but now we're sleeping at the edge
holding something we don't need
The first thing that Wyck notices is the cold.
It strikes him fast as soon as the air hits him and almost takes the air out of him. Instantly, he finds that all he wants is the warmth of his home; all he wants is to know that same peace and quiet that he had known. The world is loud and cold and unfamiliar, and he finds that his throat is itching to make some noise in protest but nothing comes out. For as loud as the world is, he can not match it.
This is the first cruelty that Wyck learns.
But, in the next minutes (and hours, and days), Wyck would learn that the world is not altogether as awful as his first impressions. His mother, for starters, is soft and loving and warm (if not as warm as the womb) and his sister is kind and his father is, well, his father. There are things that take the edge off of the cruelty of the world if not negate it altogether—for life would never be perfectly kind to the silent red boy.
He is proud when he finally manages to stand and his almond eyes brighten, tiny head pointing to his mother to make sure that she was looking—that she caught his first accomplishment. He straightens as best as he can muster, grinning with pleasure before wobbling to his sister, bumping into her side.
‘I did it!’ he thinks with gusto, thrilled that he had been able to stand as quickly as she.
Then, his father approaches and he is looking into the other’s large brown eyes, frowning back at him—not understanding what he was saying but wanting to. ‘What is mute?’ he wonders, pressing his fuzzy lips together in confusion, ‘Is mute bad? Am I bad?’ His thoughts wander to that desire, that need to make sound, the itching in his throat, and settle there. Is that what mute was? Was he broken?
Now frightened, he pressed up against his sister, taking comfort in her soft, round belly and the familiar scent and feel of having her against him. His eyes, wide and panicked, look to his mother for answers.
is going to bring us to our knees
