Disclaimer: I am not deaf, and I also haven’t taken a class on deaf culture, but one of my closest friends is an ASL translator. From the earliest days in our friendship she has been in love with learning different languages, and her favorite by far has always been sign language. In middle school she taught us SEE (Signing Exact English) and one of her college degrees is in ASL (American Sign Language). I am not pretending to be an expert in the slightest, but I do have to admit that living without a sense (any of them really) has always terrified and intrigued me. As an author I thought it would be very interesting to write from a character’s perspective who cannot hear. If I have done something terrible in my characterization of Liam, please note that I am not trying to be disrespectful. I truly believe that all people are created equal regardless of their race, gender, sexuality, religion, and capabilities. It is through all of these wonderful differences that allows us to experience the world in so many unique ways. If I have made some offensive mistake, please feel free to correct me where I have errored and I will do my best to fix it.
Enjoy!
--Larkynn
Sudden Reappearance: a short story
Written by Larkynn de la Fuerza
It was years later that I ran into her again, that girl that got me fired when I was fifteen, working in the mall for my cousin’s boyfriend Dan. I passed her on the street, but apparently I looked too different in the middle of the day, aged five years. Recognition didn’t even dawn in her eyes. She smiled at me vaguely, as most women do, before turning her head back down to her mobile device.
It was anticlimactic to say the least. I thought maybe there would be some sort of recognition. Maybe a friendly hug, or at the very least a dramatic, “Ohmigosh! Liam, you’re alive!” moment, given that my cousin said that all the store employees were harassed by her daily for my whereabouts for months on end.
It definitely made my heartache a bit to realize that I hadn’t been recognized. It hurt to know that I could recognize her right away and she had no idea who I was. Thanks to the stories my cousin would tell of this pretty little redhead who would show up and demand to know where I was—I couldn’t help but fantasize about our reunion just a little bit. Apparently, this lost and terrified girl had told Dan that we were going to make out in the fitting rooms of his department store after throwing his flashlight on the ground in protest of something demoralizing he had said.
Stupid Dan. If he hadn’t been such an ass, he wouldn’t have ended up stranded in the middle of a dark store during a storm. If it hadn’t been for Dan, I could have made out with that pretty girl in the fitting rooms. At the very least, I would’ve learned her name. Surely she would’ve recognize me on the street, had Dan not interfered that day, right?
I sighed, and turned away from her. I shouldn’t think ill of the dead, no matter how much of a deadbeat Dan had been when he was alive. I owed my cousin that job, and she owed it and her own to Dan. It was the only thing he ever did right by her.
Sudden movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention back to the present. The people walking beside me stopped and looked back over their shoulders like someone was calling to them. I kept walking, but the people beside me moved further from the center of the sidewalk and paused.
Out of curiosity, I stopped, too, and followed their gazes. There she was, the red headed girl from the department store five years ago, barreling down the sidewalk toward me. Her mouth was open, making a sound I couldn’t hear, panic in her eyes.
When our eyes met, and she realized I had stopped, the panic seemed to flee from her eyes, but they stayed lit with some sort of excitement or enthusiasm. She slowed as she drew near me. Reaching out a shaking hand, she caught my sleeve and doubled over, drawing in deep breaths that made her whole body shudder as she struggled to regain her breath.
After she caught her breath, she looked back up at me and beamed. “Liam,” her mouth formed the shape of my name and I imagined that her voice sounded as lovely as a sunset or as heavenly as the scent of a dozen roses. “Oh, Liam. Thank God you’re alive.”
This was the moment I had been expecting a few minutes back. Was this real or was I just imagining it?
I smiled at her and placed my hand on hers gently. Her face flushed a hue so dark it almost matched her hair and I knew then that she knew, without a doubt that I was the Liam she thought I was. It made sense, I guess, that she would recognize me so much quicker by touch than by sight, we did do a lot of communicating through touch in that dark department store.
