Uneven Read online

  “Shh. Sorry, love. We will get off soon for some stretches, okay?”

  His mom had tried to comfort him, but that was not helping this time. She had said that thirty minutes ago too. He increased his fits and fought to get out of his chair. One of the tourists, who had been asleep on the long chair at the back of the bus, woke up upset and yelled at him.

  “Who the hell is that? I should give him a knock on the head!”

  “Yes, by all means come over and see what happens, you idiot,” Mom had retorted, immediately facing the woman with anger in her eyes.

  The whole bus had gone quiet.

  * * *

  Bradley chuckled at the memory. His mom was crazy like that. She was strict, disciplined, and friendly at the same time and could pull out the guns in a flash if you messed with any of her family. The woman later apologized when they had a stop, but for the rest of their trip in the African country they had visited then, no one bothered his parents when he threw a tantrum.

  Once his mom had wanted to take a picture with him on the personal watercraft. The beach attendant had explained that children were not allowed on the Jet Skis, but his mom had explained at length how they had traveled so far and stated that there was no way her son would not be allowed a ride and also not be allowed to take few pictures. She never had a problem creating a scene to get what she wanted if she had to.

  His dad had long ago given up trying to talk her out of this behavior. He just stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting to be told when he could lift Bradley onto the watercraft for the picture. In the end, other families with children were able to take pictures, too, because he and his family had.

  Bradley smiled as tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes, and he didn’t bother to wipe them.

  “So, did you meet anyone new today at the basketball court?” Dr. Heather interrupted his thoughts.

  He shook his head. “No. I shot some hoops and left to jog as people arrived,” he added.

  “All right. Have you written the letter yet?”

  The Letter. He couldn’t. Writing it was confirming “it.” He had started to type again the night before, but only one word was added. Now he had three in total. “Dear Mom, I…”

  He clenched his fists inside his pockets and got up to walk toward the sandbox on the open bookshelf across the room. He raked it neatly and then formed a pattern. He did this for a few minutes and finally answered.

  “Not yet.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and then moved it sideways to give it a stretch. He had been struggling to sleep through the night, as well, and he was grateful for the quiet in Dr. Danielle’s office. She was a very patient person, too, on the job or off.

  A picture of two empty wooden chairs facing each other hung on the wall behind her desk. Next to it was a framed picture with three thick different-colored wavy lines and the message “Healing is not linear” in black along the top mustard-yellow wavy line. On her desk, a tray held a blue bird suspended on a silver pendulum at one end and a bowl of water at the other end. The bird swung left then right, dipping its beak into the water as if to drink but then swinging right back. The insatiability of the bird used to annoy him, but now he found it interesting because somehow it reminded him humans were mostly like that.

  Danielle Heather, PhD, was Bradley’s therapist during his time in college. When he turned eighteen, his parents thought a more young-adult-experienced therapist was best for him. He had missed Mr. Carly, his occupational therapist for five years, and initially struggled to have a connection with Danielle. But with time, he realized the challenges he faced in college were different from those of his middle and high school years, and he was grateful the change had happened. Back then, kids initially teased him before they became his friends or left him alone. His best friend of almost twenty years was usually there to quickly talk down any bully who tried to mess with him. She reminded him so much of his mom.

  Bradley smiled again at the memories.

  * * *

  When he was in kindergarten, a parent had walked up to his mom to express her concerns about her daughter always talking about her friend, Bradley, at home. But when she greeted him, like she would greet any of her daughter’s friends, he had not responded. She thought to encourage his mom to visit specialists and pray more and maybe take him to a more appropriate environment with his peers. His mom had said nothing until the woman was done speaking, then responded, smiling, “I’m happy your daughter has a friend in my son. He is sweet and friendly to most people, really. Have a good one.”

  With that, they left for the parking lot, and after she buckled Bradley safely in the back seat, they drove off. He must have been five years old at the time, but he remembered his mom had wiped her eyes as they turned into the main street. They, however, still had their little moments on the drive home. She started a song, and he completed some lines. Then she leaned back, stretching her arm a little to tickle his feet at the end of each song.

  By college, however, people treated him differently, special even, once they found out, and he did not always appreciate the excessive preferential treatment. He had accepted the fact that there were things others could do and he could not, not in the usual way anyway. But there were also things he caught on with easily that others struggled with. The problem was he communicated very little, so he didn’t have many friends who took the time to get to know him. Especially since his best friend had not gone to college with him. She had decided to work, instead, to save and planned to study later.

  He was fine with having basic conversations with people, but not everyone was patient enough to get past “basic.” In addition, his interests appeared to be boring to college kids at the time. He seemed to operate at a level higher than most, except socially.

