The Adventures of Stevie #219
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie is 15 in this story, in the summer after year 5 of special
school.
The Adventures of Stevie #219 "Dreams"
Dear Carlos,
I have learned a lot since I last wrote to you. Dr. Knot, my
psychologist and education advisor, says I read and write at grade 12
level now. But not always. Sometimes I can't see very well, even with
my glasses. Sometimes I have very bad headaches. The right side of my
body isn't as coordinated as my left, and sometimes that gets pretty
bad. I don't speak as well as other people do. Sometimes I slur or
stutter my words. It's not fun when I bite my tongue by accident. All
these things are improving, but very slowly. They say my memory will
come back when my healing is finished, but they don't know when that
will be.
Tomba and Nigel care for me very well, but where I am isn't like what
I have read about what hospitals should be. I have read the dictionary
and the encyclopedia, so I know much more than I did before, but I
don't know who I am. I am 15 years old, but I don't remember anything
from before two or three months ago. Not even who I am. They tell me my
name is Stevie. It must be so, because everyone who comes to visit me
calls me that. I don't think people lie while they are crying. The girl
called Debbie cries the most, more than Chad does, even though Tomba
tells her she shouldn't, outside the door before they come into my
rooms. I think they forget sometimes I can hear them out there. Maybe
because they don't hear as well as I do.
You asked me to write about my dreams. In one of them, I am what I
think is Italy, but not like it is today. There is no electricity or
running water. Not even bathrooms. I am some kind of religious man who
is very gentle and loves people and animals. I work hard, but I don't
mind it. There are people who I lead who are my friends. I dream about
him a lot. Maybe it's because I like him.
Another dream I have is about another religious man. It is in a very
old city where windows don't have glass in them and people are very
poor. I don't know which country I am in. I have a lot of money, but I
don't know why, and I don't like people to be poor. Sometimes I go out
at night in the dark and throw bags of coins through the open shutters
of the windows of poor families with many children, and run away so
they don't know who helped them. This is strange to me because the man
I am in the dream doesn't like people. Adults, I think. He thinks he
knows more than they do and hates it when they argue with him, but he
is very important, and makes them listen.
I am tired now. I will tell you about more dreams later. I hope you
are well.
Stevie
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Grant
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