He whistled softly beneath his breath, and the tune soothed him. A, B, C, D... He smiled to himself, sitting on the small bicycle he'd picked up from Goodwill the week before. They wouldn't let him drive. None of them did.
He frowned as a car sputtered by on the road behind him and he rocked on his bike seat, bracing himself against a metal pole and facing the building beyond. It would have been easier. Very easy, if he'd been allowed a car.
But bikes weren't so bad. Bikes had wheels. Bikes had two wheels. Bikes were nice. He liked bikes.
He whistled some more, smiling at the thought and patting the bike beneath him with one ham-fisted hand. His sheer size had bent the handlebars a bit, but then he'd tried to bend them back and over-corrected. Now, he had to hunch, gripping the bars as he pedaled along the streets. “Nice bike,” he said, softly. He winced at the sound of his own voice though.
His temper suddenly flared. “No!” he snarled to himself, scraping his fingers inside his forearm. He nearly toppled as he let go of his balancing hand against the light pole. “No talking!” he yelled, louder now. “Inside voice! Inside voice!” He dragged his fingers hard against his skin, drawing blood and leaving furrows in his flesh. He breathed heavily now, the pain waking him once more to reality.
“Inside voice,” he whispered beneath his breath, pressing a thick finger to his lips.
He liked bikes. Bikes were nice.
His eyes flicked up, and he leaned on the handlebars as he peered through the gap in the ferns on the side of the road, between the trees. He was really good at watching. Sometimes, using his inside voice, or no voice at all, he could move around without being seen, despite his size.
Sometimes... he liked to watch through windows. He smiled at some of those memories, playing them through his mind like pictures. He liked pictures. Words were hard. But pictures were nice.
He liked when the girls would take off their clothes while he watched. He liked watching people in their bedroom; sometimes they did things that made him feel funny. Most of all, though, he liked when no one knew he was watching. Sometimes just the simple things, eating meals, or watching TV, or playing in the pool.
He really, really liked watching.
Now, though, as he watched, he had other plans in mind. He could think. People didn't believe that. But he could think. Thinking was also nice. Like bikes.
He let out a little breath, peering through the ferns, watching the house, the windows open, the drapes aside. He watched as the man scraped at his barbecue grill, using a bristled brush to wipe it down. The man was talking on the phone as he did. Talking so loudly though.
“Inside voice,” he said beneath his breath. But the man couldn't hear him. He was too loud to hear.
He turned away from the house now... The last few days had been fun. He liked fun. He wasn't good with words, but now he was trying to spell. Everyone would know then. Inside voices wouldn't matter.
He scraped at his arm a bit more, leaving more bloody furrows, then, turning and whistling again beneath his breath, he began to pedal away. The same tune as ever, the same tune to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. His favorite song. Or second favorite. The tune he'd used to memorize the alphabet. He knew the whole entire alphabet! All of it!
A, B, C, D, E...
F was one of his favorites. A too...
The next letter, though... The next letter didn't even realize. Scraping his grill. Tonight, though—tonight he'd figure it all out.