Your Voice

Having an actual friend is different. Especially one that cares as much as Gemma does and is so active in her friend's lives. Not just mine but her other friends too, who can hear and are all girls expect for me and one other guy that I think has a crush on the brunette, if we're being honest.

Anyway, she meets up with me every morning before English Language, managing to make her skirt and blazer look stylish with a fresh face and typically new hairstyle. School has only been in session for a week, but already I've had more conversations with her and some of her friends than I ever had with people in my specialist school. Gemma translates for her friends, but they all seem legitimately interested in befriending me. One girl in particular does, as she writes to me and patiently waits for me to write back and has even asked how to say a few words in sign language. She's a pretty girl but I feel awkward around her; plus Gemma doesn't seem too fond of her.

My first week of A-levels ends without a bang, not that I expected much else. Sure, I actually have a friend now who I can communicate with and seems to care about me. But not much feels different, considering at home I still hide away in my room and repeatedly read the same books. My parents couldn't give a rats ass about me and I'm alone the majority of the day. Even if I have classes with Gemma, it's not really enough.

Friday begins with rain, and I have to walk to school. It is the worst thing in the world, and I wish I'd begged my parents for a ride, but now I would have to live with my decision. It froze me to the bone, a bit cooler than usual. Fortunately I didn't get too wet; it wasn't pelting or anything, just a constant drip. I walked fast needless to say.

When I get into the school, the air makes goose bumps appear on my arms. I slip my blazer off my arms, shivering lightly due to the cool air but thankful to get the wet garment off my body. My button-down underneath is pretty much entirely dry, so I drape my blazer over my arm and head to English Language.

Most people have learned to ignore me. A couple have attempted to speak to me in the halls, but when they realized I couldn't understand what they were saying they would stand awkwardly for a few moments before leaving altogether. By now I figure it is common knowledge to most of the people I see daily that I am deaf; for those that have my same classes see my assistant teacher, and those who see me in the halls witness Gemma and I signing to each other. So for the most part, as I walk the hall to my first class, there are no interruptions.

That is one thing this school has in common with my old.

A hand touches my shoulder as I enter the classroom, startling me. I jolt and look up to note Kyle- Mr. Smith, whatever -is standing in front of me. He smiles sadly as he realizes he frightened me a bit, but I don't think he actually feels bad. Does he not know how easily someone like me can get scared? Just because I can't hear doesn't mean I don't jump when someone touches me out of nowhere, as if I should expect a hearing person to get my attention that way. I would much prefer him to wave a hand in front of my face, of move into my point of view. Not touch me. To be honest touch out of nowhere is one of the most frightening things; I'm sensitive in a way. More so than a hearing person.

He signs and speaks, though his lips are hard to read so I have to focus on his steady hands, "Your teacher is going to announce a project you'll be starting on next week. It is a group project. I thought you should know I told him to pair you with Gemma so I would not have to be present during your meetings."

I smile half-heartedly, unsure what to say. Am I suppose to be thankful? Am I suppose to kiss him because I'm so happy he paired me with someone who knew sign language? And for what? So it was easier on him or because it would be easier on me? I'm deaf, not stupid. I don't need him around to help me with a partner; I'm sure we could have written to each other. But he took matters into his own hands, didn't he?

Maybe I'm being too harsh. He was only trying to help, after all. Plus I'd rather be with Gemma than anyone else, no matter what the project was or what the subject matter may be. Because Kyle is right; I can communicate with her and she is my friend. So maybe I'm just wallowing in my own self pity, here.

I think the rain has gotten me down.

I sign thanks before heading to my desk, folding my blazer neatly over the back of my chair and sighing to myself. I hope it wasn't loud enough to annoy anyone; I typically make no noise in fear it will be too loud. It's one of the reasons I don't speak. I'm sure I sound awful and my words don't make sense and I would probably yell. It's better to live in silence in being both hearing and mute.

Gemma comes in with a smile on her face, despite the fact her button-down is a bit un-tucked and I can see the lace of her bra. Which makes my face hot for a reason unbeknownst to me. Certainly not because I was attracted to it- bras and boobs were weird in general -but maybe I was embarrassed for her.

She beams as she takes the open seat next to me, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against her desk. She lifts one hand and signs rapidly and a bit messily, "Please tell me you don't have any plans this weekend."

I blink slowly, my mind trudging along slower than my hands. Do I have plans this weekend? What could that question possibly mean? I think she is going to ask me to hang out, in which case someone should mark this down in history because it has never happened before. But to answer her question simply, I shake my head no. I cannot remember the last time I had plans. Even my parents do stuff out in London and leave me at home.

