A Five-Minute Life

“That’s true. My semester is almost over.”

Jason’s single mother qualified for this program between the speech center and the university. It allowed for free therapy by students, like me, who were still in training.

She said U won’t be my therapist anymore.

His own arms crossed, bracing himself for my answer.

“Yeah, it’s possible they’ll assign someone else to you,” I said. “Someone more qualified.”

He shook his head and typed vigorously.

I don’t want anyone else

I smiled gently. “Me neither, buddy. But I’m your starter-pack. You’re doing so well, they want to level you up.”

He shook his head slowly as he typed: Not doing well

“Yeah, you are, Jase. I promise. But tell you what, why don’t we talk to your mom about meeting up once or twice a week anyway.”

His eyes lit up. “Rrrrrrrreally?”

“Sure, man,” I said, my throat thick.

Jason was an only child. No friends. His disfluency was so severe, no one had the patience to talk to him. Except the assholes, naturally. It killed me to imagine this sweet, smart kid wandering the playground at school alone at every recess, just hoping to get through the day without being made to feel like shit. Never mind making a friend.

“Yeah,” I said again. “We can keep working together or we can just hang out. You like basketball, right?”

He nodded.

“We’ll shoot some hoops. If that’s okay with your mom.”

“If what’s okay with me?”

Linda Taylor approached with two coffees and handed one to me.

Jason started to type, but I reached over and stilled his hand.

“Tell her,” I said gently. “Remember what we talked about last week?”

Jason reluctantly let go of his iPad because he trusted me. It had taken months to earn that trust, and I’d be goddamned if I let anything happen to it.

Jason made a deep inhale.

“Just let it flow on the breath,” I said in a low voice. “Don’t force it.”

“Jim waaaaaaaaants to h-h-haaaaang out w-w-with mmmmmmeee.”

“My God,” Linda said. “That sounded so good, baby!”

I beamed. “Great job, man.”

Jason shrugged off the praise. He’d made huge strides, but it wasn’t enough for him. He seized the iPad and typed: Says we can play basketball sometimes

“If they reassign him to a new therapist,” I said to Linda. “Or even if they don’t.”

“You’d do that?” Linda’s eyes filled as she sat beside her son.

“No brainer,” I said, shooting a grin at Jason. “He’s a great kid.”