Silence Speaks Louder

The silence that followed Emilee's admission couldn't have been more ominous--that is, were she able to hear anything in the first place.

Nick just blinked.

Emilee swallowed and drew in her lower lip to bite it. What type of reaction had she been hoping for? She had known this family for such a short time and yet felt so comfortable around them--so much so that she tended to forget that she wasn't normal by any standards. For a moment it had slipped her mind how much she hated informing others of her disability.

He blinked again, and his eyebrows slowly formed a downward "v".

"You're what?"

"I'm deaf," Emilee breathed again. Nick looked perplexed and knotted the fingers of his right hand into his curls. He waited a few more moments before speaking.

"But--" The hand in his hand drifted downward and he placed one finger on his lips, then restarted his sentence. "But you're talking to me. Like, I'm speaking, and you're listening." Emilee nodded, vaguely aware of where he was going with his train of thought, but this didn't satisfy him. "You're listening." He stressed the last word, as if he thought Emilee didn't understand.

"I am," she affirmed. This was always hardest to explain. "It's just... not in the way that you listen." She paused, giving him some time to digest this bit of information and make of it what he would.

Nick didn't seem to be grasping the concept very quickly. He continued to stare at her incredulously, making Emilee feel overly self-conscious. The blush rose to her cheeks before she could mentally remind herself to relax.

"I can read your lips," she added, when a few more moments, devoid of dialogue, had passed. Nick seemed to register this fact slightly faster, nodding to himself. His eyes were still wide with disbelief.

"And you said that the song--" he gestured to the piano, "--was beautiful." Another pause. "But you couldn't hear it." The last part was tinged with accusation.

"I can feel it... it's kind of the same thing. See," she said, extending her arm forward without thinking, intending to touch his chest and show how she could feel the vibrations; her fingers brushed the t-shirt and she instantly pulled her arm back, realizing the rashness of her action and restraining it. Way out of line, Emilee, she reprimanded herself silently.

This, however, left Nick looking even more perplexed. Sure that the teen was questioning her sanity by now, Emilee flushed and looked back to the glossy top of the piano. Embarrassment and frustration flooded within; she was flustered, unable to grasp enough words to explain to herself to him. Oh, how she hated encounters like this.

Nick's eyes suddenly traveled to the door behind them and he tilted his head a little to the other side. He appeared to be listening.

"It's Joe," he said, after a moment. Emilee could tell that he had lowered his voice--the vibrations were now harder to feel through her hand resting on top of the piano. "They're looking for you."

She didn't know him well, but it certainly seemed like Joe would be the one to call verbally for a deaf person; Emilee almost laughed, but the tense nature of the moment forbid it. She coughed to clear her throat and faced the door.

"I'm fine, I'll be down in just a minute, thanks," she called, hoping it sounded nonchalant. When she turned back to Nick, he had that dumbfounded expression once more. Was it really that hard for him to believe that she could be both deaf and competent?

"I should... I should get back to dinner," Emilee said, her thoughts running too quickly for her to catch. "I'll tell them I got lost--"

"Why?" interrupted Nick.

"--Because you're supposed to be asleep," she answered matter-of-factly. "Not... well, not hiding, or moping, or whatever it is that you're doing up here." Nick looked a little offended and he glanced back at the piano keys, like they would help him. Emilee felt guilty. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I was just trying to say that I didn't want you to get into trouble."

Nick nodded. Somehow Emilee sensed that, awkward as it was, the conversation should be left at that. She allowed half a weak smile to pass over her lips and turned to the exit.

As she crossed the threshold, her fingertips grazed the doorframe once more, and she found that he had started to play the piano again. Emilee bit her bottom lip again and softly pulled the door shut behind her.

[&silence]

A whirlwind of chaos ensued--in the form of twenty or so hearing-impaired children--and Emilee found herself at the center of the storm.

