Her mom had rushed her into the car, clearly overwhelmed by the urgency to get to wherever they were going. She pulled up the small office and promptly parked. Pam just followed, unsure what was happening but knew following would insure no consequences. Helene unbuckled Pam and gently pushed her into the office. 

“Here to see speech therapist, Ms. Levinson,” Helene quietly said. 

Pam looked up at her mom with questioning, scared eyes. It started to make sense, of course her mom wanted her to go somewhere to teach her speech. She didn’t understand though. Pam knew her mama knew she could speak and wanted to speak, but the words ran away, right? 

“Your here thirty minutes early,” the receptionist mumbled. 

Helene gave her some information then went to the waiting room, clearly calmed by the notion that she was early. 

••

The room was filled with children playing with puzzles and games on the floor, their mothers keeping an eye on them. The children all giggled and laughed, chatting with one another. Their little fingers touching the colorful blocks and excitingly showing off toys to their peers and mothers. Pam got shaky quickly, and clung to her mama like glue as they went to find a seat. Pam kept her eyes on her sneakers, afraid to met anyone’s eyes. 

Helene sat in the uncomfortable chair, hoping Pam would go play. She knew she wouldn’t, the child was trying to make herself smaller, her arms over tummy and her shoulders hunched. Helene patted the chair next to her, expecting Pam to take a seat. Sometimes Pam was afraid to sit, her body positioned in fight or flight, ready to run at any moment. Helene felt so sorry for her daughter in those moments, pity overcoming her. Pam stood stiffly for a few seconds, then climbed onto her moms lap. She positioned herself almost into a ball, her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped together. Even as a first grader, Pam was very tiny and could easily fit in Helene’s lap. Penny was already taller than Pam, despite the age difference. Pam’s clammy hands played with Helene’s necklace. Helene stroked her red curls gently, slowly relaxing the small girl. Helene was relieved Pam was sitting, but glanced over the room. She had made a mistake, Pam didn’t need a speech therapist. She wasn’t slurring her “s” or talking with a lisp like the other children in the room. Speech therapy wasn’t going to help and the chance that they would have an answer was slim, but there was “speech” in their title, so she took the chance. She knew this when making the appointment, and was sure Ms. Flax knew as well when she had gone into the first grade classroom after her kindergarten class had gone home to sneak the sticky note in Pam’s bag. She guessed both of them were just desperate for answers. Ms. Flax had been wonderful, checking on Pam constantly even as she moved into first grade. It was comforting knowing Pam always had someone looking out for her.

“Pamela Beesly, Ms. Levinson is ready.”

••

Pam’s eyes followed the hand of the woman with the freshly manicured nails and loud, clanking bracelets. The woman pulled open a filling cabinet, her hand reappearing with a manila folder. Pamela Beesly was scribbled in rushed handwriting at the top. Seeing her name written on the folder made her stomach drop. Whatever was happening, it felt formal and final. The white walls seemed strict and harsh, despite the posters with positive and encouraging quotes. The posters seemed to mock her, to remind her how dumb it was to be in this situation.

“Alrighty, let’s get started!” the therapist prompted, “so I’m first going to ask you to repeat a few sentences after me so I can hear where your speech may have issues.” 

Helene froze. What had she done. 

“Can you just tell me what your name is, honey? That’ll give me a few hints on what to look for next.”

Pam sat silently, her eyes big and her body tense. There were a few heavy seconds, then Helene piped in, “Excuse me, Ms. Levinson, but you read her notes from Ms. Flax and I, correct?”

“Oh yes… those,” she answered, clearly not having looked at them. She opened the folder and glanced over them, “ah yes, go ahead and say what your name is, Pam.”

Helene wanted to put her head in her hand. This was terrible. Pam looked ashamed, her thin figure collapsing into itself to bring herself comfort. “She can’t,” Helene sighed, “she won’t talk with anyone not in her family.”

“Oh, all children can talk, she’s just being stubborn. What’s her medical status? She have some brain damage or something?”

“No, she’s just afraid.”

“That’s just her being oppositional.”

“No, she’s really a great kid-,” Helene began, looking to Pam sitting in the seat next to her, tears starting to fall. Helene drew in a large breath, “Listen, I don’t think this is going to work. I understand this probably isn’t something you work with. She has no speech impediments, she speaks perfectly fine at home. I understand why you may come to those conclusions, but I can see how anxious she is, this isn’t something that can be fixed by repeating sentences when she can’t feel comfortable enough even to whisper a word.” Helene grabbed Pam’s hand and two walked out the wooden door. 

••

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Pam whispered once in the calm of the car.

“No, love, that was my fault. I thought maybe she would be able to help you. She just isn’t what we were looking for and wasn’t educated on your situation.”

Helene’s heart broke as Pam whispered another apology. Pam’s head was low and she was rubbing her hands together as if the steady them from the unstoppable shaking. All Helene had done was make the situation worse. She was frustrated with herself, she just wanted someone to understand, to give an answer to help her little girl.