Grabbing his winter coat, Murry stepped out of the exit and into the sunshine. This morning he'd grabbed a heavier jacket to take on the chilly wind as it rolled through his little town. Now with the improved weather, he didn't even bother to put the garment on. Instead, he hung the coat over his arm as he walked toward the bus stop.
"Hey there, Murry!" Linda waved as she got out of her car. He waved back but didn't stop heading toward the sidewalk. He could stand there and let Linda, a fellow employee at the thrift store, talk slowly to him like he didn't know English. He could listen to her tell him all about her cat and how much she loved the animal, but he wasn't feeling up to that exchange today. In fact, he didn't even feel like going to his group home where he lived. Some days living in a world where no one could understand him was almost too frustrating to bear.
Murry strolled past the empty bus stop and continued down the quiet street. His town was less than ten thousand people, and the small population showed today. For a Wednesday, no one was around. Everyone must be at work.
As he marched further into the unknown neighborhood, he asked himself questions about his life. Since his mother had died two years ago, he'd been on autopilot. He did all the things he was supposed to. He went to the assigned work at the thrift shop. He did his stocking job and then went to the group home when the shift was finished. Every day was the same. He even kept going to see his speech therapist. Although, he would be the first to admit he'd given up trying to talk. It didn't seem to matter how hard he worked to master the words; they never came. He couldn't write or speak English enough to form full sentences. Everything he said came out as gibberish, and every day he stayed trapped in his mind. He understood everyone. He could read and think. In his head, he said a million sentences, but only slurred incomprehensible nonsense ever came out of his mouth.
The neighborhood began to thin out to houses more spaced out and larger yards. In this area, the homes looked less cared for. Junk car parts littered the brown grass that no one had ever raked. The battered siding was unpainted and hanging on by sheer will. He kept walking.
Murry didn't know where he was going. He should turn around and get on the bus. He should go back to the group home, but the idea of another night sitting with other people all struggling with their problems didn't appeal to him. He wanted to be alone. When his mother was alive, they would go to the park or go hiking. She would let him sit in the silence and speak to nature. He missed her, true, but some days, he missed that silence more. When he was alone no one was judging his inability to communicate.
Stopping, Murry halted when the sidewalk ended. To keep on, he either had to walk in people's yards or move to the street. He stayed paralyzed as he reminded himself that his care worker would be pissed if he deviated from his schedule. She would call and everyone would be angry if he weren't at the group home. They would call the police probably and hunt him down. Even if he was twenty-one, he wasn't fit to take care of himself.
Murry's hands curled into a fist. He wanted to shout and punch something. He could take care of himself at least to a point. He just couldn't figure out why no one understood him when he talked or why he couldn't write words correctly. He could read and do math problems.
A crash sounded to his left. The noise made him jump and it brought Murry out of his thoughts. His head swiveled to a ramshackle house a few feet away. There were signs posted in the dirt that said condemned.
A crash came a second time. Murry took a few steps toward the racket. Curiosity poked him. He never could seem to curb his curiosity.
"Help." The call was weak.
Sunlight glittered on broken glass in the yard. Pausing, Murry wondered if he'd imagined the sound.