I wanted to tell her that I thought she hadn’t recognized me, but she must have sensed my original disappointment by the set of my face or something. She reached up gently toward my hair and mouthed, “Your hair is so much shorter now. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I beamed at her, unable to communicate just how much it meant to me that she realized who I was, even if it was a moment later than I anticipated.
It was then that her arms flew around me, almost in a bone crushing manner as she pulled me tight against her own warm body. This was the impulsive girl I knew from five years prior. The hug filled me with her sense of relief. She had thought I was dead. I knew this of course, but it meant something else entirely to see and feel this from her.
Guilt filled my gut, and I signed, “Sorry to have scared you,” to her when she let me go a few heartbeats later. Maybe I should have gone back to the store to find her, let her know I was okay. But fear of rejection had held me back from doing so then.
Had she come looking for me day after day? Sure. Did she know that I was deaf? It was hard to be certain. And despite what Dan always said about me, women didn’t exactly throw themselves at me once they found out I couldn’t hear them. I’ll admit, speaking two different languages can make a relationship much harder than it needs to be.
The girl cocked her head at me, unsure of what I had signed. She watched my hand movements like a hawk. From the way she watched, and the intense concentration on her face, it felt like she wanted to understand the things I had to say.
She repeated the sign for sorry by rubbing her own chest and mouthing, “Sorry?”
I nodded at her, face still plastered with a smile. I’m sure my eyes conveyed my disbelief and amazement.
When she saw me nod she shook her head vigorously. She pointed to me, head still shaking and signed sorry again, mouthing, “You shouldn’t be sorry.” She then pointed to herself and signed sorry once more. “I’m sorry.”
I signed the question, “why?”
And she stood, at a loss for signs. Finally she mouthed, “For costing you your job. I over reacted and shouldn’t have.” By the time she was finished, her eyes had fallen from mine, and were now looking at her shoes.
I touched her chin delicately, and lifted it so that we were once again at eye level. I shook my head and made my best nonchalant face, signing, “I never liked that job anyway.”
I could tell she had no idea what I said, but she had also picked up on my facial clues. Her perplexed face, I decided in that moment, was heart-stoppingly adorable. If this was the way the rest of our interactions went, I could easily die a happy man. She wasn’t upset or angry that she couldn’t understand me. Just genuinely puzzled and clearly curious. She wanted to understand me. And that was a good enough start for me.
I pointed to the coffee shop behind her, on the other side of the road, not signing anything.
She seemed to understand me just fine, nodding her head enthusiastically and taking my hand. She guided me across the street, dashing between cars, a happy look on her face. I couldn’t hear it, but I’m pretty sure she started laughing when I pulled ahead, dragging her with me. Once we were safely on the other side of the street, I knew for certain that she was laughing. I could feel the vibrations of her laughter running down the length of my arm as she threw her head back. I imagined it sounded like the sight of merrily twinkling Christmas lights on a dark, cold winter’s night.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
"I knew I liked you for a reason,” she stated, smiling at me like most women do as they shamelessly flirt. She batted her eyelashes and winked at me. It was jarring to know that she knew I was different, but didn’t like me any less for it.
We ordered our coffees and she was surprised when the girl behind the counter took my order via signs. The barrista said something about me being a regular and the girl from my past smiled, nodding at her and responded with something I didn’t quite catch.
The barrista handed her a book and her face lit up like she had been given a million dollars. I glanced at the cover and felt my heartbeat solidly in my chest. It was an American Sign Language dictionary.
Pleasantries must have been shared across the counter, but I wasn’t really registering the words either girl’s mouth formed. I was too caught up in the way my mystery girl’s joy lit up her face and sparkled in her eyes.
The barrista tugged gently on my shirt sleeve and signed, “Are you paying?”
