Andy didn’t speak. He heard. His head turned wherever sounds came from, but he didn’t speak.
He didn’t see either, just shadows and movements.
Andy didn’t walk. If he was held up, he’d take one step, cry, and sit again.
We tried to interact. Roll balls. Clap our hands. Sing songs. Sometimes he’d ignore us, oftentimes he’d cry. Only mami’s voice calmed him. She fed him. Changed him. Bathed him.
Andy lived in an impenetrable, non-communicative, dark world filled with shadows and sounds. He passed on at age eleven. He would’ve turned 54 this October. Instead, he’s an eternal infant.