Dear Mr. Styles

September 7

Dear Mr. Styles,

Did you know that the brain cannot feel pain?

I read about it in my anatomy textbook.

Apparently, the brain has no pain receptors so it cannot feel pain. That means that a surgeon could stab a brain in surgery and the person wouldn't feel it. At least, I'd hope not anyways. Of course, the patient should be sedated. The brain is pretty interesting I guess.

Maybe that's what I should major in. Neuroscience. Or maybe I could be a brain surgeon so I can understand why brains like mine are so messed up.

I've always felt different, and I am pretty different, I think. Maybe a brain scan could tell me why I don't have friends or why I have selective mutism. Obviously the two are related, but maybe a scan could show me the correlation in a more scientific way than "I'm quiet so I don't have friends." Why doesn't everyone suffer from selective mutism? Why is it just one percent of the population?

I've haven't always been this quiet and anxious. In fact, I've seen videos of me as a kid, singing and dancing and being the center of attention. My quietness probably, actually, definitely, stems from the loss of my best friend, Kyle in elementary school.

Kyle and I were close friends until he stopped coming to school one day. I had poured so much of myself into Kyle and our friendship and then he was suddenly gone. He's the person I'd talk to, goof around with, and play with at recess. I didn't understand why he was gone. I thought he'd forgotten about me. I'd call his home phone but nobody would pick up. I'd stand in the street in front of his house, waiting for him to come out and play. But he never did. After a few weeks, I gave up, thinking that Kyle had probably made other friends and left me behind.

I was so hurt by his sudden departure that I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want any other friends, I wanted Kyle. He was my friend. So I didn't play with any other kids. I didn't talk to anyone. I just sat by myself waiting for Kyle to come back. But he never did.

My parents noticed my sadness. My mom was worried about me because I just hid in my room, playing with my dollhouse. I'd pretend that one doll was Kyle, and the other was me. We would play together in the little house and go on adventures. I didn't know how else to cope.

I stopped talking to my sister and my parents shortly after that. I wouldn't talk to any other kids or my teacher at school. I isolated myself as a way to cope. I felt that by talking to other people, I was somehow forgetting about Kyle.

One night, my mom sat me down on the couch. I remember I was wearing my favorite blue sweater with one of the Care Bears on it. I had my sparkly pink light-up shoes on and I was holding my "Kyle and June" dolls in my left hand. My mom looked very somber and I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't say anything. I hadn't spoken a word in weeks.

"Honey, I just talked to Kyle's mom on the phone," She spoke softly. I suddenly felt very hopeful, thinking that maybe Kyle would be coming back to school and I could finally break my silence and feel normal again.

"June Bug, Kyle has cancer."

Seven-year-old me couldn't comprehend what that meant. I was confused. I had heard of cancer because my aunt had it. She was okay. So I reasoned that Kyle was going to be okay too.

For the first time in weeks, I spoke.

"Kyle is gonna be okay, right mom?"

And my mom simply shook her head. I still didn't understand.

"Kyle has terminal cancer, June. He's not going to get better. He is going to die soon." She spoke.

Maybe she could have said it in a more delicate way, but as a child, I needed definitive answers. I understood, yet, I still didn't really understand the concept of death. How could someone just die? How could their mind and personality, and brain just be gone? Where did they go? What happened when someone died?