I Talk to Togo

By Todd Philip Dolce

When 11-year-old Teddy Thompson tries to speak, the words seem to escape him; literally. Known as the mute with the broken chute by the other kids in the playground, it will require someone or something incredibly special to help this quiet orphaned boy rediscover his voice. Nothing short of a miracle could free Teddy from the clutches of the sinister headmaster, Hilda Hagmire and the life of isolation and abandonment he had experienced at the state orphanage.

Enter Professor Perley I. Peepers, part inventor, part scatterbrained professor, and Teddy’s long lost uncle, who unexpectedly rescues him and immerses him into a world replete with magical Chatter Bugs, Togo Sticks, Hopcycles and Sound Scratchers! Although these gadgets seem as nutty as Peepers himself, don’t tell that to a young boy desperately trying to discover his place in this world. With the help of a Slow Loris (Togo) and some carefully placed ingenuity, Professor Peepers may have finally realized his discovery of a lifetime – and now in Teddy Thompson – he may have found the perfect beneficiary!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Todd Philip Dolce
• Release date: Mar 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452463230

Todd Philip Dolce

Cartoonist/Author/Illustrator

Book preview

I Talk to Togo

Todd Philip Dolce’

Copyright 2010 by Todd Philip Dolce’

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1: Ward of the State

She seemed to take great pleasure in striking fear in the hearts of children here at the orphanage, and with so many years of experience behind her, our co-headmaster, Hilda Hagmire, had become a pro. Always appearing happiest when dishing out punishments to any undeserving kid unfortunate enough to cross her path, she took great pride in watching us squirm at the mere sight of her presence. Unfortunately for us; this occurred on a daily basis.

Although not picky about whom she chose to torture, Hilda Hagmire seemed to take even greater pleasure in intimidating quiet kids like me. Today, during our free time in the recreation lounge, was no exception. As her eyes looked down upon me with her trademark stone cold glare, she spoke with the raspy voice of a woman who chewed on sandpaper for fun and pleasure.

Listen up you little hooligans! she sneered while her eyes wandered around the recreation room. There’s a chance that someone may be visiting here this afternoon to possibly adopt one of you snot nosed brats, so you better not botch it up!  

Anything offering a glimmer of hope to get out of this place, always gained the attention of every kid in the room and played like sweet music to our ears.

I couldn’t speak for every orphanage, but life at this particular institution was not a happy one — especially for a quiet kid like me — who often found himself in the company of some of the toughest kids this side of the Pecos.

It was during the so called free time at the orphanage when all of the kids could truly unwind and be themselves; unfortunately for me, this also included the bullies. The recreation room, where we were kept captive for these two miserable hours, was furnished with a set of uncomfortable chairs, a torn up sofa, a lopsided ping pong table and an old console television permanently stuck on the wrestling channel. I did my best to make myself invisible by burying myself into the pages of my favorite science and nature pocket encyclopedia. If having to deal with loud muscle bound wrestlers on the television displaying their trademark choke holds and death grips was bad, then the constant fear of these brutal moves being practiced on me by the bullies in the room was far worse. It felt like I was serving a life sentence — in a jail disguised as an orphanage — for a crime that I did not understand.

Because of the unusually low number of kids here today, the atmosphere in the recreation room seemed almost tolerable. The only kid glued to the television was Charlie Dempsey. Unfortunately for me, Choke Hold Charlie was a big fan of the most painful wrestling moves known to man and always seized the opportunity to test them out on big easy targets like me. Having just three other girls in the room was opportunity enough for good ol’ Charlie to show off his strength, courtesy of Teddy Thompson — that’s me — in the leading role as the loser. While hiding in the corner of the room with my book and trying desperately to hide the bulls-eye on my back, I suddenly noticed some bright flashes of light peeping beneath the office door of our headmaster, Hugo Hagmire.

With all of the girls in our group focused on a game of Go Fish and with Charlie zoned in to the TV, I decided to sneak in a little closer to Hagmire’s office door to see if I could figure out what exactly was happening in there.

As I peeked through the large keyhole of the old wooden door, I could see what appeared to be a friendly looking gentleman seated beside Hagmire’s desk, signing a mountainous stack of papers. Hagmire looked as mean as ever, with his permanent frown and sinister eyes piercing like laser beams toward the stranger. The gentleman, apparently unbothered by the cloud of darkness and despair hanging over that room, continued signing form after form and sliding them across the desk back toward Hagmire.

