The next morning, Gabby turns up. Early.
She comes right into my room, and wakes me up, by bouncing on my bed. It takes me a few seconds to figure out where I am, and who she is, and why my head is getting jolted around on my pillow. My eyes blink hard to get themselves into focus, and I sit up.
Gabby stops bouncing and sits opposite me. She’s holding a bag on her lap, and saying something but I can’t hear her properly.
“What?” I say.
She gestures to her ears and mouths, ‘Put your hearing aids in.’
I’m still half-woozy with sleep, so I do what I’m told, kind of like I’m in a dream. Then I screw up my face and shake my head a few times, to try to clear my brain.
“I came to see you,” she says. “You wouldn’t text me back. I had to find out from your mum where you were.”
“It’s early,” I say. “What time is it?”
She bounces again. “Who cares?”
“Why did you come this early?” I can’t get the time thing out of my head.
She sighs, like she’s frustrated. “It was the only time Mum would drop me off. I figured it would be okay. And anyway, I could always wake you up.”
“You did,” I say. I’m still looking at her with confusion in my face.
“And you have terrible breath, by the way,” says Gabby. She grins. “You’re probably gonna want to brush your teeth.”
I put my hand over my mouth so I can sniff my breath. She’s right. It’s totally gross morning breath. I feel like I can’t move my hand away or I’m going to blast her with disgusting smelling air.
There’s a knock on the door and Grandma sticks her head around.
“I was going to let you sleep, Jaz, but Gabby turned up.” She smiles brightly, like she’s pleased to see us together. “Do you want breakfast? I’ve got some raisin toast, and I can do eggs if you like.”
“Ooh, yes please,” says Gabby, turning around and giving Grandma one of her best dazzling smiles.
“Fried, boiled or scrambled?”
Gabby thinks for a moment putting her head to one side. “Scrambled, please. Thanks so much.”
“Jaz?” says Grandma.
I’m so confused I can hardly answer. “Um, I don’t know. Sorry.”
“You should have scrambled eggs, like me,” says Gabby.
“She can choose,” says Grandma. “Eggs, Jaz?”
“No eggs, thanks,” I say. I’m grateful to her. “But toast would be great.”
“Come out when you’re ready.” Grandma pulls her head back and closes the door.
Gabby bounces twice and looks expectantly at me.
My head’s clear now, and I give her a glare. I feel annoyed. Annoyed at being woken up, annoyed at feeling dishevelled and confused and bad-breathed, and annoyed that Gabby is sitting here, on my bed, looking at me like she wants something. “What are you doing here anyway?” I ask.
She shrugs, and keeps looking at me.
“So you’ve turned up, and now you’re not going to talk?”
She grins. “You’re probably going to want to brush your teeth,” she says again.
I make a frown at her, then tear back the doona, get out of bed and stomp into the ensuite bathroom. I smack some toothpaste on the brush, wrestle it around my mouth, and spit and rinse so hard it makes spots on the mirror. Then I look in the mirror, straighten my hair, which is looking a bit weird, and stalk back to the bedroom. I don’t get back into bed. Instead, I stay standing, near the door. I cross my arms. “What are you doing here, Gabby?”
She lifts her head slightly and purses her lips. She’s trying to be tough, but there is a small twinkle in her eye. I ignore it. I don’t want her to make me laugh.
“It’s called an intervention,” she says.
“An inter-what?”
“An intervention,” she says. “You’ve heard of that, right? It’s where your friends come and tell you you’ve got to get off drugs, or whatever.”
“I am not on drugs,” I say. My arms stay crossed.
“Well, duh, obviously not,” says Gabby. She laughs. “Like, of course I know that.”
“Well then, what?”
“It’s a friendship intervention.”
“And what is that?”
Gabby grins at me. “It’s where one best friend comes to tell the other best friend that they’re being stupid, and they need to fix things up. They talk. They listen. You know how it’s done.”
A wave of something - I’m not sure what - flies through my chest. The word ‘listen’ makes me feel… I don’t know, angry. I unfold my arms. “You know I don’t wear my hearing aids any more at home. I’m taking them out. I prefer to use sign language.”
“Fine,” says Gabby. She smiles. And it’s not a cheeky smile. It’s a genuine one. “But I don’t know Auslan so I brought paper. I’ll write what I want to say.”
It takes me by surprise. Even though my feet are steady, I feel slightly off balance inside. I take out the hearing aids slightly slower than I had planned, and place them on the dressing table. Gabby digs around in her bag, and quickly comes out with a notebook and two pens. She opens the book up to the first page and presents it to me with a flourish.
There’s already something written on it.
