The clock reads 11:09 PM as I sit alone, eyes barely open, surrounded only by the photo-covered walls of my dorm room, completely overcome by exhaustion. 11:10 PM, only a minute more until I can fall asleep. After what seems like an eternity, the clock ticks on my dimly lit cell phone, 11:11 PM. In this moment most people are contemplating their wish, but I am not one of them. I already know mine. Every penny I have thrown in the mall’s fountain, every shooting star, every wishbone I have broken with my mother, and every 11:11 has yielded the same exact wish for as long as I can remember. As I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, I think to myself, “I wish that one day my brother will be able to talk.”
I feel the pressure mounting. One word, one noise, could set David off in an instant. As we walk through the glass doors to my family’s favorite pizzeria, I see my brother attempt to make the transition from the green mat outside, to the red and white tiled floor inside. I know this could very easily be that moment. He stops, his Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder paralyzing him in his tracks. His hands begin to flap uncontrollably, and a puzzled family stops behind him, unsure of how to proceed.
“David!” I hear my dad yell from the...
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