Featuring art by @Chikahiro
People frighten me. Well, frighten isn’t the right word. I’m not afraid they’ll hurt me or anything. I’m just deeply uncomfortable around them. Even that isn’t a great description, frankly. I just don’t understand them and their motivations. They’re inscrutable. Like wolves watching prey they could easily kill.
I don’t talk much. My parents thought I was defective, which didn’t make me more gregarious. I choke up, trip on my words. It’s a real problem. I practically have a panic attack when I try and do more than basic single word responses. My therapist can coax a few sentences out of me, but my parents fucked that up forever. I’ll never be free of it.
But as the doc says, there are many kinds of freedom.
It seemed like a foolish idea, but she convinced me by doing something few therapists are bold enough to try. She brought a fluffy to our session.
His name was Billiam. She said he’d been trained to talk to people like me. People who have trouble opening up, or even admitting there’s something to open. I was skeptical, but over the weeks as our sessions went by, I found it easier and easier. It didn’t help me with humans much, but when I’d grown comfortable with Billiam, my therapist threw a curveball.
“I’d like to bring in a different fluffy next time. One with more…specialized training.” I scrunch my face up. “Why?” She nods. “Very good. I remember seeing a man in that chair a year ago who couldn’t have brought himself to ask that question. I’m proud of you, and you’ve made some terrific progress.” She paused and turned to Billiam.
“Little Billy, you’ve done a wonderful job. Is there anything you’d like to say to Marcus before he goes?” The energetic yellow fuzzball with apple cheeks and shiny eyes waddled over to me, muttering statements of love and affection. He reaches my leg, planted on the ground in front of my chair, and hugs as tight as he can. “Fankyu fow hab tawkies wif Biwwiam, Biwwiam wub ou bewy bewy a wot, an-an-an Biwwy…an Biwwiam…Biwwiam gunna miss Mawkus. Nebba fowget ou…”
My instinct is to recoil both physically and emotionally, but something about this creature stays my hand. I’m not suspicious. I don’t think he’s lying. He meets patients like me on occasion. Or children who’ve been traumatized. Old people. Anyone who can’t talk to a human being, or doesn’t want to.
A week goes by and I’m back in the seat. The doctor walks in swaddling something in a blanket. She lays it out on the ottoman and carefully unwraps it, revealing a sleeping yellow earthy stallion. He looks like a little loaf, his legs are tucked underneath him.
He’s making an adorable snoring sound, almost a peep. The doc leads off. “He’s an assistance fluff.” I turn amd look quizzically. “He can help you go out in the world. Communicate. Go ahead, wake him up.”
Cautiously, I reach over and gently rub the side of his round belly. He’s warm, and his fluff is impossibly soft to the touch. He stirs a bit but doesn’t wake, so I jostle him a little and his eyes creep open.
“Hewwo? Nyu fwend? Gib Choppa wun ow twu fowebbas, haftu >yawn< haftu wake uppies…” He rolled back and forth, exposing stumps. Ah. He wasn’t hiding his legs, he hasn’t got any.
Doc sees where my eyes are drawn. “We didn’t pillow Chopper. We seek put empathetic pillows to train for this role. Chopper is going to be going home with you.” I make my face that means I’m nervous and upset but can’t express it, and doc holds her hand up.
“I know, I know. Just hear me out. We’re gonna send all the stuff you’ll need, he doesn’t even need a litterbox. He’s got a colostomy bag and a catheter.” Chopper, now mostly awake, chimes in. "Dats wite! Owd meanie daddeh take weggies way, take way poopy an peepee pwaces tuu. But nice wadies sabe Choppa! Teww Choppa gunna hewp hoomins! Suuuuu 'cited!" He started doing a wiggle dance, and a couple times over the course of the doc’s explanation I swear I heard him singing “stumpy dance.”
“Human beings use small talk to connect, not just directly, but indirectly. It’s more than a time filler or a means to ingratiate oneself, it’s about touching another mind, even for a moment. Interacting with another human being to prove that both of you exist and have meaning. Your particular troubles make this hard. Chopper can help.”
She explained that he was trained to help nonverbal folks. That I’ll take him home and talk to him, since I’m more comfortable around fluffies, and that I’ll wear him in a special harness when I go out.
And he can fend off the wolves.
I admit, having Chopper around my apartment improved my mood. He was always genuinely happy to see me, and what little talking I did he gleefully helped with. After a few days, I was explaining the job to him.
He already knew his basic role: Talking for me or translating for me. Over the next two weeks he and I worked out the kinds of things I am and am not comfortable presenting to people. But eventually the time came to test it. I put him in the chest pouch I’d been given, and we left.
First stop was the post office. I had a package to send to my brother, a nice herbal tea blend I’d put together for him. As I went inside, I drew stares. I amost turned around and walked out, but I was stopped by Chopper’s voice.
“Hewwo udda hoomins! Nu wowwy 'bout fwuffy, am onwy heaw becuz daddeh nu make tawkies gud. Su hab fwuffy fow make tawkies! Hooway!” Weirdly, this seemed to work. It elicited some chuckles, but they didn’t bother me as much. A few people came up and spoke to him. “Hi, yes, is your daddeh mute?” I took this one.
“No.”
She was a bit startled. “Wat daddeh meen am dat daddeh tawkies am bewy wittwe an tuu scawed tu come pway aww time. Choppa hewp daddeh, tawk wif hoomins su daddeh nu get scawed.” I was a bit embarrassed that he’d been so forward, but my doctor had said to trust him and I trusted her, so I did.
The lady made an “aww” face and stroked his cheek. “Well you’re a very nice fluffy.” Then she looked at me. “And you’re in excellent hands.” He piped up in his jokey sing song voice. “Hey! Nu hab hands! Hab hoofsies!” She backpedaled, her face filling with a nervousness I recognized from the mirror. She’d made a faux pas. “Oh! I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” He giggles. “Tee hee! Das awwite, Choppa nu hab hoofsies neithew. Nu hab weggies! Daddeh am weggies nao.” She smiled warmly, clearly charmed by the joke. Meanwhile I felt like I’d had a conversation but I’d only said one word.
As I reached the counter, the postal worker asked all the usual questions. I always prep packages as much as possible at home to minimize this, but Chopper wanted to memorize stuff so he could practice. “Hewwo! Hab pawcew tu maiw, haftu gu tu Mizzewy. Twee night pwiowity wud be weawwy bestest fow gud pawcew nice mistuh.” The postman smiled. He’d dealt with me before and he was always so patient. He clearly liked this better.
I paid and left. Cuddling my new friend, I gave him a small kiss on the head. He squirmed and cooed. “Wub daddeh, wub fun maiw pwace, wat du nao?”
What indeed?
