One day, shortly after turning two, Albert was overcome with a look of pure joy and in a small voice announced to everybody in the room, “I’m farting!”
It was the beginning of a non-stop stream of live action commentary during which he explained every fact he knew and provided a step-by-step description of everything he was doing as he was doing it.
Alfred loved words and was fascinated by the fact that he could put them together and make thoughts. He was so amazed by this process that he assumed everyone else would want to know what he thought.
So, he told them.
It was faster to read the book or see the movie than to ask Albert what he thought about them.
He often provided a real-time replay for anyone who asked how his day was.
For ten years, Albert talked continuously, whether anyone was listening or not. He talked during meals, except when he was slurping his soup, and even talked in his sleep, although he was known to stop at times to snore.
He talked during movies, during soccer games, during class and Boy Scouts. He talked while he did his homework, while he played, and while he watched television.
He talked while he was walking, or waiting, or sitting, or hanging upside down.
He talked when everyone else was silent. He talked when other people were talking, and after they stopped.
Albert enjoyed life, and the more he talked the more fun he had. Just the sound of the words coming out of his mouth made him happy. So, he talked ten times more than anyone else - until Friday, June 1st at 7:02 p.m.
Alfred had talked so much that at that moment, on his 12th birthday, just before explaining how he was going to blow out the candles on his cake, he had used up his entire life’s worth of words.
And from that moment on, Alfred had nothing to say.