The snow was still thick on the ground outdoors, leaving the kids at the Center for Hearing and Speech a little stir-crazy. Denise had somehow managed to round them up for an impromptu game of "Red Light, Green Light," but they quickly lost interest in the idea and were now rushing about the room in energetic side-games. But just as the law of gravity says "what goes up, must come down," the rambunctious kids eventually grew tired of running and calmed down to engage in some quieter indoor activities.

Emilee had settled into a comfortable spot on the floor in a corner of the biggest instructional room adjacent to the lobby, 7-year-old Richie lying in her lap. The boy had come to her with flushed cheeks and complaints of not feeling well, so Emilee had called his mother to notify her and proceeded to make him comfortable.

Richie turned and cuddled his head into her shoulder. Emilee glanced back down after Denise had come by to pat the little boy's blonde head in a sympathetic fashion, smoothing tendrils from his forehead. Something nudged Emilee's ankle and she fidgeted, startling Richie. She softly reassured the boy, whose tears had almost started up again, and looked for the source of disturbance.

In her bout of mothering, Emilee had forgotten that Ayla was sitting at her feet. The girl leaned up against the wall, another book in her hand, but she was looking up at Emilee curiously. It was interesting how close the two had become, considering their six-year age difference. But Ayla possessed intelligence and compassion much beyond her years, and Emilee couldn't seem to get over her fascination with the bright young girl. Good thing, too, because the ten year-old stuck to Emilee like glue.

He keeps looking over here at you, signed Ayla, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her lips. Emilee was bewildered. Who? And where? She raised her eyebrows to indicate confusion, not wishing to disturb the feverish child in her arms. Ayla nodded her head to the left in tactful subtlety that was surprising for someone her age; through the viewing window between the lobby and the main room, a curly head of chestnut hair was clearly visible.

It had to be only one person. The problem was, Emilee couldn't find a valid reason as to why Nick might coincidentally be at the center the afternoon after she had admitted her deafness to him. The feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that it was anything but coincidence.

Think he wants to talk to you? Ayla looked back to the window at just the moment that Nick had surreptitiously peeked into the large room. He and Emilee made eye contact, and she instantly knew that her instinctive feeling had been right. She shrugged to Ayla, and with Richie still in her arms, stood and crossed the room to the painted door.

Nick stood abruptly and straightened out his shirt the moment she came into the lobby.

"Can I talk to you?" he said right away, as if they spoke daily and conversation was an ordinary occurrence.

"Shhhh." Emilee raised one finger to her lips and shushed, indicating the child on her hip who stirred at the sound of his voice. Nick looked a little guilty.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?" Emilee hesitated.

"I don't know." When Nick's face fell, she retracted her words. "I mean, I'm working right now. But maybe when I take my break..."

"Nicholas?" Denise poked her head through the lobby door, brushing a stray curl out of her face in much the same fashion that Emilee had observed Nick doing. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Her son's eyes flicked down to the top of his beat-up navy Converse.

"Nothing's wrong, Mom. I had Joe drive me..."

"Hmm," Emilee's boss said, looking thoughtful for a moment. "What did you have to bribe him with to do that? I have the hardest time getting Joseph to run errands for me."

Nick rolled his eyes, probably at the thought of his older brother.

"I didn't say he did it willingly. Can she have her break now?" He inclined his head towards Emilee. Denise considered her son curiously, with an obvious "you'll be explaining this to me later" expression, but addressed her employee instead.

"Go ahead. Twenty minutes." She accepted Richie from Emilee and cast one last inquisitive glance at her son before stepping back through the door and shutting it.

"I didn't sleep much last night," he said as soon as his mother was out of earshot. Emilee raised her eyebrows and sat as Nick offered her the chair he had just vacated.

"Pardon?"

"I have some questions," Nick continued, not bothering to explain his first statement. "About you being deaf. Is that okay?"

"I suppose," said Emilee, not seeing any other option. Answering a few questions couldn't hurt. They had only exchanged a few sentences in this conversation; double this amount and there was the grand total of words they had ever said to one another. She was curious as to why he suddenly felt the need to change this.

"How long have you been deaf?"

