Chapter 22

Carter

We bump over the grassy lot and park at the end of a long line of cars. “Where are we?” signs Barry from the driver’s seat.

I turn to him and grin. “This is Midway Park,” I sign, spelling carefully so he doesn’t miss it.

“I can see that,” he signs, pointing to the huge colorful sign. Even in a second language, sarcasm is the first thing he learns.

“It’s an amusement park,” I sign slowly. “For little kids.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“It’s going to be fun! It was Robin’s idea!” I try for enthusiasm, but I have my doubts, too. The average age seems to be about five years old.

“We should’ve just gone to the Iron Stone,” Barry signs with a little help. He gives up and grabs a notebook. “I should have insisted on an evening date. There is nothing romantic about a little kids’ amusement park at ten in the morning.”

“Too late now,” I sign. “Try to have fun. Here they are!”

Robin’s old Subaru is slowly lurching toward us. After a second, she and Jenni get out. Robin’s wearing shorts and a tank top with sandals on her feet. Both she and Jenni have big sunglasses on their heads and their hair pulled back in ponytails.

Barry elbows me in the arm and I look over at him.

“Hot!” he signs.

“I know!” I sign back. “I told you.”

“Sorry, man,” he signs. “Didn’t trust you.”

We get out of the car and Robin gives me a good-natured scolding look. She’d seen the exchange between me and Barry. I grin. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have people be able to understand my conversations. Not for long, though, ’cause next week Denise and Jolene are coming in from New York.

“You look beautiful,” I sign.

“Nice try. I saw what you said about Jenni,” she signs back, teasing. I hug her and kiss the top of her head. “Barry, this is Jenni,” she signs and says.

“Hey,” his mouth says, and he holds out a hand for her to shake.

Jenni laughs a little and takes it, shaking it. “Hi,” her mouth says. “I’m Jenni.”

Barry nods. “Yeah,” his mouth says. He looks toward the park. “Let’s go!” he signs, and starts to walk away.

The minute he turns his back, Jenni gets Robin’s attention. “Who shakes hands?” her mouth says, and the girls giggle.

“He’s okay,” I sign. “Might just take a while.”

Robin translates quietly and Jenni looks up at me.

“Thank you,” she signs, her eyes still laughing.

We get to the little booth and buy some tickets from a bored-looking teenager. Robin waves at him, and he and the girls chat for a minute.

“Stumpy,” she spells to me as we leave the booth. “It’s his summer job.”

“Stumpy?” I spell back, slowly, making sure I got it right.

She laughs and nods.

“So what do we do with these?” Barry says, and signs, pointing to the tickets in his hand. “Everything is for little kids.”

Jenni looks at him, impressed, and I do, too. His ASL has progressed much faster than I ever thought. He actually practices at home and tries to hold his own at our dinner table. I’ve come home more than once to find him signing with my mom or dad.

“Not everything,” Robin counters. She takes my hand and runs for the Tilt-A-Whirl line, which has about four people in it. “Come on!” she beckons over her shoulder, and the other two run to catch up.

The Tilt-A-Whirl gets us laughing, so we run next door to the giant slide. We grab mats and climb the many, many steps to get to the top, waiting patiently among the little kids. We must do that ride twenty times—all sliding down at once, me and Barry racing, Jenni and Robin racing, me and Robin racing… I take out the Nikon and snap a few pictures of my Robin girl—her mouth open in a smile and her hair blowing in the wind, with the metallic reds and blues of the slide behind her.

“Beautiful,” I sign as I show her the pictures.

She shakes her head and laughs, sweaty and pink from all the stair climbing. She takes my hand and beckons for me to follow her into the barnlike arcade, which, thankfully, is air-conditioned.

Barry spots the quarter machine and changes a twenty, giving each couple ten dollars to split. Robin and I head over to Whac-A-Mole, and I get a kick out of watching her stalk the little plastic creatures.

I look around for Barry and Jenni and see them playing pinball in the corner. They’re talking as they play, and he keeps reaching his arm around her to hit one of the knobs. I poke Robin, who looks up and grins when she sees them.

We find Skee-Ball and strike up a tournament. Before long, we’ve collected quite a crowd of bystanders. It’s pretty easy to feel like a pro when your audience averages about seven years old. Any time I win, my side raises their hands and yells, and when Robin wins, her side does the same. By the time she wins it all, we’re practically celebrities. I shake my head in mock disappointment, smile at Robin, and hand my tickets to the closest kid. I get lots of sympathetic pats on the arm and the little kid with my tickets gets mobbed. I look over to see Robin leading her side in a little victory dance. I whip out the Nikon for a few shots before she passes off her tickets, too.

We buy a few bottles of water and I locate Barry and Jenni. He’s unbuttoned a few more buttons of his shirt and there’s a grease stain from the slide on his shorts. I pass him a bottle of water and he hands it off to Jenni, who opens it and takes a gulp.

“Mini golf?” I sign to him, and he nods.

We walk back across the park to the mini golf course.

“What do you think?” I sign to Barry.

“Great!” he signs back. He signs without speaking. “You think she’s having fun?”

I look back at Jenni and Robin, who are laughing about something. “Yeah!” I sign. “I think she’s having fun.”

“Good,” he says.

We arrive at the mini-golf booth and I buy everybody’s admission. Barry looks through all the clubs, trying to find one that’s straight. I laugh and tell him to give up but he goes through every one, sighting down the shaft and taking a few practice swings like he’s about to go out to the country club.

I choose a bright-orange ball and grab a club, gesturing for the girls to follow and we start our game. The course is lumpy and worn in some places, which causes Barry’s jaw to tighten.

