St-St-St-Stuttering Stacey

Chapter One: Preston

           I didn’t always speak with a stutter. Up until halfway through the third grade I was able to talk without constantly stumbling over my words, but I remember the exact moment that all changed.

            I had always been somewhat of a shy child. I was never one to go out of my way to make friends or speak without first being prompted to by someone else. Being in crowds or with any group of people made me feel nervous and jumpy; I guess even back then it would have been easy to tell that I was a born wall flower. I suppose my inherently shy nature at that age stemmed from the fact that, at the time, I was an only child. And although both my parents were loving and supportive and never the type to put work before family, we lived in a neighborhood with no other children; every house along the block was inhabited by either college students in their early twenties- as we lived five miles from the local university- or by adults whose children had all grown and moved away, leaving me as the only person under the age of eighteen on the entire block.

           Despite being surrounded by people my own age at school, I had grown so accustomed to occupying myself, that I found it nerve-wracking and difficult to interact with my peers. At home, and in my neighborhood, I was known as the perfect, quiet, independent daughter that never made too much of a fuss over anything; but at school I was known as the shy, reserved, friendless girl who never talked to anyone.

            My teachers grew worried for me and I recall several parent-teacher meetings to discuss my lack of social skills, always resulting in my worrisome mother organizing a play date with me and one of the children in my class, which never evolved past that first and only, get together. And by the time I grew to the age of eight, everyone- the teachers, my parents, my classmates, and I- had become resigned to the fact that I was just simply a socially awkward individual. I still, on occasion, spoke to my classmates- albeit briefly- and answered when I was called on in class, but I had grown comfortable in my solitary world, content to stay on the sidelines and by myself.

            But about halfway through the third grade, a new student joined our classroom. His name was Preston Crenshaw. At first, Preston was just like me. He was shy and didn’t go out of his way to talk to anyone or make friends. Like me, Preston stayed away from the crowds and only spoke when someone spoke to him first. I watched him his first week at school, and my young mind was happy to see that I wasn’t alone; there was finally someone else just as socially adverse as I was. He was my kindred spirit.

            It was during his second week at school, that I noticed Preston starting to come out of his shell. It started with him playing tetherball at recess with Jimmy Peters and his best friends, Colby Wallace and Ben Fulman. I watched, from my usual recess spot under the tall tree by the swing set, as Preston walked up to Jimmy and his friends and asked if he could play with them. From where I sat, I could just barely make out what they were saying.

            “Hey,” Preston had greeted in a quiet, nervous voice, “I’m Preston. I was wondering if I can play tetherball with you guys. It’s my favorite.”

            I remember being immediately shocked and nervous for Preston. Even back then, at eight, our school had cliques; and Jimmy and his friends were the “cool” kids, they only ever played with each other at recess, and no one else was brave enough to ask. So as I sat in the shaded grass, I felt my heart pounding in anticipation and nerves for Preston; expecting for him to be laughed at, as Jimmy, Colby, and Ben eyed him up and down, deciding whether or not the new kid could play with them. I watched as, shrugging, the three boys glanced at each other and then turned to Preston and said, “Sure, why not?” Amazed, my eyes stayed glued to Preston as he smiled and stepped onto the tether ball court and played with them until the end of recess.

            After getting home from school that night, I sat in my room and thought about what Preston had done. He was shy; I knew that from his first week, so why did he suddenly talk to Jimmy and his friends? Maybe he just really wanted to play tetherball? I had thought, but it still took courage to go up to them and ask them. That first week I had thought that Preston was like me, but if that was true, how could he have been the one to initiate a friendship? I spent that night and the rest of the week confused over the supposedly shy Preston’s actions. It didn’t make sense to me, but for whatever reason I couldn’t seem to let it go.

            I began wondering what it would be like to do what Preston did; just go up to someone and ask to play with them. After all, Preston now appeared to be much happier being friends with Jimmy and the other boys. I wondered if maybe making friends would make me happier, too. It wasn’t as if I was unhappy; I was quite content being shy and withdrawn, but watching Preston go from being shy like me to happy and surrounded by friends, I started to think that maybe I should do the same. Everyone had always told me to try to make friends, and Preston had no problem doing it; so why couldn’t I? In a matter of two and a half weeks, Preston had managed to make me rethink my solitary existence. Maybe I didn’t want to be alone anymore. But would making friends be as easy for me? By the Friday of Preston’s third week at my school, I had decided to do what Preston did; I was going to make friends.

            So that Friday I decided that I wouldn’t sit alone for lunch. Holding my Power Puff Girls lunch box tightly in my hands, I walked up to the table where Preston, Jimmy, Colby, Ben, Natalie, Hannah, Sasha, and Madison were sitting. I was beyond nervous and I could feel my face heating in anxiety and embarrassment as I stopped at the end of the table. My knees were shaking and I shifted my weight back and forth on both feet. As I opened my mouth to ask if I could sit down and Hannah turned to look at me, I suddenly felt as if this was a terrible idea.

            “Do you need something, Stacey?” Hannah asked me, and then, almost instantaneously, the entire table was quiet and staring at me.

           I wanted to cry. I hated groups and crowds, and now I was standing here with all these people staring at me. I had changed my mind, I didn’t want to make friends anymore, I just wanted to be alone again; but it was too late. They were all looking at me, waiting for me to say something and all I wanted to do was run and hide away from all of the attention. I opened my mouth once again to speak, but with my growing nerves and unease, it felt as if a heavy, invisible weight was pressing down on me. I could breathe, but I felt like I was suffocating. My throat started to constrict, a large lump lodging itself deep within and blocking all of my words from escaping. Still, through all of my silent panic, they stared at me; waiting. I tried to explain, tell them that I didn’t need anything anymore, but all that came out of my mouth was a barely audible squeak.

           I tried again, they were still watching. “I-I-I-I,” The words wouldn’t come, they were stuck behind that lump, and I could feel my eyes beginning to water.

           “Stacey?” That was Ben. I looked at him as he stared back almost mockingly as he waited for me to speak.

           “S-S-S-Sor-r,” Speech was impossible for me, and all I could do was stand there, immobile and silent as, one-by-one, each of my classmates began to laugh.

           The bell for the end of lunch rang, and everyone left the cafeteria- those who had witnessed my silence laughing as they went, but I just stood there with tears streaming down my face, trying desperately to force the words out of my mouth and past that lump. It was no use, I couldn’t do it; my words were stuck inside of me as I broke down, alone, in the middle of the cafeteria.