Before I could get a closer look, I found myself, once again, under the watchful eye of my good friend Charlie. Apparently a TV commercial break during his grappling goon squad marathon caused a temporary shift in attention — to me. His curiosity apparently led him to shove me aside, allowing for his own unique perspective of the action clearly visible through the keyhole.

        Let me see, let me see! Charlie demanded as I tumbled awkwardly to the floor. Teddy, you’re a nitwit! There ain’t nothing to look at in there! All I see is some old geezer who’s probably one of Hugo Horror’s buddies from charm school or some guy trying to sell him more junk to bore us to death with! One thing I know for sure,…that’s no foster parent in there! He’s no more a foster parent than you are a champion wrestler! Charlie smacked me on the back of the head and then decided that a drop kick to my ribs was in order; no doubt a maneuver pulled straight from the wrestling match on the TV.

Luckily for me, the commercials were over and Charlie’s short attention span had been redirected back to the mighty wrestlers and their endless grudge match. Not easily discouraged, I rubbed my aching side, struggled to my knees, and repositioned myself in front of the keyhole to take a second look. Despite what Charlie had said, something still seemed very strange about the gentleman seated on the opposite side of Hagmire’s desk. His peculiar features and friendly appearance struck me as odd, as would any one's that stood out in such a dark and gloomy place. I could see that the odd looking old man was wearing what appeared to be a pair of ridiculous looking eye goggles. Surely, nobody in their right frame of mind would be seen in public wearing such silly looking things! His goggles looked like they had been worn by a crazy scientist right out of an old science fiction movie.

Basically, between the blaring of the television and the old wooden doors as thick as bank safes, I couldn’t hear a thing that was being said in the office. In the unlikely event that the gentleman was preparing to take one of us home — I could safely bet that it wouldn’t be me. It would be just like our headmaster, to try and prevent such good fortune from coming to me, so as to keep me here and control me for the rest of my life. To be honest, Headmaster Hugo Hagmire wouldn’t have to work too hard to keep me here.

Of all the things that could hurt my chances for adoption, was my one major defect,  that one ginormous problem which became apparent as soon as I tried to speak.  This guaranteed me an instant ticket to loneliness. It continued to prove too much for a potential family to ignore. It’s difficult enough to find a family that’s willing to bring home a kid with the kind of baggage that you find in a place like this, but add a defect like mine; the odds of me ever leaving here are slim.

Despite the incredible odds against me, and as fate would have it this summer, I was one of just a few remaining children on the availability list. Taking these facts into consideration, the numbers were working in my favor today and I had to wonder if perhaps, on this hot Arizona summer afternoon — I, Teddy Thompson, may actually have a chance at going home to be part of a permanent family.

I still knew better than to hold such high hopes for a ticket out of here. I mean after all, it’s quite possible that Charlie may have been right. The old man in the office may have been no more than a salesman or an old friend of Hagmire’s. I refused to make my day any worse by giving it a second thought.

It wasn’t long before the door to the lounge area opened and appearing before it stood big Hilda Hagmire eclipsing the rays of light that were hopelessly trying to lighten up the room. As she stood with her arms crossed, she left little question as to who was in charge. Because we were still an hour away from chores, I had to wonder if perhaps there was a chance that one of us was about to freed from this place. Panning the perimeter of the lounge to see who was present and accounted for, she called out my name. Usually when your name was called, it was not a welcomed event, but in this instance, with my ticket out of here possibly waiting in the lobby, I wasn’t about to miss my opportunity! I wasted no time removing myself from the lumpy chair and quickly walked toward Hilda Hagmire.

        Boy, she barked with a look that sent shivers racing down my spine, There is a man outside that claims to be your uncle. He must be related, as crazy as he looks ... not to mention the fact that he actually wants to adopt you! she scoured at me with her charcoal black eyes.

This could be our lucky day! Finally, a chance to rid this institution of a strange kid like you! He actually wants to adopt you — permanently! she grinned with her crocodile smile.

This certainly was cause for celebration; a rare occasion indeed. Hilda and I were actually in agreement and as equally excited over the breaking news, although for different personal reasons. She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck with her callous hardened hands and barked one last order at me as she pushed me toward the lobby.

Don’t mess this up young man! she snapped. Don’t even think of trying to speak when spoken to! We will do the talking for you! We don’t need to emphasize your defect! Do you understand me?

I nodded quickly in the hopes that she would release her vise like hold on my neck.

He still has a few more papers to sign. It’s NOT official yet, so you better not blow it!

