Content notes: internalized ableism

Kyawtchais woke the next morning leaning against the compound wall with a blanket wrapped around em. Ey sat up cautiously and stretched. Eir mind had the dense settled feeling that told em it wasn’t worth trying to use voice-speech. Worse, some of the grey fog lingered, making eir thoughts slow and disconnected.

Ey stood and walked to the hearth where Chotaikytsai and the child crouched. They greeted em, the words taking a moment to make sense in eir head. Kyawtchais carefully hand-spoke a reply.

Chotaikytsai had made a pot of gruel and offered a bowl to Kyawtchais. Ey blinked and let the thought of food sift through em. Maybe. Ey accepted the bowl and took a bite. It sat, warm and gooey in eir mouth. Not completely comfortable, but edible. And the heat felt good.

Kyawtchais ate slowly, trying not to feel the gruel in eir mouth, but not rushing either. Ey finished and set the bowl aside, then looked around for the others.

Before Kyawtchais could stand, Lefeng left behind what ey was doing to crouch by em. Ey asked in hand-talk, “How are you?”

Kyawtchais’ mind pieced ideas together. Normally it would have been the silent-one, or maybe watchful-Kolchais, who checked on em. Lefeng was guardian, but not caregiver.

“Death-fire, tree-fire?” Lefeng gave the forward shift of eir shoulders that made the name a question.

Lefeng had learned much of hand-speak. Far more than anyone else in the family. Kyawtchais looked to the house-to-be and saw the silent-one looking over eir shoulder at Kyawtchais and tall-Lefeng.

“I am…” Kyawtchais trailed off, not sure how to shape an explanation of the space ey was in. “I am here. My thoughts are slow. Should rest today.”

Lefeng nodded. “We talked. We… You overdid it again? Did something happen at the market?”

“No.” Kyawtchais’ memories were fuzzy but not that fuzzy. “Market was market. Just… mind-tired.”

“Yes?” Lefeng sighed and looked up, meeting Kyawtchais’ eyes for a moment, then looking away. Kyawtchais was grateful. Lefeng’s eyes were too full, too intense, they overwhelmed em. “We talked. You need to go back to the market. For you, yes. But also it will help us. You can tell of what trades will pay well, what is not worth it.”

It took Kyawtchais a moment for eir brain to make sense of Lefeng’s words. Then ey nodded. Yes, it would benefit everyone if ey could go to market. But how could ey go to market when it exhausted em this much?

“When you are better, you will need to tell us how to help you, but we think you shouldn’t work on the house anymore. Don’t know how much it will help, but it’s one less thing for you to push on.”

Word by word, Kyawtchais sorted through what the tall-one said. Then, with a nod, sat down out of eir squat to huddle by the fire.

By mid-morning, the fog had cleared from eir mind and ey was beginning to feel choppy, needing to do something but not knowing what. It was a relief when the child came to sit by Kyawtchais and pepper em with questions.

Chestef asked if all of Kyawtchais’ family followed the market the way ey does. No, Kyawtchais said, but they all have their own interests.

Words were hard, but Chestef was interested enough to be patient, and thinking of family was a comfort. Slowly, Kyawtchais managed to build a picture of eir family and their ways.

One of eir parents sat up late spinning to watch the stars. Ey had memorized the patterns of the sky over the year. Some of the priests had learned of the parent’s interest and now came to consult with em sometimes on the timing for rituals and such.

Another parent collected bugs, comparing and cataloging their differences. Ey sharped small slivers of wood to pin the dead bugs to thick-woven mats and had been given a small section of wall in the Spinner compound to hang eir collection one.

One of Kyawtchais’ siblings never spoke but loved to make music. As a child, ey followed the musician families around and tried to craft copies of their instruments. The parent spinners had been afraid that the musicians would be offended. Instead, one family had been charmed.

Usually, the family members who couldn’t speak stayed with the family, but that sibling married into a music family, SongsofSeas, and seemed to be doing well there. Ey still didn’t talk, but eir spouses had learned to communicate with em through music.

Kyawtchais has visited and had no idea how or why a certain run of notes meant agreement or disagreement or laughter. But it worked for them.

It didn’t work out for all of Kyawtchais’ family, ey admitted. Some were too different from outsiders or never found a way to communicate, even within the family. But the family tried to support them and helped them find things they took joy in. So far, thankfully, all of Kyawtchais’ siblings and niblings were either happy spending lots of time spinning or able to marry-out.

By the time ey ran out of family members to share with the fascinated child, it was time for dinner. Kyawtchais’ voice was tired and it had been unwise to talk for so long. But Kyawtchais’ family was /special/ and ey had never before gotten a chance to speak of them, to share everything that made em love them and made it so hard — but so necessary — to marry-out.

And such a blessing for Kyawtchais — and all of eir siblings who married-out — to find a family who welcomed and accepted em as ey was.

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