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Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Tourettes kid


In our old apartment, most of our wall was shared with our neighbors. They had a son, 11ish, who was home most of the day. I used to wonder why he was never at school. It didn’t take long to find out. At the same time I found out our apartment walls were paper thin. “F@#king Bitch! F@#king Bitch!” All. Day. Long.
It was constant, only ever those two words. Only sometimes he might shout it differently.
Longer. “F@@@######kingggggggg Biiiitttccchhh!”  Like “Pigs in space!” Or faster “F#king Bitch!”

Obviously this kid has Tourette’s or something. So I wasn’t angry, in fact it became part of the background noise. Then for a while there was no profane screaming for a week or so.
Just as well, my husband and I had a friend staying with us. We saw the sights, ate too much food, so far a pleasant visit. One night, as we were all getting ready to eat more food.  It began. “F@@@@#####king Bitch!”
 It seemed louder than ever, it was a little hard to ignore. The foul mouthed screaming persisted for another hour.  It was almost frantic sounding. Maybe that’s all this poor kid knew how to say? And he might be pinned underneath a bag of jumbo Doritos or something? And only I can save him? But no really, I went over to ask the kid if he could curse a little softer. I rang the bell, expecting a parent or something to answer the door. Instead I heard a bunch of clumsy shuffling and banging around.
 Silence for a few seconds, then a shadow passed over the peep hole in the door. I looked at it. They said something to the tune of “Ackgrumphlp!” and then more crashing I rang the bell once more. Only silence. I went back to my apartment, maybe the kid is home alone and I just terrified him? In any case he was quiet the rest of the night.
Some months later, I was working at my little desk nook thing. From the wall facing me I heard the yelling start up again. 

 “F@#king Bitch! F@#king Bitch! F@@@######kingggggggg Biiiitttccchhh!.......SHIT!”      

Oh my stars, he just said shit! The first time I had ever heard anything different from him. Of all the words screamed, all the same and finally one glorious change. Shit! I knocked on the wall, and yelled “I’m proud of you!”

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