Her smile widens, if possible. "Great. You should come over. My brother Dylan is cooking on Sunday and we may get some movies. What do you say?"

And my heart is beating erratically because, hello, I just got asked to hang out, but also because her super hot brother Dylan will be there; the one with the lips that are easy to read and the caramel eyes that draw me in. So again for simplicity's sake, and with no real thought or consideration on my part, I nod my answer to her.

I think her smile is the largest I've ever seen.
~

Sunday comes slowly, though I shouldn't have expected anything more. I stay in my room and read Divergent, a book written by an author in the state's that I've only just discovered. It captured me instantly and I found myself falling in love not only with the narrator, but with the love-interest as well. I would not mind having my own Tobias if we're being honest. Not even if they had a dick.

I finish the book Saturday evening, torn between dying for the sequel and dying of nerves for tomorrow. My fingers twitch against my leg as I realize I've yet to inform my parents of my plan tomorrow, and then there is the question as to how I am going to tell them. Neither of them know sign language and I sure as hell am not about to speak. I guess I'll have to write to them, like I have to do to students who've never dealt with a deaf person.

It's disgusting, I think. I write to people who don't know sign language because they have never had a reason to know it, and I have to write to the people who've raised me for sixteen- almost seventeen -years because they never learned it, either. Great thing I have going here; if my parents couldn't care enough about me, how would anyone else?

To be honest, I didn't think anyone would. I'd probably be alone the rest of my life.

I get a pen and piece of paper, scribbling down that I would be going out tomorrow, and then hurriedly taking it downstairs. My father sits at his recliner, watching football with a bottle of beer in hand, while my mother sits on the couch with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, lazily watching the TV screen though I know she holds no real interest. Neither of them look at me, though I don't expect anything else. I swallow thickly as I walk toward the woman that birthed me; the one who didn't even communicate with me.

She looks up confused as I hand out the paper. She almost seems alarmed, as if I'm about to pass of a hand-grenade rather than a note. She takes it slowly, never removing her eyes from me. She only does when my father says something, and then she says something back, and I'm lost from there because it's too dark to read their lips and I can feel my heart beating rapidly against my ribcage; sometimes, I swear I can hear it, too.

She reads the note and then has a sort of conversation with my father before turning to me and nodding. She doesn't seem interested in the least that for the first time in eight years I am leaving the house. She just gives me back the paper and goes back to watching TV, and I'm not sure if the tears that suddenly fill my eyes are justified or not. I shouldn't have expected anything more.

I turn and run upstairs, taking off my clothes and throwing myself under the covers. I'd hate to tell you that I cried. I mean, what kind of man cries because his parents don't show enough interest? But I'm not really a man and it's not that she didn't show interest, it's that she legitimately doesn't care about me at all. She doesn't care to learn my language, she doesn't care to ask where I am going tomorrow, she doesn't care to do anything.

It's pathetic.

I sleep uneasy that night to say the least, and I hate the fact there are dark circles under my eyes when I get dressed to go to Gemma's. Her and her brother are picking me up; apparently they only had a short drive from my place to theirs, and Dylan wanted to pick up some pizza from a local diner for lunch. I couldn't even get my hair to sit right and I knew they would think I slept a hour the night before, which is nearly accurate. Despite the fact crying made me exhausted, my mind would not settle between thoughts of home and possibilities of the next day.

It's as I am slipping on a pair of grey skinny jeans that I realize I'll be meeting their parents. It makes me hesitate for a moment; what will they be like? Will they know sign language? Surely, considering her brother knew it. Would they be kind and considerate, and would they welcome me into their home with open arms? I probably shouldn't be as nervous to meet them as I am, but I want their approval. More importantly, I want to see they are like the supportive parents you hear about in movies or books with a leading deaf character. The kind of parents who move mountains to help their kids and treat them like the intellectual normal kids they are. I want them to be the kind of parents I wish I had, the kind I swore I would be if I ever had a relationship and kids of my own.

They had to be that way or else I would cry again. There would be no hope for me if they weren't, not really.

I run downstairs at ten-fifty. They are suppose to be here in ten minutes and I really don't want them to meet my parents, not yet. I watch out the window by the door, tapping my foot anxiously and biting my lip. I hoped I looked okay; I wasn't sure what normal people wore when they hung out. I was either in school uniform or pajamas, there wasn't really an in-between despite the fact my mother occasionally came home with new things for me. (It was about the only way she showed she cared.) I wore the grey skinny jeans, sneakers, and a loose-fitting green V-neck. The only reason it was loose fitting was because I was literally skin and bones; another thing to hate about myself.

