Unwritten Perspective

Voice Journal, entry number one. The first of January, New Year's Day.

My resolution this year is to keep a journal. I got this voice recorder from Best Buy that Eric the salesperson said would work great for me. He was nice enough to show me which buttons to push. Triangle to play. Circle to record. Square to stop. Line with triangle, forward and back.

My wife, Celia, thinks it's a great idea, she's very supportive. And so is my sweet girl, Stella. Come here sweetheart, do you want to say something on Daddy's journal?

"Hi Journal! My name is Stella. I'm five years old and I want a pony."

Hahaha. No pony today. Maybe tomorrow. Ok it's time to get ready for bed now.

***

Voice journal, entry two. January second.

Work was stressful today. Evaluations. They gave everyone a form to fill out. A bunch of circles and places to write comments. They do this twice a year, and as usual, I copied Bill on my left for half the questions, and Tim on my right for the other half. They didn't notice. The rest of the day at the factory, I was nervous, what if they found me out? Would they fire me? Every time the office door opened, I had to keep myself from jumping.

At the grocery store, I picked up all the things Celia said we needed. Everything was going fine, until I got to the cereal. They were out of Stella's favorite. I have to be careful, because she's allergic to nuts. I spent a long time looking at all the cereal, and in the end gave up and went to another store. I couldn't bring myself to ask for help. I felt like everyone was looking at me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I stood out like a neon sign. I really hate that feeling. Luckily, they had Stella's cereal at the other grocery store.

Some days, I feel like an alien. I don't belong. I pretend to be normal, like everyone else. I'm so good at pretending, no one suspects. But it means I can't talk to anyone about it. If people knew, they wouldn't respect me anymore. If I didn't have Celia and Stella, I'd be utterly alone.

***

Voice journal, entry three. January third.

It's long after bedtime. I'm upset, but Celia says I should make an entry in my journal anyway. She says it might help me process what happened. I don't know what I would do without her.

So, Journal. I've got this secret. I try to keep it from everyone, because whenever someone finds out, they treat me like I'm worthless. Disgust or pity, I don't know which is worse.

Of course, Celia knows. She doesn't care and loves me for who I am. I'll never forget the night she found out, she told me all the ways she loves me. I told her the same. And one thing led to another. After, lying in bed, she said, "You read me like an open book." What a woman.

Tonight, at bedtime, Stella wanted the new book she got for Christmas, and I couldn't convince her to pick one I already knew. Celia was working the night shift and couldn't help me.

We got about halfway through when Stella asked me, "Daddy, why aren't you doing it right? I want you to do it like you're supposed to." I froze, I started sweating.

"Like this, Daddy." And she slowly read the words in the book.

"Ok, now your turn."

I said, "Toad poured Frog some coffee in bed."

Stella looked at me, with a gaze wiser than she should have at 5.

"Daddy, it's ok, maybe when you're bigger." And she read the rest of the book, with me turning the pages when she paused.

I've never felt so weak, so small in my life.

She loves me now, looks up to me. But what will she think when she's older? Will I lose her respect? What am I going to do?

***

Voice journal, entry three. February Fourteen.

I know it's been awhile since my last journal entry. Sorry. Part of me just didn't want to face what happened. But it did get me thinking.

After work, I sat in my car, and asked Google to find something. One result popped up in town. The logo looked promising so I drove there and parked at the far end of the lot. There were other cars there, people walking into the building. Some of them looked like they might share my shameful secret. But most looked normal, like they fit in. I felt like a monster. I almost lost my nerve, I was frozen in my car, sweating. Then I remembered Stella's too-wise look last month. So I got out of my car and walked into the building.

I almost walked right out again. The lady at the front desk was a dead ringer for my third grade teacher, Ms. Katz, a particularly demonic hellbeast. She used to tell me I was lazy, that I'd never succeed in life. It was almost worse when she didn't say anything. She'd roll her eyes when I tried to do anything in class. She'd laugh along with all the students when I got something wrong.

But this wasn't the same woman. The woman at the front desk smiled and I stopped seeing any resemblance to Ms. Katz. She told me her name, Laura, and asked if she could help me. I saw brochures on the desk and just grabbed one, nodding at her. She said, "Great! We're here every Wednesday and Friday night, we hope to see you soon!"

On the way home I picked up flowers and chocolates for Celia, and a bear holding a heart for Stella. After dinner, I gave Celia a kiss, and told her, "Happy Valentine's Day." Celia was inhaling the scent of the roses, her eyes closed. I pulled the brochure out, as nervous as the day I asked her to marry me.

I said, "Celia. I love you in every way it's possible for one person to love another. And I know you love me just the way I am. But this year, for Valentine's Day, I want to learn to read and write. For me and for the three of us." I handed her the brochure and she glanced at it and started crying.

Stella looked up from playing with her bear, "Daddy, are you big enough to read my bedtime story now?"

"Soon baby, soon."

***