screenplay, something for a long time so i fiddle with a lot of ideas.

this is so random. i swear im not a depressing person, it just all comes out.
so here.

"C ca cat. D da dog. Say it again. Do it slower like this: c. KA Kat. D. DA. DOG. You see. Put that down. Put it down and listen. C ca cat d d dog"

My parents were convinced that I was going to be their prodigy. From the time I was actually confirmed as an embryo, mom began to put headphones on her stomach. Dad read chemistry books to me, history, we practiced flashcards. All I wanted to do was sleep. Brahms was nice though.

"Draw this. Olook at me. Look at my face. No. do what I am doing. Go and get the A from the fridge. Bring it here. Get it. Now. go get it. Good. Good girl. Now bring the B. no not the D. the B. stupid. Bring the B. you know this you know the B. Get the B. good girl. Again."

When I was three I used words like vernacular and effervescent. I couldn’t stand classrooms where the kids read out loud because they would smatter the words everywhere. Bothching sounds and rushing words together. I was sent home for hitting a child because he pronounced schooling like sk. Ch. Ew. Lin. I didit hit anymore

At home I would read to myself. Mom would always have me read to her. To read out loud and record it on a tape so she could make sure I was reading. Secretly, I would read my father’s dragon over and over instead of reading books on philosophy or nitche or solipsism. I didn’t care for those things. I was made to. But I wanted a dragon.

I think I developed autism or something like it over the time during when I was 3 and 5. If that’s possible. Possibly.

I think my mom was always more comfortable when I was in her womb. When the only picture she could see of my was in black and white. And all she could hear was my heartbeat instead of my voice. She could dictate what I knew, or what she wanted me to know, to hear. She never lost me and could dream about what I looked like. She could worry about herself and wear flowy dresses and act like she was glowing and get attention because everyone loves a pregnant woman. Everyone loves that magic. i think she would’ve kept me inside for another three years and just imagined how her child would be. Frame the ultrasounds instead of balding pictures of crying baby. That’s how she would’ve preferred it.