Nonverbal
Brows furrowed over deeply serious eyes, he uses his pointer finger to scrub the video to precisely 16 seconds into the ad. The tip of a raspberry tongue stuck out in concentration, he pushes Play.
“I don’t want to eat garbage, dad.”
Remy the Rat has spoken, but it’s Rhett’s eyes that meet mine, insistent.
“It’s not garbage; it’s eggs. And I’m not making you anything else.”
Rhett scowls, tapping the back of his first two fingers against his forehead.
“You call me stupid again, I’m gonna take that iPad away.”
He continues to scowl, but puts his hands down. I go back to wiping off the kitchen counters.
Forlorn, he pokes at the unwanted eggs with a spoon, willing them to be different. He looks up at me and decides to chance it again. “Duh-UH.” His voice is loud, lilting up at the end so I recognize this is a question.
“We can’t have donuts every day. The eggs are good, try them.” I do not sound convincing as the longer they sit there, the colder and more rubbery they become. The effort must be made, for his health.
Rhett holds up both hands and flicks them a couple of times so the palms face me. I sigh, defeated.
“All done, huh? Not even one bite?”
He dumps the cold eggs on the table.
“Okay, fine. We’ll get a donut. But tomorrow, we try something new, alright? Man cannot live on donuts alone. That’s Biblical!” He’s not even listening to me, gloating as he is in his victory. “Go get your shoes on, before I change my mind. Spoiled little monkey.”
I’m rewarded for this defeat by a round of bouncing happy-flappies before he walks on his tiptoes towards the car.
****
“We’re all gonna die!” screams a VeggieTales pea from his iPad.
I don’t take my eyes off the road. “I’m not driving that fast, can you chill?” He giggles at his little joke and kicks his feet, playing the clip a couple more times. He is just as tickled every time.
“What kind of donut do you want?” I ask as though I do not know the answer.
“Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.” Rhett’s response sounds like cheerful little maracas, rhythmic as a shimmy.
“Chocolate? Again? They have so many good flavors, we could try something new. Like sour cream, or blueberry. You like blueberries.”
He grinds his teeth loudly, the muscle working in his jaw. I’m transported back to early mornings on the lake, where the catfish call is so pronounced I can almost smell the bait. “Dude, can you stop? You’re making my face hurt just listening to it.” He chops one hand across the other. “Yeah, stop. All your teeth are gonna fall out.” He wasn’t agreeing with me though, just repeating; the grind continues until I hand back a silicone Lego necklace, an acceptable substitute.
The donut shop is brightly lit and overtly pink. It reminds me of the Barbie book I had as a kid where she opened an ice cream shop. The smell is yeasty and sweet, permeating the whole building. Rhett bounds up to the counter and loudly, proudly requests “DUH-uh!”
A middle-aged woman is at the counter. She looks shocked for a minute, but turns on a hundred-watt smile. Speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, she says to him, “HELLO THERE. ARE…YOU….HERE…WITH…YOUR…MOMMY?”
Rhett rocks back on his toes for a second. He is looking at the woman as if she is going to rear back and bite him. Nevermind that he has several inches and thirty pounds on her. I come up beside him and the woman turns her full attention on me as though Rhett suddenly vanished.
“Welcome to Bab’s Bakery, what can I get for you?”
I turn to Rhett and ask “chocolate?” He doesn’t look at me as he whispers “ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.”
“Can we get an order of chocolate donut holes? And a decaf coffee, black.”
Bab starts punching in the order and filling the bag. “How old is he?”
“Oh. Um. He’ll be 16 at the end of the month.”
“16! He’s so tall though! My Chaz didn’t get that tall, but I suppose neither am I.” She gives a little chuckle. ``16 though. My gosh. Has he always been…” she trails off significantly, but I refuse to bail her out. “You know….like this?” Her voice has dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
My smile feels as thin as nori, and just as friable. “Yup. He was born this way.”
“Oh, well bless your heart. I don’t know how you handle it. My friend Deb had a daughter who was, you know we didn’t have a name for it back then and everybody nowadays it feels like has this or that, but anyway: Deb’s girl, Ruby. They had to put her in one of those homes where there’s other people like her, and I mean, I heard it was nice; it wasn’t one of those bad ones. Ruby got to do arts and crafts and I think they had movie nights and she had her own room. Are you going to put him in a place like that? Your total is $4.58, dear.”
I hand her the five I’ve been holding and take the coffee, squeezing it just a little too tight so the lid pops off. “We haven’t really discussed it.” Rhett rocks back and forth on his feet, staring out the window. He’s very quiet, and one hand has wound its way into his hair like he hasn’t done since he was a baby.
Bab continues on as she punches buttons on the register, “well, better sooner than later. Y'all come back and see us sometime! GOOD…. BYE….. BUDDY!” she half-screams.
Rhett carries the little baggie of donut holes to the car, dropping it on the floor and ignoring it. Donuts roll out on the floor. I don’t correct him as I back us out of the parking lot.
We drive home in silence.