I nodded and handed her my bank card. Why, yes. I was going to pay for both coffees like I was on a date with this magnificent and beautiful woman. Hopefully she was single…
The two of us sat down at a table together, her nose already buried in the book. She was avidly flipping through pages, looking up signs. She left a few moments later, drawn to the counter. She must have heard our names. Usually the barrista just brought me my coffee.
I noticed that the barrista had handed her two cups of coffee and a notepad and paper. She placed the cup with my name in front of me and kept her own. I glanced at it, searching for her name for name. Hannah. It was a name when spelled either forward or backward, was exactly the same. I caught myself finger spelling her name beneath the table, liking how smoothly the letters flowed from one to another. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
I must have been mouthing her name at some point as I finger spelled. When I looked up from her cup, her eyes were on mine and she smiled again, pointing to herself, she mouthed her name and asked, “How did you know?”
How did I know? I smiled bashfully back at her and pointed stupidly at her cup. The grin that spread across her face was worth my embarrassment. As was the sign she attempted to make next. She made the letter d with both hands and pressed them together. “Date.” She then continued to point between the two of us.
I nodded. I was more than willing to call our interactions a date if that’s what she felt we were doing.
She blushed in response and signed something else. I was thrown off at first, as her sign was complete gibberish. She must have noticed my confusion, because in the next moment she was blushing and pushing the book toward me. She pointed at the entry for girlfriend and suddenly her blush made sense. But was she asking if she was my girlfriend, or if I had one?
Our eyes met again and she pointed to me first and then the sign.
Ah. She wanted to know if I had a girlfriend. I shook my head in response and made the sign for no.
I then pointed to her and made the sign for boyfriend.
She looked confused, so I gently took the book from her and flipped to the page with the appropriate sign.
She took in the sign and shook her head, mimicking the sign for no that I had used earlier. Her face remained flushed.
We struggled through a drawn out conversation, using the book between us as a makeshift translator, the notepad and pencil long forgotten. We asked each other ordinary questions, such as what were either of us up to? Were we going to school? Did we live close? What were our future plans? What did we like to do in our spare time? Had we read any interesting books lately?
By the time we had run out of cold coffee, the sky outside was beginning to darken. We had fallen into a contented lull in our conversation, just basking in each other’s presence. I was drinking in the sight of her, her full lips, her long red hair, her sharp cheekbones and rather bushy eye brows. I loved the way she stuck her tongue out when she struggled with the more difficult signs. I also loved the way her eyes lit up when she understood what I was saying without looking at the dictionary between us and the way her mouth opened slightly every time my hand brushed hers as we passed the book back and forth.
I imagined that she was doing much the same as our gazes lingered over each other in the dimming cafe light.
The table vibrated suddenly, nearly making me drop my empty coffee cup. How long had I been holding it halfway to my mouth?
We both glanced down at my cell phone as it danced across the tabletop, sending tingling rivulets down the legs of the table. My alarm for work blazed across the screen.
I made to silence the phone and stand up when she caught my shirt sleeve. She quickly grabbed the pad of paper and scribbled something quickly. She handed it to me and squeezed my hand.
I squeezed her hand back as I glanced down at the paper she had handed me. A seven digit number was sprawled on the paper and a short, sweet message, text me.
I nearly had to read it twice. She had given me her number and asked me to text her. She had called our outing a date. Did this mean that there would be more to come?
Hannah leaned in close and gently kissed my cheek. She must have whispered something as well, I could feel her breath stirring the hair along my neck, but because I couldn’t see her face, I had no clue what she was saying.
Sudden panic gripped me. Was this going to be another long goodbye?
She pulled away, and I clutched at her jacket sleeve. She smiled at me warmly, pointing to herself, signed, “like”, and then pointed at me, mouthing, “a lot. So text me, okay?”
All I could do was nod at her as she smiled once more and waved goodbye. It was after she had completely left my field of vision that I picked up my phone and punched in her number. I texted her as quickly as my fingers would allow, “I like you a lot, too. See you tomorrow, same place, same time?”
Her response was almost instantaneous. “Absolutely.”
