Handle with Care

A story of identity, mystery, and secrets

By Omer Barkay

Chapter 1: The Mirror Breaks

Introduction

Entry 24.1: Marty Elmeiher (Birth Name: Robert Snow). 9/4/2000 3:56 PM

I got back home in a daze. First day of school, kids already broke my glasses. My hair’s all messed up, and there’s a rip in my new backpack. I can still taste the toilet water from fifth-period break. All in all, I think this is an improvement over last year.

Thank God my Text-To-Speech isn’t broken from the 10-foot journey it had to take down the hallway stairs. I think It would’ve killed itself by now.

“How was your first day?” Max asked, rolling up to me in her wheelchair.1

“Probably better than yours!” I beep. She fake-laughed to cheer me up; thinks I can’t tell the difference.

“I believe you, but what I meant was the highlights. Out of all the nonsense Jacob and his buddies give you, did you make a new friend?”

1 * Yes, I know that the disabled kid is the hero of every story (believe me, I read,) but not this time. I’m just the lump of flesh your mother keeps comparing you to.

“No, unless you count the Janitor. The middle school is so much bigger than A.S.E., how do you get around?” That took me a while to type, but she got the message.

“Janet pushes me. I even get to use the elevator for band and math when I have to go up.” She answers.

“Lucky.”

I might’ve jumped too far into this entry; way too fast. Here’s a list of some things that might help you better understand this.

1. I’m Marty, I’m mute, and I’m a loser*.

2. Max is my older sister, adopted.

3. Jacob has been my frenemy since the first grade.

4. A.S.E is the private elementary school me and Jacob used to go to until all hell broke loose in sixth grade.

Well, you got the best of me (yes, that was the best of me.) Now it’s time for…

The Worst Of Me

Entry 24.2 Marty Elmeiher 9/4/2000. 6:30 PM

Marty is not a name you would think of when you hear “Hero,” or “WInner.” In fact, I’m the opposite. Why in the world are you even reading these words right now? My entries are worth a fart and a half. Go read CharlieandtheChocolateFactoryor JamesandtheGiantPeach . Roald Dahl’s got you better than the kid who’s literally speechless at everything. You might be thinking that I’m just using reverse psychology on you to hook you but rest assured, I’m not. There is nothing here, go away! I’m only writing these words because I know you’re reading them right now and I need to scare you off.

BOO!

Ok, that probably didn;’t work.

Entry 24.3 Marty

Elmeiher

9/4/2000 6:45 PM

“What I could be,” “what I would’ve done,” and “How I could’ve changed,” are quite common things people think to themselves when they're alone. What they could be is always going to haunt each and every individual that doesn’t believe in themself.

When I was about 4 years old, I didn't know father had died. I just sat there every day by the door, waiting for big arms to pick me up and a bushy beard to scratch my face, but nothing. Mother was usually in her room; I think she was crying. A small Maryland apartment sat there, filled with tears, sorrow, and a tiny kid with no reason to speak. I learned to pack my school bag and get ready in the morning and had some bigger kids from my grade (Jacob) help me on the bus to the sad old block of cement we call class. Every day after school, I would trot my tiny legs to our apartment, knock on the door, and wait for a crumbling woman to answer, make me sad eggs or gloomy oatmeal2, and go back to sobbing. Eventually, men came to put me in an orphanage. I don’t know how my mother died. I’d say she killed herself if anyone asked.

This version of “Handle with care” was modified to fit BLOOM magazine for EHB were and option