And there went his heart from solid to mushy in two seconds flat.
The loss of his voice was something he had lived with for so long now that it was hard to remember what it had been like to communicate verbally. 99% of the time he was comfortable with his infirmity, if he could even call it that after a lifetime of thriving despite it.
But he remembered what it had been like when he was just a child and no one knew sign and his writing was slow and halting from him only just learning to spell. He remembered crying for hours when his mother had leaned over his hosptial bed, picked him up in her lap like she hadn't done since he was three, and told him he wouldn't be able to talk or sing anymore.
He had built an elaborate fantasy then as a child around this magical idea he'd dreamed about, where he had a parrot that could read his mind and speak for him. He had named his wishful thinking parrot Charlie and gone on and on to his mother about wanting one despite knowing they would never be able to get one.
Though he'd grown out of being angry about the loss of his voice, moments like this when he remembered being a kid it still panged him. And hearing Mary say something like that... well it was refreshing in a way. A tap on the shoulder to pull him out of frustrating memories and back into the present.
It was also just really sweet, which was why he laid a hand on her shoulder gently, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
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The loss of his voice was something he had lived with for so long now that it was hard to remember what it had been like to communicate verbally. 99% of the time he was comfortable with his infirmity, if he could even call it that after a lifetime of thriving despite it.
But he remembered what it had been like when he was just a child and no one knew sign and his writing was slow and halting from him only just learning to spell. He remembered crying for hours when his mother had leaned over his hosptial bed, picked him up in her lap like she hadn't done since he was three, and told him he wouldn't be able to talk or sing anymore.
He had built an elaborate fantasy then as a child around this magical idea he'd dreamed about, where he had a parrot that could read his mind and speak for him. He had named his wishful thinking parrot Charlie and gone on and on to his mother about wanting one despite knowing they would never be able to get one.
Though he'd grown out of being angry about the loss of his voice, moments like this when he remembered being a kid it still panged him. And hearing Mary say something like that... well it was refreshing in a way. A tap on the shoulder to pull him out of frustrating memories and back into the present.
It was also just really sweet, which was why he laid a hand on her shoulder gently, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.