A car pulls into the driveway, and when I squint I can see Dylan in the driver's seat and Gemma in the passenger. My heart does a flip before I open the door and slam it behind me, not caring if my parents heard or if they even cared. I was about to hang out with real people for the first time. Not just the characters in my books.

Gemma perks up when she sees me, waving enthusiastically. I can't quite gauge Dylan's reaction, but I think he is smiling. I pile into the back of the car, watching with wide eyes as Gemma turns around and signs, "Your hair looks fantastic!"

I blush, feeling the warmth spread through my entire face. It only gets worse when I feel Dylan's eyes one me from the rearview mirror; I can only wonder what he thinks of my feminine reaction. He probably wants to call me a faggot. He wouldn't be the first person.

I lift one hand and sign lazily, "I could not be bothered with it. It is not like we are going out or going to school."

Gemma nods in understanding, motioning to her own hair which was pulled into a messy bun. She looked cute, and so did her brother who seemed to roll out of bed this morning, hair about as messy as mine wearing sweatpants and a wrinkly t-shirt. He looks cute though and he makes me more comfortable, somehow, looking how he is.

We get the pie and head to their home, which turns out to be a nice little terrace house that seemed warm and comfortable, somewhere I would expect Gemma and Dylan to live. There are no other cars in the driveway, which confuses me, but I don't say anything as we pile out of the car.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest because I am about to meet her parents. I don't know how long Gemma has been deaf or if she was born this way, but for the first time I was going to see how real parents acted around their deaf children. It was enticing to say the least, and I think a part of me was sad it would be the exact way I'd hoped. After all it would just highlight how pathetic my own existence was.

However, when we enter the cozy home, I'm surprised to find there is no one else. Just Gemma and her brother. Are their parents at work? I don't speak as the two lead me into the kitchen, where a small table awaits. Dylan leaves the pizza box on the table and goes to get plates, signing to ask me what I would like to drink. I tell him whatever he has and the crooked grin he sends me makes my stomach clench almost painfully. It confuses me so I look away, frowning to myself.

Gemma smiles at me from across the table, signing, "I am so glad you could come! We are going to have a lot of fun, I know it. I like you a lot, Kade. Dylan will too."

I blush, despite the fact I knew she meant it in a friendship way. I can't contain my sheepish smile, however, as I sign back, "Me too. I like the both of you as well." Gemma positively beams, as she often does, and nods in approval. Biting my lip, I lift my hands and ask hesitantly, "Are your parents out?"

Gemma's face falls, something I've yet to see it do since we'd met. Her eyes become almost sad as she glances around to room, checking to make sure Dylan is preoccupied with something else before signing to me; my heart hammers unsteadily and my palms begin to sweat as I realize I'd done a terrible thing.

"No, they died a few years ago." I instantly begin to sign how sorry I was, but she interrupts me before I can really get anything out. She shakes her head and smiles sadly; she signs what would be softly, if hands had that ability, "It is okay, you did not know. But please do not mention anything about it to Dylan."

I blink slowly before nodding, feeling as if I want to throw up. I'd only just made a friend and already I was walking on eggshells. It felt as if I'd made a huge mistake and now Gemma was going to hate me. How could I have been so stupid? I'd been so obsessed with the idea of how her parents would act, and yet she didn't even have any. I guess I'd take my shit parents over dead parents. I feel so awful for being so excited to see how they would treat me, and wondering if they were the parents I'd always dreamed of.

We're relatively quiet while we eat, considering it is hard to sign and do so at the same time. Dylan downs at least half the pizza by himself, barely having time to consume the food before he began on his next piece. I myself only ate one slice, minus the crust, because like I said before I rarely ate. I was never hungry.

When I set the crust down, Dylan looks at me pointedly and says, "You should finish that." I furrow my brow, but he continues signing and speaking. Once more I find my eyes trailing to his lips rather than his large hands. "I mean you're skin and bones, dude."

Gemma slaps Dylan on the arm and mouths for him to shut up, and her brother pouts. Admittedly I wanted to coo at how cute he looked, but I refrained myself. However I did not stop myself from grinning and laughing quietly; laughing was another thing I didn't do a lot of. I had no clue how I sounded and was afraid of embarrassing myself, but seeing the two siblings interact warmed my heart and made me forget about the mistake I'd made earlier.

Somehow, I could see myself becoming real friends with the both of them. Possibly opening up, and that both scared and enthralled me. I suppose only time would tell.