| So far, the call had gone well. He had expected trouble saying his name, but the whispered introduction as his mother swept through the room seemed to have prevented him from blocking. The attempt to deepen his voice and speak with the resonance of a grown man also seemed to be helping. Judy didn't know he stuttered and, except for a few minor bobbles that he was sure she had not noticed, he had spoken in short phrases without stuttering. Now, as he approached the important moment, Steve could feel his fluency leaving him. Hoping to complete his task before his stuttering returned in full force, he leapt into a momentary void in the conversation. "J-J-Judy," he started, "I wa-was wondering if y-y-you'd like to go to the Fuh-Fuh-Fuh, go to the Fuh, go to the F-F-Fall F-Formal with me?" There was a lengthy pause, then Judy asked: "What was that? I didn't quite get that, Steve." Groaning inwardly, Steve knew that he was caught. He would make himself complete the call, but he knew that for the rest of the conversation he would be fighting for every word. Using the telephone always made his stuttering worse, and now he was truly caught with no way to escape. Gamely he repeated the dance invitation, noticing that he now stuttered on those words on which he didn't block. Laughter. Steve could physically feel himself cringe as the telephone brought him the sound of Judy bursting into laughter. "Are you playing some kind of game, Steve?" she tittered. "Who's there with you?" "N-No one," he replied resolutely. "Will y-y-you go wa-wa-with me?" Gaily, Judy giggled into the phone. "What's going on, Steve. Are you drunk or something? Is this a joke?" The questions cut to his heart like a knife. Steve struggled to speak, to tell her that he was all right, that he was just stuttering; but now nothing would come out. "Perhaps you'd better call back later," he heard Judy admonish as she firmly broke the telephone connection. Steve stared at the receiver in his hand, then forced himself to gently place it in its cradle. He knew that he was going to explode. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life, and the pain was just beginning to build. Quickly he hurried from the living room, out through the kitchen, down the back stairwell, and into the basement. * * * * * Thud. The knife gave off a twang as it struck slightly off center. With tears flowing freely now, Steve wrenched the knife out of the panel and returned to the throwing line. His mind was now focused entirely on the mind-dulling routine: Throw -- Retrieve -- Throw again. Thud. There were no thoughts of Judy or the phone call, no thoughts of the Fall Formal dance, no thoughts of throwing the knife. He felt no pain, no anger, no emotion. Just: Throw -- Retrieve -- Throw again. |
| The Rage (continued) |
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