“Help me understand.”
“Think about living in a country where you can’t read the language—I can’t read signs, road directions, a menu, my bills and groceries in the store. None of those make sense to me.”
My brave, scarred love. To stride through life chin jutted out with such a severe limitation... I had no inkling of the kind of courage he possessed.
“What I know is memorized, so every new experience terrifies me. Before the club, surviving on my own...so hard. I was headed for a jail cell or a tombstone.”
Scrubbing his face with his hands, he met my gaze. “I’m severely dyslexic and I also have dyscalculia. Numbers don’t make sense any more than words. It all jumps around and the order of letters and numbers doesn’t stay the same. I can barely read at a second-grade level.” He whispered the words, his expression full of shame.
Listening to him describe his world, ice replaced the blood in my veins. Only a strong man could make his life look easy.
“I admire you.” The words just flew out. “You show such strength in the way you face the world. No wonder you’re so brave.”
He stood and paced away. My words agitated him, but I didn’t know why.
“You should be ashamed of me. I’m stupid.” His words were angry. “Why aren’t you?”
I wanted to skin the person who’d damaged him with those ugly words.
“Stop it.” I stood chest to chest with him. “You aren’t stupid. A stupid man couldn’t figure out how to navigate this world the way you have. There is no shame in having dyslexia or dyscalculia. You didn’t choose it. It only makes me respect you more.” I touched his chest. “Love you more.”
“Goddammit, Red.” He strode to the end of the dock with anger in every movement. I stood silent while he settled, and eventually his shoulders relaxed.
“Tell me the worst part. Who made you feel this way?” I walked halfway to him, standing on the dock.
“I’ve never told anyone about it. No one.” He didn’t turn from the water.
“Then it’s past time to share it.” Fury fueled my words.
He turned to me, eyes wide and confused. “You’re pissed because of my...the way... How do you always know what I need to hear?”
I moved forward and lightly brushed a kiss on his lips. “I say what I feel.” I searched his face. “Will you share it with me?”
He struggled with the decision. Fear and anger warred in his expression. Did he fear I would stop loving him?
My bet was parents, they inflicted pain all the time.
“By second grade it was clear my reading sucked. First time they tried to hold me back. My father, my family, are rich and power hungry. I went to private school, and my parents paid lots for me to be educated.” He stared at the water.
I didn’t move, afraid to break the spell.
“My father threatened and bribed the school, who caved and passed me along. In fifth grade, they stopped promoting me.” His voice was so flat and hollow, almost as if he spoke of someone else.
It was one way I’d dealt with my ugly past.
“And shit got too real.”
I wondered what abuse his father, and his mother, heaped on him through those years. I longed to wrap him in my arms and hold him tight, but I didn’t think he’d reached the worst, yet.
“For the first time I was tested to figure out what was wrong.” He spat the word, like something filthy. “That’s when they said severe dyslexia and moderate dyscalculia. My father, a politician, refused to have a stupid son. They rejected every treatment suggestion. I went to another doctor.” He shuddered, lost in his memories. “He diagnosed me with autism and mental retardation.” His voice broke.
Nausea surged through me and I had to swallow the bile rising in my throat. They’d labeled him as incapable of learning when he’d needed their love and attention. Indignation burned inside me. Only monsters do that.
“I was twelve when they stuck me in a mental hospital.”
I gasped, unable to understand parents like his. I needed to touch him. When my hand touched his back he flinched away.
“Five years, I lived among schizophrenics, sociopaths and all other kinds of perverts. But the staff were worse. I was an attractive teen.” He shivered.
I longed to go to him, but he wouldn’t accept it now. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep silent.
“They drugged me to keep me submissive.” His voice broke and he quieted for a minute. “If I got unruly they didn’t let me shave. I hated hair on my face. Once they didn’t let me shave for six months. The beard drove me crazy.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw.