Tiffany sat alone in her room staring outside the window. The raindrops subtly fell on the panes of glass, speckling them with long-forgotten memories of a long forgotten dream. Each drop that hit the window gave Tiffany an even more and more somber feeling as she stared at the absence of life outside.
It had only been a few weeks after the car accident that had disabled the poor fourteen year old girl's brain. Doctors and therapists had worked day and night trying to figure out exactly what had happened to the Blum-Deckler's daughter but to no avail, the girl was nearly unresponsive to treatment. On the outside it appeared that Tiffany Blum-Deckler was nothing more than a mentally disabled student, who would require educational help and tutoring.
Every day became an argumentative battle over how Tiffany should be dealt with by her parents, how she should be treated, if she should be home-schooled or tutored, or attempt to attend normal High School like other kids. Arguing day in and day out about different classes that she should take or which teachers she should have.
"Mr. O'Neill," Mrs. Blum-Deckler said, as she had an in house meeting with one of the teachers. Her voice was weak as she spoke for the first time in person with one of the Special-Education licensed teachers of the school, "Is Lawndale really suitable for Tiffany?"
A man in a pink shirt with a rather solemn look to his face sighed, "Mrs." He paused a minute, "Tiffany's mom." He said, nervously, a slight panic in his voice, "Your daughter will be in safe hands at our school. We have a very caring student body and your daughter..." He'd already forgotten her name, "Will be in good hands at Lawndale, I promise."
In the other room Tiffany sat on the couch, staring at her reflection in a pocket mirror. She was unaware of her situation but knew that she had been feeling lonely and deprived since the accident. School? She brushed her eyelashes with mascara, It's been a while...
"Will she make friends?" Pausing, Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced at some of the pamphlets that O'Neill had brought, "After the accident Tiffany lost contact with all her friends. They were the big fashion diva sort of girls... they felt like it'd be weird to hang out with Tiffany after the accident."
Mr. O'Neill grinned with joy as he heard those words, "We have a club that is perfect for your daughter! It's a small club but some students had come to me the other day asking if they could start a fashion club, so of course I said yes. School Extra-Curricular activities are always a great idea, Mrs. Plum-Pucker."
Tiffany heard what was going on in the other room, including the butchering of her family name, which didn't really bother her. Really? She thought to herself as she blinked slowly. That would be fun...
Unfortunately for Tiffany, she didn't fully understand her situation yet. She'd hardly talked to anyone or seen the world outside her windows since the accident occurred. All she knew was that she was as mentally sound, sane, and normal as she was before it, and that's all she felt she was sure of.
Mrs. Blum-Deckler tried to hold back tears as she drove her daughter to her last therapy course before her daughter's first day of school would begin. Her thoughts kept running back to terror of her child's future. Glancing over at her daughter in the passenger seat, Mrs. Blum-Deckler forged a smile, At least she's beautiful...
The car ride to the therapist was a long one filled with sublime radio music and irritating advertisements. Tiffany stared out the window, glancing at the people passing by. She was never sure why she was being asked to go to the therapist, only brains and people with problems seeked mental help. Besides, whenever she did see this doctor, he always ended up talking to her like she was a child. She was fourteen; not a child.
"Tiffany." Her mother sighed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Dr. Barger is going to talk to you about school, okay? School?" She spoke as if Tiffany had no idea what school was, despite Tiffany obviously knew what school was.
Tiffany stared at her mom in confusion but didn't speak. She was unsure of what to say. Why her family and doctors post-accident have been talking to her like this was why she had been remaining silent. She thought they had all gone crazy, insane, even.
Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced at her hands in the steering wheel and then down further, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, "Tiffany, please say something..."
"Say... Something?" Tiffany's words came out slow and lethargic, a side effect of what she thought was the medication. What does she want me to say? I've been going to this therapy for weeks now. I'm pretty sure I'm fine. Well... She looked in the mirror above the seat quickly and checked her makeup, Yeah, more than fine...
The car stopped as it reached its destination and both Blum-Decklers stepped out of the car, Tiffany's mom immediately walking over to her side of the car and grabbing her hand. "You start school tomorrow, Tiffany..." Her mom's voice was so weak she was on the verge of crying again, "Try really hard in therapy to talk to Mr. Barger today, okay?"
Tiffany did not like holding her mom's that was something she was way too old for. She pulled her hand away in rage and glanced up at her mom, quietly. She was sick and tired of being babied since the accident. The accident was over, her wounds were near healed, she was fine. "Mom. No." Tiffany spoke in an agitated voice, stopping outside the doorway to the doctor's.
Her mom stopped too, glancing with confusion at her daughter.
Tiffany prepared what she wanted to say in her mind before saying it, "Whhhy..." It was slurred. She knew she had some speaking issues after the accident but she thought those were just the medications. She squeezed the handle to her purse and stared silently at her mother. "Are..." Just say it. Are you fucking retarded, Tiffany? You were a straight A student in Middle School.
Her mother stared in disbelief as she watched her daughter struggle at simple speech, "Tiffany..." Kneeling down she hugged her daughter, tears pouring down her face. "I know you don't understand."
Understand? The girl didn't move an inch of her facial muscles as she rubbed her mom's back. She couldn't even say what she wanted to say now. There was a deep feeling in the back of her throat as if she wanted to cry but nothing more happened. She just seemed to stare vacantly out in front of her.
Dr. Barger's office was cold and white, an undecorated disaster littered with magazines and cheap silk flowers, stock paintings by failed artists, and tacky red chairs. The scent of stale coffee would have made shivers run down her spine, that was, if she could feel that anymore.
