Telepathetic

Growing up knowing that they knew that we didn't ...

I grew up knowing about my handicap. Though no one ever told me.

That’s what hurt the most. Although I knew that people — mom, dad, siblings, friends, strangers — thought they were withholding this from me for my own good. They didn’t want to hurt my feelings or further traumatize me. Just like you wouldn’t mention other kinds of handicaps to those who live with them.

I was one of those rare cases — and we were cases, not human beings — who could not read everyone else’s mind. So I spent my childhood in isolation. A freak.

My only recourse was to seek out my own kind.

I could tell. We were withdrawn. Subtle looks of fear permanently etched in our faces. Eyes that wouldn’t meet. We’d touch. We’d hug. Share physical love. And make sure not to let on that we knew that they knew.

That’s how I lived, how we lived, freaks of nature.

It’s too bad society wasn’t open about this issue, those born without telepathy, those condemned to a lifetime of isolation and ignorance. If only we had known. Perhaps we could have somehow adjusted and lived our lives accordingly, with some semblance of normalcy.

How did I know about my handicap? It was obvious, growing up in a house, in a world, with little or no real communication.

I suppose it’s different these days. We have devices to communicate our innermost thoughts with one another, devices that fit in the palms of our hands or on our wrists. Life today is so much better for us “nontelepaths.” And everyone else I suppose.