She had no need to worry as I was not about to let this chance pass me by. As the door opened, I could now clearly see the same funny-looking old man that I had spied through the keyhole awhile earlier. Charlie had been wrong after all! The old man was actually signing adoption papers in Hagmire’s office! I sure hate knowing that ol’ Charlie won’t have anyone to drop kick anymore  — shucks.

Although at first glance, he appeared as an oddball dressed in funny clothes and wearing funny glasses, there was something special about him that hit me the minute I shook his hand. His genuine smile instantly set him apart from the other empty prospects that had come through these doors. As Hilda shoved me closer to him, I couldn’t help but take notice of those funny looking spectacles that completely concealed his eyes. These spectacles were either intended to be a very bold fashion statement or he was indeed an absent-minded scientist who conducted crazy experiments in a hidden laboratory.

After watching the googly eyed scientist fill out a mountainous pile of forms, I quickly learned that he went by the name of Peepers; Professor Perley I. Peepers. According to Hilda, he was supposedly some long lost uncle of mine. I would have to agree with the lost part, since apparently it took him nearly two years to find me! If the amount of paperwork he completed served as any indication as to what he had to go through to get here — then the two-year delay was certainly understandable.

My last act as a ward of the state involved shaking hands with the two angry doorstops, the headmasters, as I was led past the exit doors. Hilda Hagmire, in her last act as my caring and loving headmaster, sent me off with a crushing handshake that shot pain through my fingers just as she intended.  I fought every urge to sneer or extend my tongue in her direction as a show of displeasure. Instead, I showed self restraint, acted like a gentleman and politely freed my hand from her vise like grip. Alright — so I stuck my tongue out once — but it was brief and barely noticeable as I walked quickly past the doors. I will not miss this place.

Chapter 2: Thinking Outside the Lines

The dry desert air blew through my hair as we drove off into the sunset in the big blue convertible proudly displaying a Galaxie badge across the dash. It didn’t matter what type of car it was, so long as it carried me away from the memories of a life gone wrong. As much hope as I held for perhaps righting this ship, my expectations were set very low. The wind surrounded my face with its warm embrace as the sun bleached hash marks on the two lane highway zoomed past me, marking each second closer to my new future. I watched the professor from the passenger seat, and it was obvious by his big bright smile, that he too enjoyed the breeze as much as I did. He grinned as he looked straight ahead with a tight grip on the enormous steering wheel. I was beginning to wonder if he would ever speak to me as we continued to rack up miles along the dusty, old desert highway.

There was never a question in my mind as to who would be the first to talk and break the ice, since I quit talking well over two years ago. Yep,...this is the defect.

It wasn’t always this way. To get this way, you have to work at it, and boy did my parents work at it!  Repeatedly being scolded for my slow speech and telling me it was because I was stupid can really do a number on a kid after awhile — I should know — I’m that kid. Because I talked slower than all of the other kids in my neighborhood, I became the butt of all of their jokes, forcing me indoors to the privacy of my bedroom.  Before long, I decided it was just easier to stop talking rather than deal with the teasing and painful name calling.

To help me hide from the ugly world around me, I decided to seek refuge in another.  My prized science and nature pocket encyclopedia never left my side and served as my escape from the embarrassment. The more depressed I got, the more I read my book. Soon I was a walking encyclopedia. Unfortunately for me this didn’t translate into a talking encyclopedia. With my slow speech still getting in the way, I continued to be perceived as stupid. As hurtful and mean-spirited as the jokes tended to be toward me, I realized that I was different than every other kid, and I’m sure I did sound pretty stupid to them.

There were moments when even reading a book was impossible. I can’t recall a time when my parents were not screaming at each other in a fit of rage over just about everything imaginable. They were so loud that I would often be forced to bury my head under my pillow to try and drown out the yelling coming at me from the floor below. Life didn’t get much easier for me when they were apart either.  The same anger and rage that kept them at each other’s throats would then be redirected toward me.

I begged my dad not to leave me at the clinic that cold and windy day in December. I cried all the way to the front doors when I realized that he was dropping me off and not coming back. I promised him that I would not be a bother anymore, that I would try to work harder at talking normal, and that I would stay out of his way from now on. Unfazed, as I cried out as loud as my voice would let me, he kept on walking to the car and never looked back — not even once.

At that moment — I had nothing left to say; literally. It wasn’t but a few hours later that I discovered my inability to talk or make any vocal sounds anymore. As strange and scary as that feeling was, I figured that perhaps I