Strategy
He slipped out the back door quietly, quietly and deliberately. He was a noisy boy--he knew that--was reminded of it often, every day, more than once. "You're shouting, Aaron! I'm right here. I can HEAR you." That stopped him every time, gave him a funny feeling in his stomach . . . and stopped him. He knew she was right and also knew she didn't pay attention unless he shouted. She was always busy, emptying the dishwasher, opening one cupboard door, letting another slam shut, busy, busy, busy . . . and she didn't hear him unless he shouted, so he shouted. It made her mad, but at least she stopped, heard him, and sometimes even waited for him to say it again. "Can I go outside?" Or, "Can I watch cartoons?" Or even, "Where are we going," said as she dangled his coat in front of him. Well, his mother was fast, and he was slow. He knew it, had heard her call him "the slow one,...