At the third hole his ball keeps rolling off the little dimple in the green. I see his brow furrow and his mouth spit out some words. Robin and Jenni laugh and Barry shakes his head, finally getting the ball to stick. I tap Robin on the shoulder.

“What’d he say?” I ask.

She laughs and thinks for a second before shrugging. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’s just… upset about the ball.”

I try to keep my smile and nod a few times. Right.

It sucks not being in on the jokes.

As the game continues, I get a few pictures of the girls posing with large wooden fairy-tale characters that are scattered around the course. We wave at the train full of little kids every single time it goes past. By the end of the game, the “conductor” looks a little sick of it, but the kids are still waving and hollering.

“You hungry?” I sign to Robin. She nods. “Where should we eat?” I ask. I don’t see anything around except for the little stand where we got our drinks.

She holds up a finger and turns to Jenni, who laughs and nods, and they begin to walk away.

I jog a couple steps and tap her on the arm. “What are we eating?” I sign.

“Food,” she signs back. “We brought food. We’ll be back.” She winks at Jenni, who follows her back to the Subaru. Barry and I take a seat on a bench and watch a little kid have a meltdown.

“One more riiiiiiiide!” the child’s contorted little face is screaming. His patient dad lifts him and carries him bodily back to the car. By the time the drama’s over, I see Robin and Jenni returning from the car, swinging what looks like a loaf of bread.

“Bread?” I sign, while they’re still a fair distance.

“Old bread,” Robin signs back, grinning.

The look on Barry’s face tells me that he was not planning on eating old bread for lunch. I raise my eyebrows in return. When in Rome…

“Good!” I sign. “Let’s eat!”

Robin laughs. “This isn’t for us!” she signs. “Come on!” She begins to walk down a wide path. I follow her and find that we’re walking down to the lake. There are people on the beach, pavilions in the woods, and little booths that sell fair food—hot dogs and Italian sausages and cotton candy and caramel apples. A big canopy covers a huge wooden carousel.

Barry turns to me and his whole face has relaxed. “This is more like it,” his mouth says as Jenni runs up behind him and catches his hand in her own. He shoots me a surprised look over his shoulder. The two of them run down to the food booths, leaving me and Robin walking hand-in-hand, the bread swinging in her other hand.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” she signs, and grins.

We meet up at a food booth and order hot dogs and fresh-cut curly fries, then walk out to a picnic table in the shade. We watch the water and the people playing. I pull out the Nikon again and take pictures of Robin, her cheeks pink from the sun. Little curls escape from her ponytail and frizz around her face, like always. I wish I could get every detail. I wish these pictures could show her how I see her, but they’re only copies.

I take a picture of Barry and Jenni and turn it to show them. Barry asks for a copy. “Or my friends will never believe me,” he signs.

We laugh, and he says something else without signing it, but I can’t tell what it is.

I tap him on the shoulder. “What?” I sign.

He shrugs. “Never mind,” his mouth says as he shakes his head.

I nod. When I’m with my friends from home, the words “never mind” are forbidden. I change the subject. “I wonder if my sister’s ever been here. I don’t think so,” I say.

Robin translates for Jenni, then looks at me, confused. “Trina?” she signs.

“No,” I sign. “Denise. Remember? From New York? She and her friend are coming next week.” I haven’t yet broached the whole Jolene thing, and now is not the time.

I see realization dawn on her face. “Oh!” her mouth says. “Right! Sorry! I forgot,” she signs.

Barry cuts in. “I’m lost,” he signs. “Who’s coming?”

Does nobody know? “My sister is bringing a friend from New York City next week. I’m planning out their trip.”

Barry looks confused, so I sign it again and slow it down for him.

In a week, I won’t have to do that.

In a week I can sign as fast as I want.

I can catch all the jokes. I don’t have to see “never mind” and I don’t have to see anybody translating out of the corner of my eye.

Robin gets up from the table and I tap on her arm. “Where are you going?” I sign.

She holds up the bag of bread. “To feed the ducks!” her mouth says, and she skips off to the water. By the time I join her, an army of ducks has started to amass. We feed them, watching them squabble and dive at the little bread pieces. The light reflects in little sparkles off the lake.

Finally the bread is gone.

I turn to Robin. “You ready to go?”

“One more thing,” she says, a glint in her eye.

She takes my hand and leads me back the way we came until all four of us are standing in the carousel line. I should have guessed. She smiles up at me and I take her hand, still happily surprised at the jolt of electricity that runs up my arm. I kiss her on the cheek and we wait to get on.

When they open the gate she skips around, inspecting all the different horses. Finally, she finds one that she approves of—a chestnut with white socks. She points to the saddle. “Songbird” is written in flowing gold script.

“I always ride Songbird.” She grins and I kiss her pink cheek again.

That’s it. That’s her name. It’s perfect. She’ll need one for when Denise and Jolene arrive, or if she comes to visit me in New York someday. She belongs in our world. I need to give her a name.

I get on the horse next to her— a black horse named Soldier. The carousel lurches and, as the ride starts, I bring her name to life in my head. She closes her eyes and lets go of the pole to stretch out her hands, feeling the wind in her face. I tap her hand and she opens her eyes in surprise.

“Songbird,” I sign. I point to the name of the horse. “Song.” She copies me. “Bird.” She copies me again and I smile. Then I do the same motions but with my right hand in an “R” shape.

“Robin,” I spell.

She looks confused so I point at her. “Your name,” I sign. “Robin.” And I sign the new sign-“songbird” with an “R.” The horse moves me forward in a circle and up and down, but I don’t move. I’ve never given a sign name to a hearing person. Some of my friends have— their family members, their hearing friends—but I’ve never been close enough to a hearing person to give them a sign name. What if she hates it?

Slowly, a smile spreads over her face.

“Me?” she signs.

I nod. “You.”