Chapter 36

I could smell the turkey roasting in the oven when I woke up Thursday morning. I purposely hadn’t set my alarm clock. I wanted to sleep in—I looked forward to it. Getting up every morning for school drained me. Besides, everyone knew preteens were teenagers in training, really. We needed to sleep past noon on vacations and weekends, or else we would never be prepared for teenhood.

After taking a long, hot shower and getting dressed, I went downstairs. I wasn’t prepared to see both sets of grandparents. They were all sitting around the table. Papa Phil and Grandma Patty sat across from each other, and at opposite ends sat Papa Ray and Grandma Joanne.

Papa Phil and Grandma Patty were Dad’s parents. They moved to Tucson, Arizona two years ago after Papa Phil retired. I knew my parents talked about visiting out West during Christmas break, if not this year, then next. What would Christmas be like without snow? I couldn’t imagine it, but a trip across the country—that’d be an awesome adventure. I’d been desperate to see the Grand Canyon with my own two eyes ever since I saw pictures of it in a book when I was eight.

Papa Ray and Grandma Joanne were Mom’s parents. They lived in Vermont now. When they used to live here, they had a supercool house with a jungle gym in the backyard. They came to all my baseball games. I missed them, so it was great having them home.

I had no idea anyone would be joining us for the holiday. My eyes got wide and my hands flew up in the air. Excitedly, I said, “Hello!”

Look who’s here, Marie signed.

My smile wilted. My grandparents didn’t normally come to Batavia for Thanksgiving. I knew why they were here. It was because of me. I was worried about what this meant.

Grandma Patty came at me. She hugged me with the strength of a bear as she kissed my cheeks over and over. Then they were all doing it, hugging and kissing me. Escape was impossible. Then again, I wasn’t sure escape was what I really wanted. I had missed them. All of them.

As we all took a seat in the family room, Dad switched on the television set. I concentrated on the first of two NFL games already underway. The Dallas Cowboys were playing the Miami Dolphins, and the Dolphins were circling the Cowboys with a 21–7 lead, two minutes before the end of the first half.

Papa Ray tapped my shoulder. I politely watched my grandfather’s lips move. Then I looked at my Dad who translated. How’s school?

“Good, Papa.”

That was the start to a flood of questions that came from my grandparents. How were classes? What were the other kids like? Did I have a lot of friends? How was the dorm room?

I could feel embarrassment first as my cheeks grew hotter. My ears felt the heat next. I kept looking from grandparent to grandparent then to my father for an interpretation, nodding, and answering questions. Though sincere questions, I felt odd, out of place, like this was some weird interview.

Normally, when home for the weekends, I spent time with Mom, Dad, Marie, and Patrick. They signed. I felt comfortable around them. Never would I have expected to feel so strange and alone just because I was in a room full of hearing people.

I had to get out of there. When I got to my room, I realized my mother must have followed me.

What’s wrong? she signed.

Finally ready to hear an honest answer, I found the courage to ask her something that had been bothering me for a long time. “How do I sound when I talk?” I shook my head. “I mean, am I pronouncing words right? Am I yelling? Whispering? I have no idea. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

I’d heard deaf people talk as they sign. The words were more like moans, and difficult to understand.

You sound like you, she signed, and pointed a finger into the center of my chest. Sometimes loud, but never yelling.

“Would you tell me if I sounded hard to understand?” I said.

She nodded. Of course.

We sat there, side by side on my bed.

Are you coming down for dinner?

I nodded and stood up. “I’m starving. Everything smells great.” I tried to smile.

Mom took my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. Part of me wanted to pull away. Most of me just let her hug me.

Dinner tasted fantastic. We started the meal with a big pan of Mom’s lasagna. Lots of ricotta cheese and sausage. When Dad finished carving the turkey I enjoyed a drumstick along with a plateful of stuffing, cranberries, mashed and sweet potatoes. What I liked best was that everyone stayed busy eating. A question here, a question there, I didn’t mind that. Maybe they got all of their questions out of the way before dinner—at least, I hoped that was the case.

That was, until Dad and Papa Ray got into a discussion I knew involved me. Papa Ray kept looking and pointing at me. Dad kept his hands near his face, as if he worried I might be able to lip-read.

What’s going on? I signed to Marie.

Papa wants to ask you about baseball, she replied.

I watched for several more seconds, the details of the conversation lost on me. I could only imagine Dad trying to get Papa to drop the subject. I knew everyone else at the table knew what was going on, heard every word being said. And all of them acted like nothing was happening, just because they knew I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was crazy and wildly insulting.

I got abruptly to my feet. “What are you all talking about?” I knew I was talking loudly.

Baseball, Dad signed.

“What about it?”

Papa Ray wants to know if you plan to play next season, Dad said.

I couldn’t look my grandfather in the eyes. Instead, I looked at the floor and signed, I’m deaf, Papa. Deaf people don’t play baseball. I left the room. Let someone else translate for me, I thought. Let them see what it was like not to know what someone was saying. I was certain everyone would continue discussing me as they had before—only this time I really wouldn’t be in the room.

Just as I turned to close my bedroom door, I saw Marie on my heels. What?

Can’t I come in? she asked.

I want to be alone.

Marie frowned and turned around. I reached out and touched my sister. When she turned back to look at me with hopeful eyes, I invited her into the room and shut the door.

They talking about me? I asked.

Who knows? I left, too.

For what felt like several minutes we sat on the bed, neither one of us signing a word. Mom and Dad are so sad, she signed.

Because of me?

They miss having you home, Marie signed. Do you want to come home?

I missed being home when I was at school. I nodded.

So come home, she signed, as if easily solving the problem.

And go to the school here? I don’t think so. I like my school.

But what about Mom and Dad? she signed.

You’re really worried about them?

You just see them on weekends. When they drop you back off at school, they are a mess. We go to a deaf support group during the week. It is for people with someone deaf in the family.

You do? No one had told me about this. Do you like it?

Batavia is not a big town. I’d never imagined there could be more than just me who was deaf around here.

I like it. And I think it helps Mom and Dad a lot. They know they are not the only parents out there with a deaf child.

I couldn’t picture what it would be like at a support meeting. Did all these families just sit around talking about their kids, how they used to be, compared with how they were now? I wondered what they said about me. Did Mom or Dad ever ask you to ask me to come back home?

No, Marie signed, shaking her head. They’d kill me if they knew I was telling you this.

Do you want me to come back home?

Marie let a tear roll down her cheek before brushing it away and answering. I miss you.

Sometimes I don’t feel like I fit in here anymore.

Marie looked shocked, eyes open wide, her mouth shaped like an “O.” Then her expression softened, her eyes becoming thoughtful slits, her lips melting into each other. Is it that terrible?

It’s hard. I missed home more than I was letting on, but I also missed school. I didn’t want to be away from home—but I did like RSD. I found myself after one day already missing Samantha, Brian, and even Kyle.

Does it make you sad? She asked.

Sometimes I felt sad, but not as much lately. I’m doing all right, I answered. And I meant it.