The Walk

It is a no talking day, before you wake up I realize that my voice does not work, my brain is so overwhelmed from the past week I am not capable of using mouth words. It's the months leading up to the holidays and all I've done is talk and mask and talk some more. You come downstairs, I am already wearing my ear defenders and I hand you a card from the pile you made me after a meltdown last holiday season. It was purple and has glitter on it, I never knew how to ask for accommodations from loved ones before you, and we figured out how to make it fun. It simply said "No Words Day", we have other ones, "low sensory day", this one is green with leaves stamped out of it, "lights out day" this one is black with white writing, "low or no touch day", that one is blue with glitter. If either of us play one of the cards, it's respected, no questions asked.

It's still early, the sun is just peeking over the mountains, I look at the weather, thirty- five degrees farenheight. We both hate the heat, so this is perfect. I show you my phone, point to the number, and sign "walk?", you point to your coffee, we'll go when you're done. I take deep breaths, the aroma of the roasted beans settles into my nostrils with a deep sense of nostalgia. It is one of the home smells, the ones that ship you back to simpler times, like bread baking or the Michaels floral aisle. You are backlit and beautiful, you pace a little and sip your morning drink, you sit down and reach for my hand, we meet each others gaze. Something that I never did before, look into the eyes of someone and feel, comfort.

I get up and attempt pull on my boots, I get stuck on the socks, realize that's not happening, turn around, you've already got my sandals in your hand. We have a beautiful rhythm you and I, in silence, we can say more with a breath or a pointed gaze than most can say with so many words. That's why I love quiet days, it's some of my best conversational work, you do alright either way.

After we get the footwear situation under control, you sign "where" and I sign "water", I mean lake, but you know that. It's still too early for the world to be up, but even the sounds of the birds and our footsteps are painful. I keep the ear defenders on, taking in the light coming through the leaves, the sound of the highway, miles away but still clear as day even though the headphones, I flinch a little when a truck blows its horn. You put your hand on my shoulder, the park will be around the next corner, the trees dampen the sound. I breathe in the fall air, sharp, sweet, the leaves cover the ground padding our footsteps.

It is quiet.

The tension starts to leave my body, it's almost like a winters day, right after it snows when the world gets put in a naturally made sound booth. My favorite time of year, your favorite time of year, we replicate it in the park in the early chill of the morning, the fog still lifting off the lake in the morning sun. It doesn't snow much anymore. I sigh. You look at me and cock your head, I just shrug and smile, it's just so quiet. I pull you towards me and give you a quick kiss, I hold you, safe, I point to the dock, and we walk to it taking our regular seats on the edge, toes dangling just above the water.

We watch the sky lighten over the mountains, it is lower here than at home, it's still pretty dark. Minutes of quiet contemplation turn into an hour, we sit there and you lean into me, you draw figure eights on my arm while I breathe, we breathe together, our anxious hearts fluttering a little slower out in nature, together. It's a little cold, you chuckle as the sun crests over the mountain and you put your head into my chest, hiding, I grin, the sun is, not your friend. We get up from the dock and find a more suitable place to sit, eventually we have to go back home, but for now the park is still empty and the air is still fresh.

We sit on a bench, still near the water but with some overhanging branches to prevent the blinding giant in the sky from coming at us. Hand in hand we stay there, I know what the look you give me means and with every fiber of my being I mean it back, how could I not?

In the distance we hear some kids yelling, I sign "home?", you nod your head. It was time to dig in for the day, maybe we would do a puzzle, maybe I'd just nap the day away. It doesn't matter, here, with no judgement, the sound of our footsteps does not pain me like it did on the way to our quiet place. The rhythm sounds more like

I love you

I love you

I love you.

.

.

.

The concept of this piece, while fictional, is very much based off of my relationship with my partner.

The story is inspired by the children's book A Day With No Words by Tiffany Hammond of Fidgets and Fries. Tiffany is a fearless disability advocate and fierce mother of two young men. She advocates for the use of AAC (augmented alternative communication), and has non-speaking days with her family.

There are days that I can not speak, or I speak very little because of sensory overload. Words are important but they are not the only form of communication, and everyone should have the right to communicate in whichever way gets them heard the most. I can almost always express myself in writing, which is a gift.