Before I came home from the hospital, I spent a few days trying to walk again. The meningitis must have wrecked my inner ear — my sense of balance was shot. When my mother helped me out of the hospital bed for the first time, I simply crumpled to the floor. I was surprised. My mother kept smiling an unnatural smile. She put red Winnie-the-Pooh slippers on my feet (another of El Deafo’s conquests), and took me to a quiet, narrow corridor. It was almost like being in church: the dark, hushed aisle, lit on one end by a window’s pale, glowing light. My mother, the Madonna, sat on a bench under the window and gently pushed me to walk. I’d try a few steps, fall, and try again. I don’t know how often we did this, but it must have been often. When I left the hospital for good, I was walking, though not well, and carrying a few of El Deafo’s spoils, to boot.
Home, finally. El Deafo finds out that her powers are strong here at home, too. My older brother, seven years older and probably not too interested in me before, has now created some magic, just for me: hidden all over the house are hundreds of paper boats that he has folded himself, each stuffed with a piece of candy. All for me! My older sister, five years older and probably not too interested in me, either, now sits in the rocking chair in my room every night until I fall asleep. I have never known such power. But that was El Deafo. Me? I may be home, but in my room with the pink-and-purple-hippos-and-elephants wallpaper and the too-big purple canopied bed, I am terrified. What if it happens all over again, but this time, I don’t get to come home?
I had been home for a week or so. No one knew that I couldn’t hear. Maybe I didn’t even know that I couldn’t hear. But one day, while I was playing, I lost track of where my mother was in the house. I had been glued to her since I got home; I couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from her again. I was running around the house, searching, desperate, my voice rising in fear. And the whole time, my mother was right behind me, saying my name, desperate, her voice rising, too. I never turned around until she caught me and held me. At last she knew.
I’m captivated by your story–obviously lived and experienced.
Yow…I remember those candy boats! You never told me about that bit at the end. That hurt to read.