Katie and Tim

We've Got Mail

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Why do the class periods keep getting shorter and shorter? In freshman year, all they did was drag on and on. Now, they're throwing information at us like it's dodgeball and we're the one opponent still standing.

The first week of school was worse with all of the "introduce yourself" and "go around the room and make friends", but still, we should get to catch a break before the winter break.

At least now it's over. I shove the last bit of homework in my bag. Time to pick up Timmy from school.

I jump on my bike and ride over to the elementary school. Timmy is waiting out front on the sidewalk with Ms. Sue.

"Hey, Ms. Sue. I've got him now."

He adjusts his headphones before we start walking. I make sure to stay close enough to be his walking companion, but far enough away that we don't accidentally touch each other. Since I started doing this, he seems to really appreciate it.

The entire walk home is one of silence, as always. I'm glad for these walks because any other person that I've walked with was always so nervous that they filled the air with their words. On occasion, this is absolutely fine, but I like to reserve walks for sitting deep in thought, which cannot easily be done when someone is filling the air for the sake of filling it.

Timmy is different. He fills the air with his energy and feelings, not his words. Today, the feeling is a mildly frustrated one, and that's okay.

When we get back to the house, we both go straight to his room — I to my corner, and him to his. He gets his binder and pencil out of his backpack, and I get out my folders and pen.

What I wouldn't give to trade homework with Timmy right now. He's doing 4th-grade multiplication tables while I'm sitting here trying to figure out logarithms.

In the middle of homework, Timmy stands up and goes to the back of his room, so I go over to investigate. He's repeatedly closing a fist around his blue stress ball.

"Are you okay, Timmy? Are you still upset about your dad not being here?"

Timmy nods his head and squeezes his fist tighter, if that was even possible to begin with.

"What can I do to help you? Can you write it down for me?" I pick up his pencil and hold it out to him.

He takes it while keeping the stress ball locked in his other hand. Slowly, he starts to write out words, but the pencil falls from his grip and he just gets frustrated again.

"Hey, Timmy. I know you're really frustrated right now. Sometimes things can just be really hard. How about we brainstorm a solution?"

Timmy crosses his arms and hides under the blankets on his bed.

It must be really hard for him to not have a way to express everything going on inside. I know if I couldn't express myself, I would feel trapped with no way out. Lots of complicated emotions going on in his head, and he doesn't know what to do with them. I know that I usually journal, but it isn't easy for him to write anything down.

So I just need to figure out how to make it easier for him.

And just like that, I get an idea.

"Hi, Mr. Stevens. It's Katie. It's extra hard for Timmy to try and communicate today. I came up with a solution, but wanted to run it by you first. Would it be okay with you if I set up Timmy with a Gmail? That way he and I can text back and forth. It would probably make things a lot easier. Thanks!"

It may seem like a bit of a long shot, but I think that could help our communication when I'm here and when I'm at home. Before I know it, there's a response from Mr. Stevens.

"Hi, Katie. That sounds great! I already made one to sign him up for those puzzle games he likes to play. His laptop is already logged in, just teach him how to use it. Thank you!"

Perfect!

I gently sit on the edge of Timmy's bed and tap him twice. I see him roll under the blankets to face me.

"Hey, Timmy. I think I figured out a solution. Do you wanna hear it?"

A small fist sticks out from in between the sheets and moves up and down. At least he used the one sign that I know.

Yes.

I make sure to still speak in a soft voice. "Great! Your dad said I can show you how to talk to me using the computer. Does that sound cool?"

Timmy folds back the covers and sits in front of the computer, waiting eagerly for his instructions.

"Okay, so we just go here and click on this button," I say, pointing at the screen while still trying to maintain personal space. "Now just add me to your contacts there, and you can chat with me here! It's like sending me a text message. Try it."

I stand back up as he types away at the keyboard. After a minute, my phone gets a notification.

"Hello there."

I smile and type back, "Hello, Timmy. :)"

He looks at the screen and is fascinated by the smiley that I added to the message. He starts typing some more, but I lightly put a hand on his shoulder.

"You know, there are games that help you get better at typing. Do you want me to show you?"

He nods so fast that I'm worried his head will fly off his shoulders.

"Okay, well then. First, you go here to this site, and then you can pick a game. It'll give you some tricks to help you type fast like me."

At this, he smiles, eyes still fixed on the computer screen.

"Feeling better yet?"

He tilts his head and shrugs.

"Whelp, that's better than nothing, so I'll take it."

I go back to the rocking chair in the corner and try to get some homework done. Every now and then, I get a message notification from Timmy telling me how fast he can type now. Each time he tells me, I congratulate him and encourage him to keep going.