Page 35 of It's Always Us

As the kitchen clears out and the sound of power tools fills the background, I re-toast my bread, needing it to calm my stomach and disappointment. Maybe new brakes will cure my piss-poor attitude and dwindling dignity.

I carry my toast across the hall to the office and take a seat behind the desk as the old man strolls in and sits in the chair across from me.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I grumble, ripping off a piece of toast.

He leans back in the chair. “What happened?”

I look at him from underneath my eyelashes, needing him not to push or I’ll break.

“I thought we weren’t talking about it?”

“I changed my mind.” This is not the time for his stubborn streak to appear. “You were ready. We spent three months preparing and reviewing all the questions. You knew all the answers before we even started. You had this.”

I take another small bite, and my phone buzzes in my back pocket, but only once. I want it to be Mark, especially today, but I know it’s not him.

Over the last month, our phone conversations, or ‘dates’ as he likes to call them, have become fewer and far between. It’s been two days since I’ve talked to him, except for our five-minute conversation before he fell asleep, and I’d be surprised if he remembered my test was today.

MOM: How’d it go?

I put my phone back in my pocket, not having the energy to try to formulate a response, and she knows I hate texting.

Grandpa sits unwaveringly. I rest back in the chair, ready to get this over with.

“You know what happened. What always happens.”

“Pal, you had this.”

I appreciate his vote of confidence, but he didn’t have to take the test. I inhale, trying to reel in my annoyance. “The questions were different. At least they appeared that way.”

He crosses his arms over his flannel covered chest. “Did you talk to the instructor?”

I push away the other half of my toast. “No. What was I going to say?”

“You could have asked if they had assistance. They have services—”

I stand, my shame and embarrassment morph into anger. “Grandpa, I tried. I couldn’t do it.”

“Alex, there’s a way to do this if you—”

My patience runs out. “It took me ten minutes to try to read the first question, and I only made it through the first couple of sentences. I couldn’t even get to the bullet point on the first one. I don’t want assistance. I don’t want someone or a computer program reading the questions for me like I’m some inept person. It’s humiliating and demoralizing.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve worked your ass off to get to where you are, and I don’t care if it takes you an hour to read one. The point is you know the answer to every single one of those damn questions. Hell, you should be teaching the class. Don’t let this keep you from doing it. We’ll figure it out.”

I drop my head in my hands, feeling so completely inadequate to do anything.

“Pal, don’t give up.” His voice softens, and it kills me.

“I can’t fucking read! I’ve tried. I’ve worked my ass off, but in situations like that, it never gets better.”

“You’ve worked harder than anyone I know. You should be proud of that and how far you’ve come.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I’m real proud. I’m excellent at covering it up, pretending I’m capable of the most basic elementary skill. When it comes down to it, I can’t even take a test filled with words I use every damn day because I can’t recognize them.”

“You cannot help how your brain is wired, just like people that are blind cannot help that they can’t see.”

“It’s not the same.”

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