Promise

When Zack was younger, he always wondered what voices sounded like. He couldn’t remember, really, what his parents sounded like; he’d only had the chance to listen to them for a year and a half before his hearing started to go. And he’d never heard the sound of his little sister, or the sound of the old lady that lived next door and always let him pick her old flowers so that he could make them into flower chains. Of course, he wondered about the sounds of other things, too. The noises that came from the TV and made his parents and his sister laugh, music, whatever that was, the sound of rain hitting the roof outside his bedroom window. But he would always get stuck on voices, could never understand how one person could generate so much noise. He didn’t understand how he could talk, either. Zack thought if you couldn’t hear noises you wouldn’t be able to make any. But he could, according to his parents, who would sometimes ignore his signs until he made his vocal chords work. He was never actually sure if he was talking until his mom would turn to him with a smile and sign out a reply.
When he first went to school for normal kids in second grade, not the one for deaf kids he’d been at before, Zack was sure that the kids and teachers would act the same way his mom and the teachers at his old school did. He thought that when he used his voice, they would praise him for it, even if they didn’t know how to sign back at him. So when, on that first day of school, when he stood up in front of the class and proudly announced his name, Z-A-C-K, with his hands signing the letters down by his sides, he was sure that his classmates would take it in stride, would understand him and would be sure to talk clearly to him so that he could at least try to lipread.
But they didn’t. They laughed at him. Zack could see the way that their bodies shook and their heads bent down, their mouths open. Zack didn’t understand why. He figured he must have not said it the first time, and said it again, and again, trying to make them stop laughing. But they didn’t. And when he looked at the teacher, she didn’t smile; she just looked confused, and a little bit disgusted. Zack suddenly wished he hadn’t told his mom he wanted to switch schools. At least the kids from before knew how to talk to him.
Zack didn’t do anything that first day of school. He just kept his head down, even when the teacher touched his back to let him know it was lunch. He didn’t want to eat. What if he ate wrong, and the other kids laughed at him again? He didn’t want to have to watch them laugh. In fact, Zack didn’t even interact with anyone until two weeks later, when a tiny little blond boy ran up to him while he was sitting alone on the swing set on the playground.
He was talking, but he was talking much too fast and Zack couldn’t read his lips, couldn’t tell what he was saying. Maybe that was for the best, though. Maybe the boy was just taunting him, and it was better that he didn’t hear. Zack was relieved when the boy ran away, probably back to his friends that he could talk to and that had normal voices. Zack didn’t watch him leave, just looked down at his shoes, covered in woodchips. He hoped that the playground supervisor would remember to tap him on the shoulder to let him know that it was time to go back inside. Yesterday she didn’t, and Zack was outside all alone for a half hour before his teacher came to get him.
And when he felt the hand on his knee, he figured that it was his lucky day, that the supervisor had remembered him and he could go back inside and sit for another hour before going home to his family, who didn’t laugh at his voice. But when he looked up, all he say was the blond boy with a smile on his face.Hi, he said. My name’s Alex. He was speaking very slowly so Zack could read his lips. You’re Zack, Right? He said. Zack nodded. Well, it’s my first day of school here, and everybody said that I should talk to you because I have a funny voice and they said you have a really funny voice he said. And the teacher said I should talk to you really slow, because your ears don’t work, and if I talk slow… Alex started talking faster, and Zack could no longer understand him.
He was confused, though. How could Alex have a funny voice if his ears worked? After the first day of school, when Zack had come home crying, his mom signed to him that his voice is a little different because he can’t hear it. If Alex can hear his voice, why is it different too? Zack wanted to ask him, but he was still scared to talk. What if it was just a joke, and Alex was secretly making fun of him, just like with the other kids? He was talking slower now, and Zack could make out his words once more. I’m from England, he said, and that’s why I sound funny. Cause I have an accent. Zack didn’t know what England was. Maybe it was an ear disorder, one of the ones he didn’t have. Are you gonna talk to me?
Zack was sure he’d heard the term England from one of his doctors before. It must be an ear problem. If Alex has ear problems, he won’t laugh at Zack’s, right? Zack took a breath. Hello.
Hi! Wow, you do sound funny. That’s okay though. Now that I’m in America, I sound funny too, so we can sound funny together! Together was a big word, and Zack barely caught it. But he was glad he did, because it meant that he would no longer be alone. He smiled at Alex, and Alex smiled back before climbing into the swing next to Zack’s.

Nine years later and the two of them are still together. Now, Zack knows that England is a place, not a disease, and that Alex moved from there to Baltimore. And Alex knows that he has to talk very slowly around Zack, so that he can catch every word. Zack’s been trying to teach him how to sign, but so far Alex only really knows the alphabet, and it takes a ridiculously long time for him to sign out every letter of every word. Alex has lost his accent now, so he doesn’t sound funny anymore. He doesn’t let Zack know that, but he knows that Zack has caught on. Alex is popular, well liked and well rounded and Zack…isn’t. He talks more now, but kids still laugh, still call him ugly names that he has to ask Alex about after, because while he can read their lips he doesn’t know the meanings.
Like the one that that Jock in his bio class called him while he was writing down data. He was laughing while he said it, but Zack still got it. Faggot. It’s an awful word, the way the guy’s teeth sink into his lower lip as he says it and the way he seems to hurtle it towards Zack with a smile. Faggot. The word is implanted into Zack’s brain for the rest of the day, and it’s only when he’s sitting in his bedroom with Alex next to him that he says it. He doesn’t know how it sounds, but he doesn’t like it in his mouth. It’s dirty.
The word makes Alex pause for a moment, but when he looks at Zack his eyes are full of compassion. That’s a bad word, Zack, a really bad word. You know what gay means, right? Of course he does. Zack’s not stupid. Well, faggot is a really bad way to call someone gay. Oh. Oh. Why does the stupid jock think he’s gay, anyway? It must be his voice. It’s always his voice. Zack’s hands make their way into his hair, and he pulls. He wonders if hair makes a sound when it gets pulled out.
Why would he call me that? I’m not gay
Because people like him like to make people like you feel as bad as possible, because they’re cold and heartless and they can’t accept your differences.
People like me? Retarded people, you mean. People who can’t hear and can’t talk right. Why can’t I just talk right? Zack is crying, he can feel the tears on his face and can feel his jerky breaths make their way into his stomach. I hate it, I hate it.
No[i/]. Alex mouths the word so forcefully that it makes Zack stop tugging at his hair for a moment. Your voice is perfect, and people who can’t understand that are idiots. You’re not stupid, or retarded, and you’re most definitely not a faggot. Okay? Alex’s hands take hold of Zack’s own and pull them from his hair. Zack looks down, and Alex forces his chin up to look at his lips. Okay?
Does that mean you’re the only person in this world who’s not an idiot?
No. It just means you haven’t met too many smart people yet. Don’t worry, though. You will. And then Alex’s hands are signing the word promise and Zack knows that he must be working on his signing on his own. Zack signs back okay, and he can feel Alex’s hands intertwine with his, fingers all falling into place. Promise, he says, and Zack knows he’s gonna hold him to that.