Sincerely, Emily ✓

19 • Don't Use That Attitude On Me

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"Why do you even call it the Talk Phone?" Oliver muttered. "It doesn't even look like a phone, it's more of an iPad — "

"TALK PHONE," the machine answered.

My voice was now robotic, and seriously, you couldn't even tell if I was happy or sad or angry. I could only express my feelings through words, not expression. Even if I said, "Hey! Get outta my way!" The machine would still say it as if it was bored or was teaching an algebra lesson. Plain emotionless.

Maybe it was the perfect fit for me after all.

You might be wondering what it was like to use a machine to talk when you were speechless. Well, this was the short and easy way to explain it:

The device was called AAC, which was short for Augmentative and Alternative Communication. But AAC wasn't exactly as catchy as the Talk Phone, was it? Apparently not.

Usually the person used their hands to type the message, but that was going to be complicated, since my fingers were now sensitive when it came to stuff like writing and typing. We had to find another option. Dr. Grey found the perfect solution: eye-tracking.

Yes, yes. It was a thing. So, what I had to do is just point my gaze at the letter, spacebar or the enter button. It took a while to form a real sentence, but hey, at least I got to speak. There was also buttons for "YES" and "NO." The other catch, though, was that I needed to wear glasses.

No, not your average glasses. These glasses sensed every movement of my eyes, and through the connection to the Talk Phone, it was able to interpret the information. It picked out the letters and would eventually come up with a sentence.

Oliver nudged me, but that move basically sent me from leaning on the right side to the left. "What do you want to do today?"

"I DO NOT KNOW."

"We can't just stay in the house. It's too depressing!"

"THANKS FOR THE VOTE OF CONFIDENCE."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't use that attitude on me, Woods. Come on. Let's just take a walk around the neighbourhood. We haven't done that in a while."

"I CANNOT WALK."

"Attitude!"

After a little more grumbling, we were on the edge of the streets, enjoying the fresh air.

It wasn't empty but it wasn't crowded, either. Some people were just chilling in front of their porch; kids played in their little gardens; others rode bicycles, passing us along the way. For all eighteem years of my life, I'd noticed that most Mayfair residents didn't go anywhere during the summer holidays. On January, though, it would look like the whole place was deserted.

Mrs. Melrose, who usually came to my aid when I was in need of help (feeding tubes and showering business — don't ask), spotted Oliver and I and gave us a big, heart-warming wave. Oliver waved for us, and I hoped my little smile was enough to tell her that I was grateful for her affection.

We passed Mr. and Mrs. Pike, Leelah and her little brother Mason, Patrick, Mr. Howard and Joanne. They all addressed us with wide smiles and genuine joyful expressions. Even Leelah and Mason came over and started a conversation with us. They didn't seem weirded out by the Talk Phone — actually, they looked actually fascinated by it.