Since the accident, Tiffany knew she hadn't shed a tear, laughed, or really expressed any real emotions. Nor had she been able to speak like she used to or even put her thoughts onto paper in a sensible manner, yet so far she knew; these were all symptoms of the drugs and she would be better once the medications would wear off. I have more important things to worry about right now. She thought to herself as she fixed her makeup in her pocket mirror. Always needing to look her best.
Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced over at her daughter and smiled weakly again, hoping today Tiffany might have a major breakthrough with the doctor and maybe show her true, old self again - although she was doubtful. Before the accident, Tiffany could talk on and on for days about clothes and makeup, the difficulties of having perpetually straight hair, and cute boys on the TV. She's talk on the phone for hours about how great the mall was and shopping and... now she had just been silent.
"Mrs. Blum-Deckler." The receptionist said, "Dr. Berger will see you girls now." She smiled sweetly. "My, Tiffany looks pretty today, doesn't she?"
Tiffany waited for her mom to stand up. She didn't want to make any sudden movements at this point. If she did, it might warrant another 'hand-holding' session and she did not want that. She was embarassed enough already even having to go to a therapist, let alone be a 'mommy's girl'.
Glancing towards the door she remembered her last visit to see Dr. Barger. He had given her a weird type of vocal test where she had to tell stories about pictures, spell simple words, and even answer benign questions about herself. However, when it came time for her answers, nothing came out as planned.
The entire test, despite it's simplicity, had been the most difficult thing for her in her life. When given a Rorschach that reminded her of a butterfly, she struggled to verbally speak the word, as if there was a missed connection between her brain and her voice. When she could answer a question correctly or even muster enough ability to say something - it came out long and drawn out, almost slurred.
The doctor was confounded by this but pressed on, aware of the possible pressures he was putting on his patient. "What does this one remind you of?" He asked as he held up an ink-blot that looked like a snowflake.
Thinking for a moment, Tiffany knew exactly what it reminded her of. A snowflake, like the one on that tacky sweater her mom had given her aunt that past Christmas. Sure to properly formulate the sentence in her head this time, Tiffany Blum-Deckler looked the doctor directly in the eyes, "A..." Her words were slow, "Sweater...?"
The doctor and her mother stared at her for a moment, this was not the response the were looking for.
When she realized what she said, she wanted to correct herself, but grew immediately nervous that she'd make things worse. It was not cool to mix an article of clothing with a snowflake, especially a tacky, ugly article of clothing.
She knew at this point something was a bit wrong with her and she made a silent vow that she'd try not to talk unless it was really important - that was until she was off the medication and feeling better. After all, she'd rather remain quiet and thought of as stupid than speak and prove she's stupid, even though she was an honours student in middle school.
This appointment though, Tiffany wanted to give it a shot. Since she was starting school soon and there wouldn't be any ink-blot tests, she felt ready to give speaking like she used to another try... or at least she hoped to learn why people were treating her like she was four again.
As Tiffany entered the next room she sat down on a soft pleather couch opposite of a large man in small spectacles. Her mother sat down beside her and gave her a quick hug. Has he gained weight since I've started coming here? Tiffany glanced with what appeared to be a vacant stare, He really should tidy himself up some. Someone his age shouldn't have to dress in such disgusting pants.
"So Tiffany, how are you doing today?" He chuckled, his jolly voice reminding her of Santa Clause. "Is Tiffany doing well?" He spoke directly at her as if she were an infant.
Tiffany stared at the doctor, unsure of how to respond to that. She found it really offensive but tried her best to say something. "Gooood." She droned, zero emotion to her face.
Her mother looked at her nervously, praying that Tiffany would respond like she'd used to. I had a wonderful day so far! You? Might've been a response she'd given before the accident.
"That's good Tiffany... and how is your mom?"
Mrs. Blum-Deckler looked at Dr. Barger with fatigue and distress before telling him the news about Tiffany's new school situation. "I'm worried about how she'll be at school." She immediately started in, "Will the other girls treat her well? Tiffany is so beautiful... and she was so..." Pausing she began to cry, "Tiffany was a straight-A student..."
Tiffany stared at her crying mother and then looked at the doctor, trying to understand exactly what was going on. So far she was still aware, she was still a straight-A student. High school didn't seem too much different than middle school as far as she knew.
Dr. Barger nodded at Mrs. Blum-Deckler with a solemn look. "Unfortunately this is a tough case, Mrs. Blum-Deckler. With Tiffany in this condition it might be best to just keep her home-schooled."
Home-schooled! Tiffany wanted to shout at the doctor but her mouth wouldn't move. Only losers and geeks and like... nerds go get home schooled. I may be smart but that does not warrant home-schooling. Staring angrily at the doctor, Tiffany needed to speak up against this, "Like..." She forced herself to speak, even though she felt she wasn't ready yet, "Couldn't you..."
Expectantly the doctor and her mother watched as Tiffany began to speak.
She knew what she was going to say. She wanted to try high school on a trial period to prove that she was well beyond capable of attending high school like any other girl her age. "Have a... Period?"
By the time Tiffany realized what she had said, she felt like climbing into her purse and dying. Shocked, she vacantly stared at Dr. Barger in disbelief - a look to him that translated as complete and utter stupidity. "If it were up to me." Dr. Barger glanced at Tiffany, "I would send her in on a trial basis in a special education setting and see how well that plays out. The school you've sent me information about seems like they'd be willing to help with Tiffany's... disorder."
Disorder? She heard the word but it didn't register in her head enough. She was still shocked that she couldn't even say something as clean cut at that.