Page 56 of The Right Sign
Dare frowns at his sister.
Frustration gnaws at my patience.
“I know because I canseeyou,” I sign, my hand movements getting bigger to show my annoyance. “And you don’t need to do that with your mouth. Just talk normally.”
She continues to do the exaggerated mouth thing.
Jenny looks embarrassed for her when she signs, “I just want to talk to you. Without interpreters. It’s so much fuss for nothing. I mean, not that being deaf isnothing. I know you have your limitations.”
I sigh deep in my spirit.
These hands are for signing, not slapping, but I might give them a new purpose today.
“Limitations?Being deaf is not a handicap. The only thing you can do that a deaf person can’t is hear,” I sign.
Dare addresses his sister, a muscle working in his jaw.
Lucy frowns as the interpreter signs, “Excuse me for trying to help,”
Now she’s offended.
Of course she is.
Whenever a deaf person shares what would makethemmore comfortable, what would make basic experiences and commodities more accessible, hearing people always act insulted. Because the entire world doesn’talreadyrevolve around them. Because it’ll take such a big effort just to listen.
Why do hearing people neverlisten?
I firm my jaw, recalling—once again—why I will never date a hearing person. The gap between their world and mine, their way of thinking and mine, theircultureand mine, is totally different.
Dare slips a hand on my waist and turns me around. He says something to his sister. I’m assuming it’s along the lines of ‘we’re done here’.
Either way, I’m annoyed withallhearing people right now and I push his hands away the moment we’re out of Lucy’s sight.
His chin whips down as if he didn’t expect me to brush him off. His expression is inquisitive rather than angry.
Pulling out my phone, I type a message.
Do you have any more work scheduled for me today?
His chocolate eyes read my message and then dart up to read my face. I don’t bother hiding my attitude.
I should.
It would be the mature thing to do.
Richard Sullivan is my boss and if he asks me to fly to Timbuktu to build him a well in the middle of a drought, I have to do it.
Happily.
While signing how much I love him.
He tries to take my phone to type, but I’m feeling petty so I tighten my grip. He gives me another solemn look and then takes out his own phone.
I apologize for Lucy. She means well.
Of course she does. All hearing people are well-meaning until they actually have to sacrifice something. Until they have to be uncomfortable for one minute. One measly second.
You don’t need to apologize.