Preston - Out with it: how stuttering helped me find my voice

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Copyright 2013 by Katherine Preston

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First Atria Books hardcover edition April 2013

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Designed by Dana Sloan

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Preston, Katherine, date.

Out with it : how stuttering helped me find my voice / Katherine

Preston. First Atria Books hardcover edition.

pages cm

1. Preston, Katherine, dateHealth. 2. StutterersBiography. 3. StutterersRehabilitation. I. Title.

RC424.P932 2013

616.85 ' 540092dc23

[B] 2012048984

ISBN 978-1-4516-7658-7
ISBN 978-1-4516-7660-0 (ebook)

For my parents, with much love

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

London, September 1994

I CAN TASTE THE other side of my name, and yet it hangs resolutely out of reach. The wall has come down. My name has been broken in half. My tongue lies taut and heavy, the tip glued to the base of my mouth.

KKKKK KK K K K K K K. K K K K K KK kkkkkkk kaaa kaa.

I feel the familiar hand clench slowly around my throat. As the seconds pass, my chest twists tighter. Panic winds its way through my nervous system and holds my useless body hostage.

KK kkkk kkk kaaa ka ka.

My fingernails dig into my palms in penance. My knees lock my legs and freeze my body into position. My eyes widen desperately. I can taste the stale air as it slips out of my mouth. I have no idea if I will say the word or if I will be trapped here indefinitely.

Desperate, unfocused anger addles my brain and pricks at my pores. I hate the boys intrusion, I hate his cocky swagger and his half-cocked head. I hate the fact that my parents arent here to pick me up, I hate the stupid party and my stupid outfit. I hate everything and nothing. Because I cant hate my stutter; I cant shout at my stutter to vent my frustration.

As the sound of my name falters onwards, my thoughts wander further. Why did I even answer him? Why did I not just plead temporary deafness? I knew that I would stutter. I am ten years old and have been doing it spectacularly for the past three years. My name is the one word that never escapes my mouth unscathed.

But somehow I had lost my memory in the past couple of hours. I had forgotten that I was a stutterer, or forgotten that I should be scared of stuttering. We had been at a birthday party, and I was leaving the house basking in the glow of a slightly nauseous sugar rush. I was dragging a deflated balloon from my wrist, looking to see where Claire had gone, when the boy called out to ask my name. I recognized his face from the room and responded more out of politeness than anything else.

Thirty seconds have ticked by and Im tired. Im tired at the thought of speaking and tired by the breathless, unresolved end of my past expulsion. I wish I was home, wish I was anywhere but here on this stretch of endless gray pavement. My inquisitor is confused, and I hope that I can still recover. I force myself to believe that this time will be different. Like a madman, I pray for the same action to have a new outcome. I take a deep breath and run up at the word again.

K K K K K K Kaaaa Kaaa...

I watch confusion morph into mirth. I have really blown it now. I can almost hear the question forming in his brain as he smirks at me,

What the hell? He says it slowly and then breaks into giggles, Did you forget your name?

His face cracks open in glee. He waves at his friends dispersing out down the road. They look bored, and his raucous laughter promises its normal level of fabulous entertainment. They start wandering back to him.

Tell us all your name.

I am trapped and I know it. My options are: (a) refuse to say my name and be forced to face clever insults like retard, or (b) stutter. Neither fills me with joy. I flick my head round quickly. I can see Claire now. Shes striding down the road, at least five cars away. Her parents are waiting for us. Im alone.

Whats wrong? Cat got your tongue?

I imagine myself asking him what exactly that phrase means. I have recently learnt the word clich and picture myself silencing his taunts and leading us all into a friendly discussion on some of the crazier phrases we have heard people say. Sadly, my reality is a little less rosy. His friends are gathering now, and all five freshly scrubbed faces are staring at me.

What are you looking at? my bitter voice pipes up from nowhere. As clearly as I knew I couldnt say my name, I knew that the nervous energy would propel my voice, allow me to utter something. I have learnt from bitter experience that anger makes me fluent, that I could be just like the rest of the world if only I would shout every question and swear my way through every answer.

Briefly, my question silences them. My accent is English, home counties, girly, nothing fabulously interesting. They look up at their ringleader. I suspect that they are wondering why he has called them over. They clearly have more important business to attend to, and two of them wander off, bored.

I relax for a moment, but the boy keeps staring at me. I feel like a monkey on a chain. I have not performed how he was hoping. He looks vaguely put out. His humiliation swells in front of me and billows out onto his ruddy cheeks. I try to walk away, my head held high and haughty, but something holds me to the cement. I have tasted fluency and now want to prove him wrong. I want to make him feel small.

Then, suddenly, it looks like he has realized something. I didnt say my name. I see it cross his eyes, a flicker of hope. He has seen how he can redeem himself to the two remaining members of his fan club.

Tell these guys your name, he sneers at me.

Why should I?

Damn, why did I say that? Now he knows he has me. I have to do it now. Now theyre all looking at me.

The thing is, I know Ill stutter. On my name I have no chance. And I desperately want to keep my dignity. A girl does not get dressed up in orange leggings and an oversized tie-dye T-shirt to lose her self-respect to a bunch of scruffy boys with no sense of style.

So I pull myself up to my full height. All four feet two inches of me stares up at them.

K...

Katherine, Katherine Preston. And whats it to you? she practically spits at them. Claire stops and takes a replenishing breath. Why do you even care? Why dont you go and talk to your own friends, or are you that unpopular that you need to hassle girls who arent remotely interested in talking to you?

Shes on a roll. Inwardly, relief splashes across my body. Her face is flushed from running back to me. There are now two of us. Two leggings-clad, vertically challenged warriors.

Im sure you have nothing better to do, but we have better places to be than wasting our time talking to you.