“You planned this?” I say to her. My voice is indistinct without my hearing aids. “You already knew what you’d write?”
She shrugs and grins, slightly guilty, like I’ve caught her out, but not so guilty that she’s not enjoying my reaction. She grabs her pen and writes, I wanted to be prepared.
“How did you know I’d take out the aids?” I feel like I’m accusing her, but really, I’m more curious than angry.
She rolls her eyes and makes a face, like, come ON, Jazmine, and writes again. Just read the message, okay?
I make my eyes wide, like, okay, whatever. I sit on the bed, opposite her, and pick up the notebook.
It’s a long message. Two or three paragraphs, written in Gabby’s big round handwriting, in purple, with writing on every second line so it fills the page. There are underlines, capitals and heaps of exclamation marks. I can almost hear her voice in my head as I read it.
Dear Jaz,
This is what I want to say: we have to be friends!!!!! We are friends. We can’t NOT be friends.
I’ll tell you why I know this: because back last year, YOU came to find ME, after I dumped you. I was stupid and I stuffed up when I moved away. I ignored you because I thought my life was changing, but you came and said it didn’t matter where you lived, we were still friends, even if everything changed.
The pen changes to green at this point.
Sooooo… basically I’m saying, it doesn’t matter if you’re Deaf or not deaf, we’re still the same people, aren’t we? Because it’s kind of the same thing as someone moving away. Instead of talking every day, we now have to text and message each other, and catch up in holidays. Change of communication, that’s all!!!! And if you’re deaf and don’t want to wear your hearing aids, instead of talking and listening, we can write messages when we’re hanging out. Or I can learn Auslan and then we’ll both know it. Change of communication!!!!!! Right?
I stop reading and put my head down.
Everything Gabby has said is right.
We are still the same people.
We did stay friends after everything changed last year.
We could still stay friends again.
I’ve been wrong.
A tear sneaks its way out of my eye and sits, wet, on the side of my nose. I try to wipe it away so Gabby doesn’t notice, but she pounces, pulling the notebook back towards her.
Ha! You’re crying. You know it’s true, she writes and pushes the notebook back towards me. She puts a smiley face next to it. I look up at her, and smile too.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
I reach out to the dressing table for my hearing aids, but she scribbles something quickly. Don’t put them in unless you want to. I’m happy to write notes.
I shake my head. “I want to. At least for now.”
She makes an appreciative face at me. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been stupid,” I say. “I’ll admit it.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I get it.”
“But I’m not kidding you. That camp changed everything for me. It is really different now.”
“So let me understand it. Help me out.” She settles back on the bed in a listening position, and immediately I feel unsure.
“You really want to know what I’m talking about?”
“Sure, why not?” she says. “If we’re best friends, then I have to understand what you’re going through.”
I’m almost paralyzed for a moment. All I’ve wanted is for someone to listen to me about this, and now that they are, I hardly know what to say. I stammer, and try, but my explanation seems lame.
“It’s like, I’ve always thought of myself as being ‘not okay’. You know, these things make me seem weird.” I gesture to my hearing aids. “I have to try harder. I don’t fit in.” I look down at my hands and twist them. “Not the same as you.”
“Okay,” says Gabby. “I didn’t know that.”
I look up at her. “I think the thing was, I just didn’t realise there was any other way. At camp, it was like this whole other world opened up to me. I was the same as them. There was finally somewhere that I fitted.”
She shifts on the bed. “I think I get it.”
I make a face and consider things. “But here’s the thing. I don’t know if you can understand it. No offense, but I can’t imagine how I would have understood it if I hadn’t experienced it. You have to be deaf to get it, I think.”
Gabby sits up. She looks happy. “Okay, so I’ll be deaf for a while.”
“What?”
“I’ll be deaf.”
I shake my head at her. “You can’t be. Your mum will kill me if I punch you in the head so hard you lose your hearing.”
“Ever heard of earplugs? Noise reducing headphones?”
“Um…” I say.
She shrugs and grins. “I’ll wear them. We’ll go out. Somewhere, like a cafe or something. I’ll wear them, and then I’ll see how it feels.”
“You’ll wear noise reducing headphones in public?” I shudder.
“Okay, then, just the earplugs,” she says. She stands up. “Do you think your Grandma will have any? I’ll put them in right now.”
“That’s really going to be embarrassing,” I say.
“Not really,” says Gabby. “You’re talking to the girl who took a stuffed wombat toy to school on a pretend leash last year.”
“This is true,” I say. I throw my hands up in the air. If Gabby isn’t going to be embarrassed, I won’t be either. “Let’s do it.”