Chapter 2 - What He Was Actually Saying
The friend noticed us watching. She glanced around and seemed to realize other people were watching too. For a second I thought that might embarrass them into leaving. Instead the blonde woman pointed at the mother's arm.
"I'm just saying, if you're going to do something like that to yourself, don't be surprised when people notice."
The mother closed her eyes. Her son pressed another letter. "Please," she said again.
"I don't understand why you're getting upset. I was trying to tell you that you're setting an example."
"Mom," Ruby whispered.
"What?"
"Why is the boy squeezing her?"
I looked again. He wasn't squeezing. He was pressing. Specific squares. One at a time. And every time he did, his mother watched his hand. Not casually. Carefully.
That's when I understood I had it wrong. All of it.
The mother put her free hand over her son's fingers. Then she stood up from the bench. She moved him behind her so he stood between her body and the food truck. He pressed his face into the back of her leg. But he didn't let go of her forearm.
She turned to face the blonde woman, her arm still exposed. Her eyes were already full.
"My son is non-verbal," she said. "That tattoo is how he talks to me."
Nobody said anything. The friend's hand dropped from her chest. The blonde woman blinked. "What?"
The mother lifted her arm slightly. "He's seven. He's never said a word." Her voice broke. She swallowed and kept going. "He uses a communication board."
I looked at the tattoo again. And suddenly I didn't see a tattoo. I saw rows. Letters. Spacing. A keyboard.
"He had a board we carried everywhere," she said. "When he was four, we left it at a restaurant." The blonde woman opened her mouth, but the mother kept going, glancing down at her son first. "We were halfway home before I realized. I called. They couldn't find it. Someone must've picked it up or thrown it out."
Her son was still holding her arm. She rested her other hand on the back of his head.
"We ordered another one. It took two days." Her voice caught on the words two days. She looked down. "Two days where he'd lost the only way he had of telling me what he needed."
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Something about the whole festival seemed to go quiet around us. The music was still playing. People were still ordering food. Kids were still running between tables. But that little circle around the bench had gone completely still.
"So I put one somewhere I couldn't leave behind again," she said, holding up her forearm. "He spells on me."