  He had liked to go on his morning runs before most people got up and often ended at the basketball court. He would make a few hoops from several distances away by himself, but once others came around, he left. Three times, another basketball lover—Malik O’Neill, had met him on the court as he was leaving, but the third time, Malik persuaded him to stay. He eventually agreed to, but he did not join the game. He sat by himself and watched with keen interest. A few more games after that day, Malik challenged him to a one-on-one, which he ended up enjoying. Malik introduced him to a few other guys, and before long, he joined them in a few games.

  When Bradley did not show up for basketball, Malik had checked on him. He really was determined to be his friend. On one occasion, Malik had helped him out when he noticed he was struggling with a girl who wouldn’t stop bugging him. Malik had even tried helping him socially but was very understanding when Bradley needed his space, and eventually he gave up trying to change him and just enjoyed his company when he could. It was particularly helpful to Bradley to have a dedicated male friend he could speak with about challenges outside schoolwork. Well, another African-American male other than his dad. And thankfully, they took a few courses together too.

  He had selected courses that coincided with his strength. Numbers jumped at him easily, and he understood how to work gadgets once he created a system around them. He had also discovered he was a creative, so he had chosen mostly engineering courses that focused on data analysis, computer software, and woodwork. Music and art he took on as minors. Though his certificate read “Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering,” he was just grateful to have stuck with college—the extended school years, the therapy sessions, and all—to graduation and to have made his parents proud. He had also connected with a professional pianist to perfect his playing and reading of musical notes during the summers. Now he had a grand piano in his living room, and he played really well.

  * * *

  “…Brad?”

  He came to himself and tried to process what he thought Dr. Heather was saying. He picked up the lemon-shaped stress ball to squeeze, let down his hood, and walked over to sit on the wooden armed chair opposite her.

  “Pending when your lette
r is ready, I need you to start a ‘Gratitude’ jar. Every other hour from when you get home till our next session, write on a small piece of paper something you are grateful for and toss it in the jar. It’s okay to be grateful for the same thing more than once. If the jar fills up before our next session, you may stop.” She paused for him to process what she’d said and for any questions.

  “Jar. Gratitude. Every other hour. Got it,” he confirmed.

  “All right then. See you in ten days.” She stood up and dropped her notes on the table, preparing to read up on her next client.

  “By the way, how’s the ‘getting to know you’ phase coming along?” She smiled at him.

  “Good. Swell, actually. And before you ask, no, I haven’t, but I bet she has a clue.”

  “Mm-hmm?” Dr. Heather lowered her face to look at him through the top of her glasses.

  Bradley gave her a half grin.

  “She’s…she doesn’t treat me differently, and I don’t want to lose that, you know…” he answered her.

  “I believe a month is long enough to tell if she will walk, but that’s okay. As long as she allows you to be you and not someone else.”

  Bradley smiled wryly as he got to his feet and confirmed his uber ride on his phone.

  “I am me with her, Dr. Heather. Always.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Bye, Doc.” He nodded curtly and left.

  Bradley rode home in the back seat with his seat belt safely buckled, and his earbuds playing “Voice of Truth” by Casting Crowns. He rested his head and shut his eyes, recalling the events that had led him here.

  Chapter 2

  Bradley sat patiently in a booth at The Griddle diner, sipping his lemonade and waiting for his best friend of almost twenty years, Melanie Reed.

  Melanie was his brilliant, carefree, five-foot-four, goal-getting, miss-independent friend, who currently worked as a supervisor at the diner to save up for her own business someday and to pay her way through community college. She’d never known her mom, who had left her and her dad when she was about eleven months old and had never come back—at least, so her dad had told her. Unfortunately, her dad fell terribly ill and eventually passed on when she was about five years old, and she had been put in a foster home in Nevada County, California.

  Every day she’d longed to be adopted by a loving family, but by the age of eleven, she had given up on that dream and decided to make her life story better somehow. That began her journey to self-reliance and not expecting anything from people because, in the end, her hopes were always dashed. She had met Bradley when he joined her third-grade class and had since been his friend. Because she was used to fending for herself, she was happy to do the same for Bradley, and they were soon popularly referred to as “Super-boy and Ultra-girl.”

  Most kids did not have the patience to make sense of what Bradley tried to communicate, so he often retreated into himself. But not Melanie. She would force him out to the playground and take her time watching his gestures until she understood what he was trying to say. Sometimes he had words to express himself; other times he didn’t. Thankfully their school was diverse, so their difference in color, race, or culture was nothing new.

  * * *

  One school day, Melanie was arriving as Bradley’s dad dropped him off, and she called out to him.

  “Hey, Brad.” She waved at him with a smile and came over.

  Bradley just stared at her and did not respond. She shook his hand and gave him a warm hug.

  “How are you, buddy?” she asked him. Then she had turned to greet his dad, who was watching from the car.

  “Hello, Brad’s dad. I’m Mel, Brad’s friend.” She waved, smiling at him.

  “Hello, Mel. Have a great day at school, okay,” his dad had replied warmly.

  Then his parents had gotten permission to have Melanie over for lunch during the weekend. They were excited to know Bradley apparently had a genuine friend. They took turns playing games on his tablet, she had even interacted easily with his twin sisters, who were five years younger, and she finally got to meet “Mr. T,” his small brown teddy bear with a red bandanna around its neck, which had imaginary conversations with him and mom. It was one of the tools his mom had used to help him build his social skills and use his words and phrases in conversations. He had mentioned Mr. T a few times at school, and she had not understood him.

  Bradley was good with numbers and science while Melanie was better with literacy and social studies. But unfortunately, he could not help her with the sums she struggled with—not because he did not want to, but because he did not know how to help her. Bradley had his own Individualized Educational Plan and received specialized instruction and related services different from what others had. By the end of high school, though, Bradley was better at having short conversations, even though he usually did not start one. He had a few other friends, but he and Melanie were definitely best of friends. The few times she had accompanied them to church, other than the fact that she wasn’t black, most people assumed she was part of their extended family the way she blended in with them.

  While he eventually continued to college, first at California, Melanie could not afford that and had started taking up a few jobs. She worked at a home decoration warehouse to start with, then a supermarket, a bakery, and finally a restaurant. Sometimes she worked a double shift. She was determined to move out of the foster home as soon as she could, and while by sixteen, she was legally allowed to, she still did not have enough saved up for rent, so she waited about two more years before moving out. However, she still planned to attend college, no matter how long it took, so when she got the opportunity to wait at a diner in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and it included a better accommodation than the one she shared at the time, she jumped at the offer.

  In the course of researching for a community college, even though she ended up not enrolling until another three years after her peers were done, Melanie had stumbled upon a school that was accommodating to someone like Bradley. Unlike the standard structured college he had started out with, this college would make it possible for him to take courses that focused on his strengths along with a few electives.

  Bradley had been excited to be in close proximity with his best friend, who seemed to have changed in the two years since he had seen her and was fast becoming her own woman. His parents had also welcomed the change in environment for him and hoped it would help him develop his independence as a new adult too. They had made sure his apartment was fully stocked and would enable him to cope without their support. His mom had stayed a while until he found a housekeeper who could come by weekly to help with some chores, understand his routines, and provide support as he may have needed if Melanie was unavailable. Even though he did not intend to drive often, his dad had bought him an early Tesla model that came with advanced programming capable of providing autopilot features and full self-driving capabilities.

  The transfer meant that he would lose a school year, but Bradley had never been one to be overly concerned about expected timelines anymore. He had missed a year switching in high school, as well, and he had long understood that he processed some things more slowly than most people, while other things came to him faster, and ultimately achieving his own goal was what mattered. His path was different. He did graduate from college after all, and he would always remember his mom’s tears of joy and pride on his graduation day, reminding him he only needed to keep being a superior version of himself every day and never compare himself to anyone else.

  * * *

  Bradley was in the diner waiting for Melanie, who, encouraging as always, had promised to help him practice mock interviews and some case studies for the interview at an investment bank scheduled for the following day. She was studying business administration and was unfamiliar with some of the engineering terminologies. As a result, Melanie often had to google terminologies and do some research in preparation for their mock sessions. But the process had gotten easier with time. Brad
ley had done background research and learned about the bank. In this instance, he knew a few of the interviewing team members. This was not his first job interview, but he always liked to rehearse possible scenarios before any of his interviews, just so he was not taken by surprise. And while he had started out in his early twenties by seeing a career coach, he soon realized he preferred rehearsing with a less structured, and more familiar person.

  It had been two months since his contract position at an engineering company ended, and he had been looking for something more stable. Melanie had been kind enough to have her boyfriend, Joshua Doyle, put in a word for him at his company, which was looking to fill a temporary role. Joshua was well respected, and Joshua’s father was, in fact, influential in the financial industry, so Bradley had been granted the opportunity.

  * * *

  He remembered his younger days when he had sessions practicing his words with the use of flash cards and practicing his writing with his mom’s hand guiding his. He had eventually learned to write on his own, but he usually wrote outside the line up until his last year in high school. There had been blending words and reading sessions with his mom, as well as many other lessons, from picking up his socks to throwing a ball, and many others when he was about six years old. He remembered the frustrations of painting outside the lines and mom still cheering him. He remembered their Mr. T moments.

  As a child, he’d had so much energy it was necessary to go on walks or runs with his dad on the trails in their neighborhood, even on days he may have played hard at recess in school. On one occasion during a summer at their former house, he had clogged the toilet yet again with lots of paper towels for no apparent reason, and it overflowed his bathroom terribly. Unfortunately, no one knew until there was a leak several minutes later in the kitchen downstairs. His mom had run upstairs, and his dad had followed closely behind. They scooped the water as quickly as they could, but even the rug inside his room was already dripping. The vacuum was little help. His mom had been so mad at him, especially because it was not the first time he was being scolded for clogging the toilet. But this was huge, and it took weeks to repair the damage to the kitchen ceiling.