“Blaine is very well behaved. He follows directions well and is able to print all of his letters and numbers. His fine motor skills are beyond those of many boys his age. I am concerned because of his near refusal to speak to me or the other children. Our speech therapist says he’s making some gains on his impediment, but he very rarely says anything in the classroom unless heavily prompted.”

Blaine couldn’t help it. His stutter started pretty much from when he learned to talk. His mom and dad were nice to him about it, usually. Other times he could tell it annoyed them, but mostly it was ok, because they figured he would grow out of it, like his dad did when he was a kid. Sometimes Cooper would be mean to him about it, but sometimes he would act like he didn’t even notice.

The kids in his neighborhood mostly ignored him. Not that Blaine wanted to talk to them, but sometimes it got boring riding your bike by yourself. When they did talk to him, it was usually just to make fun him, call him “Blah” (which was the noise he made when he stuttered on his name). He knew they thought he was stupid or retarded or whatever, but he didn’t need to be friends with them anyway.

His parents sent him to a private speech pathologist, along with the speech therapist at school. His speech pathologist helped him with different techniques. She taught him to soften his stutter and to roll into words that he knew he would stutter on. She told him to try not to live his life avoiding words. He didn’t think it mattered because he just wanted to make it through the day.

As he got older, the comments on his report cards continued the same way. “Blaine is well-behaved, obviously intelligent, but reluctant to speak.” Some teachers made a point of it, saying he was laconic and taciturn, stopping just short of calling him rude or petulant. Mostly though he was lucky when it came to teachers, the majority of them were compassionate, letting him give oral reports privately after school, or allowing him to write essays instead of participating in class. There were always a few that would never bend the rules. Those classes were the worst.

He would try to talk fast, just to get it over with. He would write his speeches around words that he always blocked on. It never really worked. His face would heat up, and he would hear his classmates tittering at all the things he was saying wrong. His hands would shake and then his voice would crack and he would usually just make it through the speech before tears would form in his eyes.

During middle school, his speech pathologist had suggested to his parents that maybe Blaine needed a regular therapist. After some discussion, Blaine’s parents agreed. Blaine could talk in therapy. He still stuttered, but not as much. He never felt judged. He could just be Blaine. And his therapist, Paula, would laugh at his jokes or tell him she was proud of him. Blaine relished these little things, even if they embarrassed him.

Paula would give him assignments to work on. Usually it was stuff like say something to his parents during dinner. It didn’t have to be anything important, just something that happened during the day. Other times it was harder, like answer a question in class. He would always at least try. Because sometimes he knew the answer and he wanted so much to just say it and have the teacher smile at him.

Paula encouraged him to join an online support group. He was completely opposed to going to one in person, but the online one worked for him. He was actually a really good writer and when he had the chance to express himself through written word, it felt right. He felt a little of the burden lift every time he would join in the discussion.

Things slightly improved in high school. Unfortunately cruel children have long memories and anytime people were feeling mean they would call him “Blah.” He would try to laugh it off, because that always seemed to confuse bullies. But it still made him sad. He would get pushed into the bank of lockers and the guys would all start saying “Blah! Blah!” He wound up crying in a bathroom stall several times during the first few weeks of high school.

On the plus side, he had a minor growth spurt and joined the cross-country team. He became friendly with the guys on the team and sat with them at lunch. He mostly got away with nods and shrugs and smiles and one-word answers, all the avoidance techniques that his speech pathologist frowned upon. They didn’t seem to mind him hanging around and he never heard them make fun of his stutter. He could travel as part of a group and there was safety in numbers.

He found joy in music. He started taking piano lessons in fourth grade (it was recommended that he find a creative outlet) and he taught himself the guitar the summer after his freshman year of high school. He could sing without stuttering and that made it a safe haven. He could spend hours playing songs and making up lyrics and writing music.

Blaine found places in his life where things were better than ok, better than just fine. On the miles of cross country trails, in his room with the music blasting, at the lunch table listening to other guys chat idly, escaping into a book, talking to Paula or playing the piano in his sun drenched living room. These were the places he could be Blaine.

He still stuttered all through high school, leaving him a mostly quiet person. He wasn’t going to be like his dad, he wasn’t going to be one of the lucky ones that just grew out of it. It did get better, or maybe Blaine got better at dealing with it, but it definitely didn’t go away. It would always manifest at the very worst times.

If his dad was mad at him for not cleaning his room, Blaine would try to apologize or make an excuse and nothing would come out. And then his dad would be frustrated. Usually he would just yell at Blaine, but sometimes he would hit him, push him or smack his shoulder. His dad never hurt him or left a bruise on him. Blaine knew his dad couldn’t help it, just like Blaine couldn’t help his stutter. His dad would always apologize afterward and tell him to work harder. “I know you can get past this Blaine. I know because I got past it. You just have to try harder.”

Blaine, for all intents and purposes, was fine and that’s all he really wanted. He got along with his parents, usually, he could rely on Cooper, mostly, and his friends on cross-country accepted him. Thanks to Paula he could almost always talk when he absolutely needed to and he had an online support system. He really did love to run and he loved music even more.

Thanks to all these things, and his desperate need to fly low under the radar, Blaine made it through high school in one piece. He graduated with a nearly perfect GPA, glowing recommendations from his most compassionate teachers and just enough extracurricular activities to give him great options when it came to choosing a college. He was tempted to stay home, commute to a local school, because that would be safe. No roommates to meet or new towns to navigate.

But on the other hand, he could start fresh. He has no delusions that he could be a completely new man, but he thinks maybe away from his parents and the kids who have taunted him all these years, that maybe he could finally be Blaine all the time. He could be Blaine outside of running and music.

When Blaine gets accepted to NYU he knows with every fiber of his being that it’s the place for him. For the first time in his life, he feels ready to be himself.