A Beautiful Mess

For me, being deaf wasn't a disability, but an advantage. I got to experience things differently then most people. I saw things from a different perspective. It made me cherish the small things. If I hadn't lost my hearing, I wouldn't be where I am now. It forced me to maximize my own potential. I have to be better than the average person to succeed. 

My life changed eight yeas ago. I wouldn't say it's made me feel different, it's just made me feel like I'm unique. Like this was supposed to happen to make me live like each day was my last. When I got into music a year after I lost my hearing, it helped me in more ways then one. It helped me release my feelings. It helped me realize who I was. I could feel the vibrations in my body and that's how I made music. Back then I just made music for fun, now at eighteen I'm a DJ at a club. 

"Write down what you want from Starbucks," I spoke, slamming a piece of paper and pen on the bar. Finn and Kale's lips started moving, but I couldn't hear them. I knew what they were saying though. I had become an expert at reading lips. "Just because I'm deaf doesn't mean I don't know what you're saying."

"Do you have your hearing aids in?" Finn asked. I shook my head with a chuckle. "Nope. I can read lips you tosser." 

At twelve I got CIC hearing aids. CIC stood for completely in canal. They helped me hear some stuff. I mainly wore them when I wasn't DJing or making mixes at home. Picking up the paper, I stuffed it in my back pocket and headed out of the empty club. 

Tonight was a big night, as were the next few nights. The owner got calls about a few celebrities wanting the VIP room here over the next few, so he had us coming in early to make sure everything was perfect. That meaning my mixes were in line, the drinks were organzied and made correctly and quickly, and the VIP room was clean. But I was in dire need of caffine and Starbucks just so happened to be a few blocks away.

I entered the small coffee shop and grinned at the teenage boy behind the counter. He was your typical hormonal teenage boy who looked at you like you were a piece of meat. I ignored it. 

"I need a venti cafe mocha latte, a venti black coffee, and a venti salted caramel mocha." 

"That'll be seven pounds." I handed him the money and told him my name as he started on the drinks. I stepped back and stood by the wall to wait. 

I could get lost in my own world in here. The atmosphere was so calming and welcoming. I'd be matching songs up and making mashups in my mind. I'd be making mixes. My mind was something I got lost in more often then not. But I liked it that way sometimes. 

"Spencer!" I made my way to the little pick up area and grabbed my tray of drinks. As I turned around, someone bumped into me. My drinks spilt all over the floor and me making me curse in my native tongue; German. 

Grabbing some napkins, I wiped at my now ruined white vneck. "Gott verdammt," I mumbled. Someone stood in front of me moving their hands a little but I ignored them. I was too busy trying to get the scalding liquid at least a little off my shirt. It was to no avail. It would have to be tossed in the rubbish. A few minutes later I gave up trying to dry my shirt and threw the napkins in the bin. A worker was mopping up the mess as a guy with short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and braces stood staring at me with wet spots on his own shirt. So that was the git who ran into me. 

He tried talking to me, but I didn't stay long enough to read his lips. He ruined my caffine craving and that wasn't a good thing. If I didn't get my daily dose of caffine, I was an A1 bitch. I hope I never saw him again.

Little did I know I would.