Chapter 16

It had been such a long time—or at least it felt that way—since he first came to Sam's residence. This wasn't a cage, this was a 'house'. A 'house' was not any facility he'd known or knew of.

The green thing he'd used to get in the 'house' was a 'tree'. The 'tree' gave him air—this was extremely difficult for him to understand and just as difficult for Sam and Tucker to explain. The extensions on the 'tree' were 'branches'. And the little green things on all trees were 'leaves'. The rough patches that wrapped around the tree was 'bark'.

A 'mouse' was the device connected to the computer. A 'blanket' was the material on top of the bed. A 'shower' was the water sprayer, 'soap' was the foamy stuff that burned his eyes and tasted horrible, and 'shampoo' was the other foamy stuff that burned his eyes and tasted horrible. A 'shower' was merely meant to clean him and nothing else.

He was a 'human'. Sam was a 'girl', Tucker was a 'boy'. Sam was a 'girl human' and Tucker was a 'boy human', like himself. So now they weren't just English-speakers anymore. They had a new form of identification.

Sticky papers were called 'stickers'. The other place Sam went to was a 'building' and more specifically, it was a 'school building'. The characters Sam wrote were called 'numbers' and 'letters'. There was hardly any difference in his eyes… They were all little, organized scribbles.

The small devices everyone talked into were 'phones'. The writing sticks were called 'pens' or 'pencils'—depending on…something about what they used to write with.

He also learned, 'cups', 'bowls'—a hard differentiation—'helmet', 'elephant', 'alphabet'—the whole alphabet as well as the word itself—'cloud', 'shoe', 'shirt', 'pants', and so, so much more.

It was all thanks to Sam and Tucker, who gave him this knowledge willingly in high hopes that he would learn English. But it no longer felt like he was learning it for himself… It was strange but he was beginning to think that he was learning English for them. For English-speakers. Why? What was this? Why did he feel this way? Why wasn't he learning English for his own sake?

Other aspects of his life changed too, over this period if time. Setting aside all he'd learned and was learning, he didn't like being away from Sam and/or Tucker for too long—but they would go away for hours on end and leave him alone. The school building always made them bring back a lot of papers. Sometimes they brought him little surprises, like little books. It helped him learn how to sort of read, kind of like they did. It was abundantly clear that he wasn't very good at it yet. Reading these characters would take a lot of time. It was something he tried to practice whenever Sam and Tucker left. It was hard to turn the pages but he managed.

He also very much looked forward to their return—at least one of them. They would be gone for hours all day for five days in a row so he expected a long wait. Reading was always a good pass time but after a while it became frustrating… So he moved on to one or both of two things: whistling, or speaking. Trying to speak anyway. It was still nothing more than air and a sore throat. Why he kept trying was beyond him.

It was arguably one of the best ways to keep occupied and stay somewhat productive though. Then when that was tiring he would go back to his picture books. They had pictures in them. There were familiar pictures, such as houses. There were unfamiliar pictures, such as this one oval-ish thing that Sam said birds like to sit on—it was cool that birds could sit but he had no idea how that was possible when their knees were backwards… Then there were completely new, absolutely fascinating pictures, like a huge creature with a super long neck and super long legs. It had freckles all over its body and it had no arms. Sam said it used its long neck to eat special leaves that were all the way up high on big trees. This thing lived really far away, and he could be wrong but Sam said it was a 'giraffe'? There was a word under each picture but he didn't know what they said. Plus they might not even be words, they could also be numbers.

Distinguishing words from numbers sometimes gave him headaches and unless Sam or Tucker was around, he never actually bothered to attempt it.

He was starting to piece together tiny bits of English sentences. What he knew was extremely limited in that area and very broken, but this learning process was new in all the best ways and while frustrating at times, he loved every bit of it. Besides…he really wanted to convey a question about Sam to Tucker…

Sam was becoming even more different than she originally was. He liked being close to Tucker but he always wanted Sam. He loved seeing her, he loved hearing her voice—and no, it wasn't because he lacked one, it was just that hers was so…incredible. He wanted to know everything about her. And when she was close to him helping him learn anything, for some reason he wanted to touch her. He would smile for no reason. He wanted to make her laugh and smile back. He loved her laugh. He would stare at her sometimes, like she would be the last thing he saw if he suddenly died. He hardly ever got the chance but he would get lost in her eyes if she looked at him long enough. She had the most beautiful eyes.

And every time she touched him he would melt. She made him feel so strange but in a good way. It was warm but not like ectoplasm. It made his face heat up but not like overexertion. He wanted to hold her and feel her against him. She made his heart race just by appearing.

That was his question to Tucker. What was going on? What was Sam doing to him? Why did he look at her differently than before? Was this normal? Was this even safe? Did Tucker feel this way too?

…Surely Tucker felt this way too. Tucker had been around Sam far longer than he had. Only an English-speaker would truly know. And, actually, since he was learning English, he would be an English-speaker too, so maybe he would know too—in time of course.

He took a deep breath and focused on his nonexistent voice. He hoped there was still a chance, somehow, that he could talk again. He used to talk. He used to copy words—simple commands back then. But years of disobedience, paired with years of consequences, had completely silenced him. It was no longer a matter of wanting to talk, it had become a matter of the ability to talk. And now that talking was acceptable he wanted so badly to do it again. He had questions and despite their lacking knowledge of Esperanto it couldn't hurt to try anyway. The computer told them what to say in his language so perhaps it could tell him what to say in theirs. Worth a shot…if he could speak again.

The only thing that came out was forced air, sort of like when he whistled. Every single try was met with disappointment but if there was even the slimmest of chances…

It wasn't very long before Sam came through the door grumbling about this and that—the events, he assumed, that had occurred today prior to her return. But he could always be wrong, maybe she was gabbing about something else.

She set her bag down beside her desk and cracked her neck.

"I swear, if I have to dislocate my whole back one more time I'm going to beat the school board into a pulp with their own textbooks!" she shouted. It sounded like she was very frustrated.

It was greatly appreciated that she never took out her frustration on him.

"Uuugggghhhhh…" she groaned, pushing her computer aside and slamming the first book onto the table. Next were pencils and a smaller, lighter book known as a 'notebook'. He wasn't entirely sure, but he could almost guarantee that this book was very special and highly valued. She only ever looked at the big, heavier book but she dragged her pencils over the notebook. Thus it must be an object of extreme importance.

Hmm… An object of extreme importance… She had multiple notebooks. It must be annoying to have to pull all of them out one by one and keep track of all that. If it was him, he would hate it. Maybe she hated it too, maybe this was the reason she complained about it. It was the only logical explanation he could come to. In fact, that would be the only logical explanation anyone would be able to come to.

Suddenly he had an excellent idea.

A/N

Pretty short chapter—about half as short as the others. I have a reason though! This is by far the best place to leave off for the upcoming scene. Try to use your imagination. He doesn't know anything about English-speaker ways.

Also, relax, his nickname will come. Give it a little time.