I won't say Mom treats us, kids, the same because I know she doesn't. We have different needs. There is something wrong with my hands. For some reason, my thumbs are in the wrong place. And small. They are too small to do anything with and they can't touch the rest of my fingers.
It makes playing catch with my brother very difficult. But I don't give up. When Caleb throws his ball to me. I always jump up with my hands and bop it back to him as hard as I can. He says I would be the best volleyball player. Okay, sometimes, I'll bounce it off my head but I'm not very good at that, and it kind of hurts.
Because of my disability, I also can't open doors, drawers, or do anything that requires fine motor control very easily. That doesn't stop me from helping in the garden. At first, I wouldn't go out there. In the bright gleam of daylight, there seemed to be nothing wrong out there. I could almost convince myself that it had just been first night jitters that had made me hallucinate the frightening noises and images of the night before.
The only way I knew it had been real was the patch of dead ground. Nothing grew there. The bare soil seemed darker towards the center of it. And there was a veritable graveyard of insects in the grass surrounding it. Even the breeze seemed to go around that spot. But Mom and Caleb weren't afraid. They didn't even notice it as they joked and played in the yard.
I spent hours sitting in the open backdoor watching Mom pull tools out of her shed, so close to accidentally touching the dark spot but never quite coming into its sphere. They had fun gardening. Mom and Caleb kneeling on their foam mats pulling small weeds out of the soil and chucking older dead and dying leaves off established plants over their shoulders. Caleb got a little reckless and splashed crumbling cascades or earthy loam down Mom's shirt.
Instead of getting mad at being dirty, Mom giggled and tossed a leaf she had clipped in Caleb's direction then wrapped him in her arms for what looked like the softest warmest snuggly hug ever. It was Mom's sparkling laughter that finally got me to my feet and timidly sliding across the back porch and down the three steps toward them. I hesitated to pass the shed with its ominous presence. One foot raised and leaning toward them, I paused, aching with the need to be a part of Mom and Caleb's happiness. And when they hugged, I was finally brave enough to run to them and nuzzle against Mom's shoulder to get her attention.
Mom had pulled me into their hug and tickled my tummy. "My brave little girl." She had cooed and I melted into her cuddles.
"Yes. She is the bravest little girl." Caleb agreed as he hugged me. From then on, the garden wasn't scary…, exactly.
Almost every day I got to play in the garden. There were two distinct sections to the garden. One was Mom's section. It was full of tasty edible things. Peas, carrots, herbs that made my nose cringe, and… lettuce. Slurpy, crunchy, juicy lettuce that I just wanted to bite because it was so…bitey? It shredded and pulped and split in the most satisfying way when it was jumped upon. Oh…lettuce…my lettuce, crinkly lovely thing of joy incarnate.
Lettuce was like my best friend because it was so satisfying to cuddle it and destroy it. Crisp succulent deliciousness wrapped in a cool smoothly dimpled surface. But then I was very much in trouble for doing it. I was also very sad afterward because I had stomped it into oblivion, it was no more, and the feeling that I had possessed something precious ended abruptly. My frenzied exertion ceased so suddenly I didn't even realize the object of my game was gone. When understanding did dawn, my sorrow was great. And with my distraction gone, I could not ignore the thing under the shed.