"Since I was eight," she answered, holding back a sigh of relief. Simple enough. Emilee could already trace the pattern of the yet-to-happen conversation; it was going to be typical questions anybody asked her once they discovered her condition. "And I had already learned to speak before I became deaf," she added, foreseeing his next query.

She had guessed right. Nick nodded, seeming to find these straightforward answers satisfactory so far. But then his face changed, and seemed to speak an apology; he pulled at the frays on the edge of his checkered scarf in an anxious manner.

"I'm sorry," he said remorsefully, and she could tell it was sincere. "I know you're probably sick of questions like this. It's just, last night after you left, I couldn't stop thinking about how I didn't know beforehand that you were deaf. I mean, we have classes together at school and you seemed perfectly normal. Teachers give lessons, you answer questions when called on, and you even seem aware of all the gossip going on around you. And then you told me that you could 'hear' me play the piano, which makes absolutely no sense, since you obviously can't hear--" He cut himself off, guilt coloring the skin across his cheekbones. "That was really rude, sorry. But do you get what I'm saying? I can't figure this out at all." Then he changed the aim of his ramble completely. "You told me you play the violin, how do you do that?"

"Vibrations," she said, and then realized that the word alone probably made no sense to Nick, so she elaborated. "I can feel the vibrations of the notes when I play if I'm careful enough. It takes a lot of practice but in the end, it's surprisingly easy."

There was a lull in the conversation, during which Emilee considered her next words carefully.

"You could've asked me all this at school today instead of ambushing me at work, you know," she said, not bothering to keep the implications out of her last sentence. "But you weren't there." What she said wasn't mean-spirited, but merely curious. The boy had once again been absent from his classes that Monday morning, though he didn't seem ill in the slightest. Did he have an excuse?

His cheeks reddened and he mumbled his next words.

"I told you, I don't exactly blend. It's easier if I stay home."

"I wonder why," she replied with a sigh, realizing that this was her exact response the last time they had discussed this. But if Nick wasn't putting out an effort to be normal at school, who was at fault? No one but himself--and his reluctance to assimilate.

Then again, who was Emilee to talk? She wasn't exactly the social butterfly of Wyckoff High herself.

The door separating the two rooms swung open again, and both Emilee and Nick turned reflexively to look; Denise was pursing her lips as she slid a cell phone back into her pocket.

"Nicholas, I just got a phone call from your brother, and from the sounds of it I'd say he's about ready to drive off and leave you here." She motioned out the window to the car parked closest to the building. "I'd rather not listen to him complain anymore. You should probably go home and get started on your homework. And Emilee, sweetheart, I need your help again in the main room."

Nick looked rather unhappy that the time had gone so quickly; in fact, he seemed downright disappointed, as if he had more complicated questions for Emilee.

"I'll see you soon," he said brusquely, pulling the scarf around his neck a little tighter and striding off. The bell on the door made a metallic clink at his abrupt exit. Denise sighed, and motioned for her aide to follow her. It seemed that she hadn't understood her son's actions, either.

But why did Emilee feel such a strong element of truth in the last four words he had spoken? It was one of the strangest conversations she had in her life, she decided as she returned to the main room. Nothing pivotal had happened, no life-changing phrases had been exchanged, and yet...

Nick hadn't treated her as handicapped, but rather as some sort of rare phenomenon--and though she hated being treated differently than everyone else, Emilee had to admit that such a change of pace was refreshing, no matter its direction.

The short memory lingered with her throughout the rest of her shift at the center... though dinner...as she finally lay down for bed... Simply put, it was mystifying. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why the fact that she was deaf would compel him to track her down at work. She could be reading into it too far--maybe Emilee was more of a fascinating experiment to Nick, rather than someone he wanted to be friends with?

Overall, though, it was funny: once you had found someone who didn't consider you or some sort of social pariah, someone who maybe didn't understand you but wanted to, someone who cared in even the tiniest sense, the world seemed a whole lot brighter.

And when Emilee walked into English the next day and saw Nick sitting in his seat like he should be--nose inches away from the pages of another coverless book, trying his best to avoid the admiring girls in the surrounding seats-- she couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips.