Sssssstuttering Prick

a short story, misarticulated

photo by Jason Rosewell

The teacher said I would have to read out loud after Richard, so I quickly looked over what I’d have to say to see how bad it was gonna be. And with all those S and F words, I knew it was gonna be bad.

Normally, when I know I have to say a word that begins with S or F, I think of another word to say in its place. I’ve actually vastly improved my vocabulary because of this impediment. But sometimes, I can’t get out of it - and not just from reading out loud in class. For example, there’s no alternative for “seven” or “four.” Once, while trying to order something at a Chinese restaurant, I said, “I’ll have the nine minus two.”

I didn’t get the number seven.

And in case you were wondering, yes, it is indeed very difficult to get a phone number without 6, 7, 5 or 4 anywhere in it. But I got one. After years of practice, I’m very good at finding ways to reduce the risk of having to say ssssssss or fffffffff at the beginning of the word. Some people hear me do this and say they didn’t know I had a stutter - or worse, a lisp. I want to correct them and say it’s technically not a stutter. In the case of the ssssss sound, it’s actually a sibilant misarticulation because “sss” is a sibilant sound that I misarticulate. And in the case of the ffff sound, it’s a fricative misarticulation, since ffff is a fricative sound that I misarticulate.

But whoever came up with these terms wanted to twist the knife into us sibilant and fricative-challenged people because I would have to say, “Actually, it’s not a ssssstutter - it’s a sssssssibilant misarticulation” and I would look so ridiculous I wouldn’t even want to get into the whole ffffffricative misarticulation thing. I hope whoever that guy is, he’s in perpetual pain. Fffffffffuck him.

Richard was coming to the end of his passage. He wasn’t a very good reader, and I prayed so hard to the God I didn’t believe in that he would get stumped on how to pronounce an easy word so that the laughs would overshadow whatever semi-noticeable sibilant misarticulation I committed. But Richard was reading well, even adding a little emphasis on the important words. I guess he had been studying and making an erstwhile effort to improve his grades and himself. Fffffffuck him, too.

He finished. Mrs. Crane looked at me. I didn’t see her because I was highlighting in mental blood all the words whose pronunciations were about to ruin my life. I felt her annoyed gaze burrow into me. But I wasn’t about to voluntarily commit harikari - especially not with Megan watching. I had been fantasizing about Megan every night for the past three weeks and I was just getting the courage to say hi to her. Mrs. Crane wasn’t going to ruin that for me. If Mrs. Crane wanted me to showcase my stutter that I’ve worked so hard to conceal all these years, then she was gonna have to ask - nicely.

“Craig, can you begin, please?” she said.

Okay, fine. I guess that’s all I could ask for given the circumstances.

I took a deep breath.

The first word I had to read aloud was “surprisingly.” An S word followed by a vowel is a killshot for me. I just can’t do it. I can usually, though not always, push out an S followed by a consonant. It will sound weird, like I lost track of the word I was trying to say and quickly recovered, but all that happens in less than a second and is only noticeable to me and people familiar with the affliction. For general consumption, it sounds just like an innocent word-stumble. But for me, an S followed by a vowel is an impossibility.

“Shoot me” would be easier to say.

I exhaled and took another deep breath and closed my eyes and thought about all the times I managed to say S and F words without the sibilant and fricative tripping me into a sea of ridicule. It has happened. It’s like these sibs and frics come and go as they please and I have no control over when they want to occupy my larynx. And when they do, they trip me, kick me, stomp me, burn me, and bury my ashes.

I exhaled.

No sounds came out.

I looked up at Mrs. Crane. She looked back at me, bored, ignorant to the anguish I was experiencing, or maybe completely cognizant of but unbothered by my suffering. Maybe everyone knew and this entire thing was set up to ruin me. I looked over at Megan. She was looking at her phone, pretending to be uninterested in hearing me read out loud. If only I could say the word - she’d fall in love with my voice and then me. I was sure of it.

I inhaled again. I said the word “surprisingly” in my head over and over again with perfect pronunciation. In my head, I sang the word with luscious eloquence. In my head, girls swooned and Megan had competition, which she was determined to defeat. Surprisingly - I made it sound like the sexiest (can’t say that word, either) word anyone has ever heard. Surprisingly.

But I just could not replicate the sound in my head with my mouth.

I exhaled.

Nothing.

I inhaled.

I looked at the word, hoping it would turn into something else like “Unexpectedly.” That word, I can say. No s’s or f’s at all. Why couldn’t the damn writer have used “unexpectedly”? As the class waited for me to speak, I thought about why I stuttered. Why me? Only one percent of people around the world stutter. That means 99% do not. What the ffffffuck did we do to deserve this? And since it’s a small percentage of people, the so-called experts don’t know why it happens. There are some theories about childhood trauma, but that wouldn’t explain me. My parents were fantastic: loving, supportive, and economically comfortable. No, the only trauma I had was my own voice - and it beat me daily.

I exhaled. No words. The classroom was silent. No sounds except for my breathing in and out. I cleared my throat. It sounded like a bullhorn. I felt the impatience in the room like I was sitting next to a large open fire, just far away to not get burned, but the heat getting closer and closer.

Just say the damn word. Just say it!

I wished I was somewhere else. I was shaking. I wished I vanished. I put one hand on the other to stop it. I wished for an earthquake. I rubbed my temples, trying to assuage a piercing headache that just shot into my brain. I wished for a school shooter, trying to keep my bladder from ripping open. I wished for a way out, any way out, as I exhaled and the word “surprisingly” spilled out of my mouth - loud as fuck and smooth as shit!

I did it! I said it!

I stood up. I raised my clenched fist to the sky and said it again: “SURPRISINGLY!”

“You all hear that?” I said. Everyone stared at me like I was crazy. Who cares? Not me!

“SURPRISINGLY!” I said again, just to make sure everyone heard.

I jumped up on my desk, I towered above everyone. They all looked at me in awe - a beautiful man with beautiful pronunciation and no hint of a speech impediment.

“I said the word!” I said. “And none of you bitches can stop me! SURPRISINGLY!”

Mrs. Clare looked at me with alarm, but I know she was impressed. Megan was still looking at her phone, pretending not to notice me. Richard, that suddenly erudite retard, was rushing towards me, obviously to shake my hand.

And Richard did grab my hand, but then he, surprisingly, yanked me off my desk, slammed me to the ground, and put me in a headlock.

“Maybe he has brain damage,” I heard someone say.

Despite my lack of airflow, I had to respond to that unfounded allegation.

“No!” I said. “It’s a ….”

Richard squeezed tighter. I couldn’t get any more air into my lungs.

“Ssssssss” I said, barely squeezing out the sound with my last breath. “..ssssibilant missss….”

And then everything went dark.

Hopefully, Megan didn’t notice.