"oh, our stanley isn't really all that much of a talker." she said, looking down to the little boy. the woman across from her raised an eyebrow, as if to not talk was akin to spitting at her.
to say that stanley was not a talker was a little bit of an understatement. stanley had not spoken a full sentence in a couple years. for whatever reason, he had stopped talking.
he had been very young, but he had talked before then, so his parents knew he had the ability to speak. he simply refused to. it perplexed them, and they tried everything they could, but stanley simply wasn't intent on speaking at all.
either way, it was strange to any adult to meet a non-verbal thirteen year old boy.
"a shy guy, then?" his mom's friend asked, and stanley nodded begrudgingly. he wasn't really shy, he just didn't think it mattered if anyone heard (or didn't hear) what he said.
not only did he not want to speak, he also truly did not want to be there. against his will, he was unfortunately attending this truly dreadful neighbourhood barbecue. he didn't know any of his neighbours, and he didn't want to, but here he was.
stanley was sitting on a concrete barrier, separating him from the garden, when another boy his age approached him. the other boy jumped onto the barrier, and his white hoodie landed partially in the garden, the edge dipping in dirt.
it was a strange day to have a barbecue, because of how chilly the evenings had been recently. the clouds covered any sign of sun, and a breeze moved the trees with a gentle push. hence why this kid was wearing a hoodie, and why stanley was pulling a jacket over his shoulders.
"hi." the boy finally looked over to stanley. stanley watched as he brushed his black, matted hair out of his face. it took several tries for it to stay out of his face, and stanley wondered when this kid had last gotten a haircut. "i'm richie. my mom says you're quiet."
blunt, stanley thought, "hi."
"oh, so you do have a voice! cool. i'm the opposite, by the way. pretty loud, that is." richie nodded, lightly brushing the dirt off of his hoodie, of which would definitely stain. he turned to stanley with a steady stare, as if he was trying to take in as much as possible. stanley looked the other way. "is there a reason you don't talk?" stanley shook his head. "are you sure? is it rebellion? are you dramatic? are you arguing against the world?"
stanley shook his head.
"you sure you're not just proving a point?" richie asked. stanley thought that was stupid. what point would he be proving? that he hated speaking? how absolutely inane.
stanley pulled a notebook from his back pocket.
no, i just don't like talking
he wrote, richie nodding theatrically, his glasses falling down on his face. they almost fell off before he pushed them back up, and it made stanley nervous.
richie, stanley decided, made him nervous.
