By Logan Lewis
Student Writing Awards, second place, creative writing
category
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To be honest, I don’t really know for sure how I got my
“signature” stutter. My mom says it came when I was very little (I mean I still
am little, but more like younger) and I bit my tongue: so hard it drew blood
but not in a cool Gene Simmons way. The way that I remember things was I
got my stutter on the day that dog attacked me. That was the day I got the
scars on my face that made me feel the need to wear my face long and my hair
longer. Eh, I kind of feel better knowing I outlived that mongrel in dog and
human years.
It’s hard to say whose story is correct because if I say my
account is right that’d be biased but saying that my mom’s account was the
truth would be wrong. No matter what happened that caused a glitch in my head,
I got stuck in speech therapy for seven years of my life from kindergarten to
the sixth grade. I didn’t realize until years later (the other day to be exact)
that it was even called speech therapy: my two speech teachers in those
seven years just called it speech class. Man, I miss it when everything
was sugar-coated.
Besides my stutter, I was also in these “classes” for the
inability to pronounce words that start with r and for the ability to talk
ridiculously fast.
I don’t remember much about my first speech teacher other
than she kind of gave up on me, which always sucks. The second one I remember a
lot about. He was from Olney, Illinois: home of Albino Squirrels and at least
two St. Louis Cardinals. I still see him every once in a while when I’m at
work. It’s always nice to see him because he’s one of the few teachers I had
before I started college who actually cared and wanted to inspire me instead of
discouraging me.
As I was about to leave middle school and transition to
junior high, I kind of was content with the fact that my stutter wasn’t going
to be cured no matter how much learning I endured. This kind of bummed me out,
but at least I got over the problem with r words and now I can say Robert
Redford! If only I knew any movies that he was in.
As I got into high school, I was sadly ridiculed for
stuttering and my crazy taxi-style motormouth in my sophomore English class. My
friend The Shaggy Dog told me on the way to a concert earlier this year
that he remembered me getting ridiculed for my stutter and fast speech by a
girl who’s one of those miserable people who probably went on to become a nurse
or something like that. I had honestly forgotten about most of that in the
present. He’s a good friend who I love like a brother, and he’s always been
there for me and told me not to worry about her when this was going on eight
years ago.
I never really felt embarrassed to stutter or say that I had
a speech impediment before or after any of that. I got reprimanded for
stuttering by various people who saw it as “impolite.” I was very sheepish to
admit that I couldn’t really help it. It was a way of life for me. Sometimes I
tend to talk fast, but that problem has been mostly cured throughout my life. I
only really use this fast speech just for fun when I mess around with people.
One memory seems to live rent-free in my mind whenever I think about it: the
week I lost my stutter.
I was at work on some random night of the week that probably
ended with a y and there was a family with a little kid probably about seven or
eight or so. This kid was telling me about her day at school and her weekend
plans while I stood there and rang up the odds and ends that they were
purchasing.
“T-t-t-t-t-today at sc-c-c-c-c-c-h-hol, I learned h-h-h-ow
to t-t-touc-c-ch type t-t-t-t-the alphabet,” this kid who was perhaps around
seven or eight said.
As I stood there and finished ringing them up her dad then
felt the need to apologize to me for his daughter’s stuttering.
“It’s t-t-t-t-t-t-t-totally ok-k-k-k as y-y-y-y-y-y-y-ou can
see I s-s-s-t-t-tutter myself,” I managed to pass through my lips and out of my
mouth as I finished ringing them up and bid them a good day and a nice weekend.
The next day, I went through my day as usual: work, errands, life, thinking out
loud, faking smiles, and saying hello to those I knew and everyone I’d met. It
didn’t really dawn on me until the day was getting done with that
something was different. The day after that I was at school and a close
friend of mine said something to me in the middle of our study/talking about
music before our next respected classes started time that literally made time
stop.
“Logan, this might sound strange, but I literally haven't
heard you stutter once today.” I froze and put down my Ukulele on the table
with a thunk.
“Wait, I haven't stuttered once in this last hour or
so?”
“Nope, not once.”
I was literally flabbergasted: I’d never, ever gone a single
day of my life in the last however many years without stuttering. I was rather
mixed with emotions at this news. I felt a little giddy that I could spend my
time now being able to talk somewhat normally. It hit me pretty quickly that
something was off when I didn’t stutter the next day, or the next day, or days
and days after that.
I started to get a little depressed: despite how it made
being able to do something as menial as say thank you or bless you or have
conversations about 1980s movies and 1990s arcade games that your friends have
never heard of or ever played. My stutter was a part of me, and it was now gone
at this point. I don’t know for sure what happened, but when I thought about
it, it seemed that that kid at work somehow shocked my impediment out of my
brain. This myth was busted a few days after I stopped counting the days and
started to feel more confident in the way I spoke. I woke up one day, got
ready, and drove to school to meet up with my friends for lunch.
“Oh, h-h-h-heya guys. Ho-o-o-ow’s it going?”
It happened: my stutter had come back just like a bad habit
after New Year's. I looked up and a million thoughts started racing through my
head, namely me being relieved that my stutter, which was thought to be a
temporary childhood thing, had stuck around long enough to make me realize that
it was more of a long-term life sort of thing. I felt like my old self and for
the first time, I felt like I needed to be more confident about my speech
impediment and just stop apologizing to people for my constant
stuttering.
My friend reminded me of this memory from high school. I
didn’t exactly know how to respond to this because I’d never thought about her
or high school in a long time and now, I want to know if she actually became a nurse
or not. I remembered something I discovered a long time ago when I was reading
about musician Kele Okereke of Bloc Party: a musician who stutters, but doesn’t
appear to stutter when he sings. This also made me think of a conversation I
had with my dad about my stutter and how it seemed that I didn’t tend to
stutter when I was singing baritone in two different school choir stints I did.
I thought about all the music I’ve heard and the music I wrote and about all
the reasons why I decided to play guitar and write songs after my first bout of
depression towards the end of high school.
My friend knew of my plans to start a band this year, and he
and his girlfriend were there to hear me talk about all the songs and poems
I’ve written and how I want to be a sappy writer who has books and CDs in the
bargain bins all over the world. He was there during our junior year the next
year when I started to study literature and the noisy rock music that had
inspired me to get a guitar and sing my heart out to anyone who wanted to hear
me sing about my life and the good times and bad times, the heartbreakers, the
earthquakes, Hell and highwater and everything in between. I’ve never been good
at math or science, or much else really, but I’ve always felt okay enough to
speak my mind, no matter how many words I can’t let escape my mouth. Sometimes
I write until my hand cramps; thankfully, I taught myself to be
semi-ambidextrous and why I buy so many notebooks. One way or another, I wanted
to find a way to vent my frustrations and my salvations and listening to music
and loud guitars and singers gave me the push I needed.
I then responded to him with my voice trembling with a glint
of confidence, “I don’t worry about it anymore. You see when I sing, I don’t
stutter.”
So, damn it, that’s what I want to do.
Now I just need to learn how to sing.
About the Author
