Signs (5 page)

Luc: Do you like me?

Caleb: Yeah.

Luc: Like… as another boy, not just as a friend.

Caleb: Yeah.

Luc: Good. I like you too.

4. HANDSPEAK

L
UC
DIDN
’
T
think too hard about why he looked up those websites and started to learn, in his own time, how to move his hands into different shapes that could tell a story to someone who could interpret them. He got an app on his phone too, one he could look at during the day if he wanted to know what the sign for “home” was. Or the sign for “chocolate.” Or the one for “tired.”

He learned the alphabet quickly, memorizing those signs, then how to string them together to make his own name. He practiced under the table at school where no one could see. He learned greetings and basic vocabulary, and was pleasantly surprised at how
logical
many of the signs were, even if syntax, grammar, and sentence structure were still eluding him. That would come with time, though.

In the evenings Luc talked to Caleb online, or one of a number of other friends he knew from his blogging. He got his homework done. He mostly got to bed before midnight. He lived, day-to-day, for the evenings, as he always had.

Learning American Sign Language became Luc’s secret project. He didn’t want his friends at school to know he was doing this all for a guy he’d met online. A guy who was beautiful and artistic and clever and kind… and deaf. For some reason having a secret project for a secret friend was the right thing to do. When Caleb became real to him, in the real world, maybe the ASL would come out of the closet too.

On the weekend Luc slept in late, then lounged around the house for most of the day, ignoring text messages when they came through from his friends. Life seemed to be getting more and more hectic as he approached the end of his high school career, and there was something to be said for doing nothing for a few hours.

By early evening he was bored.

Sprawled on the couch in Ilse’s homey living room, Luc pulled his laptop over from the coffee table and fired it up.

Caleb wasn’t online, and that sucked because Luc had been sort of fantasizing about spending a few hours showing off via Skype and maybe getting Caleb to help him improve his sign language skills.

Instead he pulled up YouTube and started to practice again.

C
ALEB
HAD
long since stopped arguing with his mother about attending the Deaf Youth group in Boston. He hated it, and Carrie-Anne knew it, but she forced it on him as one of those things that was “good for him” and part of his “growing experience.” Caleb’s mother was all about him expanding his horizons, learning new things, not letting his disability hold him back.

Apparently, meeting with a group of other people who were deaf and hard of hearing was supposed to help with that.

The Deaf Youth group met at a community center twice a month. Caleb tried to get out of as many of the meetings as he could, claiming homework or tiredness as an excuse not to go. He’d been blessed with a mother who was almost dangerously persistent, and despite her busy work schedule, she would drive him there herself if need be.

The group took trips from time to time, hooking up with a network of other deaf support groups up and down the east coast and sometimes even farther afield. Caleb had gone on field trips to Chicago and Seattle and once to Disney World in Florida.

For the Saturday night meetings, things were usually a little more formal. Caleb dressed in nice jeans and a button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. They would have dinner, usually ordered in from a local restaurant, and sit around a big square table where everyone could see everyone else. It was supposed to encourage conversation.

There were a few other kids at the group Caleb sort of thought of as friends. It was difficult—no, almost impossible—for him to make friends at school, and these kids were nice enough. It would have been better if he could make friends based on common interests, though, rather than because they shared an inner ear problem. That alone was not a foundation for a meaningful friendship.

Out of everyone, Caleb got on best with Marshall. Marshall was probably in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and married with a child on the way. Caleb knew he was at the group to interact with kids his own age, and he admitted that it was probably a little streak of rebellion that had him gravitating to someone older.

Marshall had been born deaf and seemed to be the only person who made an effort to communicate with Caleb, despite him being difficult. He looked past Caleb’s lack of expression and his painful, often stilted sign language. When other members of the group got frustrated and made their excuses, Marshall had taken the time to learn some of Caleb’s home sign—the shorthand he used with his family—and sat patiently and waited for Caleb to find a way of expressing himself. One of the founding members of the Deaf Youth group, Marshall had stayed with the small community even when he grew out of the target age range for members. He was a tall man with caramel skin and wire-framed glasses. Caleb had gravitated toward his aura of calm and was fairly settled in the other man’s presence.

While the other kids in the group played pool, watched a subtitled movie, or played card games, Caleb and Marshall sat opposite each other in warm, squashy arm chairs and held a quiet, private conversation.

“
I met someone
,” Caleb said, trying not to blush.

“
Yeah? That’s awesome
.”

“
His name is Luc. He’s from New York
.”

Marshall looked surprised for only a moment; then he smiled. “
New York is fairly close. Are you going to meet him
?”

“
I hope so. I haven’t told my parents yet
.”

“
About Luc
?”

“
About liking a boy
.”

Out of everyone, Caleb thought he could confide in Marshall about this burgeoning relationship. Despite Marshall being married—to a woman—he was cool. He liked Neil Patrick Harris in the opening number at the Tonys. Then again, who didn’t.

“
Do you think they’ll mind
?” Marshall asked, and wasn’t that just the million-dollar question.

“
No
,” Caleb signed. “
I don’t know. I don’t think so. I feel guilty
.”

“
You can’t help who you’re attracted to
.”

“
I know. But I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I’m the only one, and I’m not normal
.”

Normal. The whole idea of giving his parents a “normal” son was almost a joke by this point. He was a socially stunted, emotionally repressed deaf kid. Adding “gay” to the mix wasn’t going to change their world. They’d probably just be pleased that he was interested in anyone at all.

Talking to Marshall lightened some of the load, though.

By the end of the evening Caleb was itching for his mother to come get him. Having to wait for a ride always made him feel like a little kid, but there was only one car in the family, and if his mom needed it for work, he had to wait.

The evening was cool, and Caleb had only shrugged on a light jacket before leaving the house. He wrapped his arms around himself to preserve body heat and tried not to stare too closely at each car that drove past.

His mom was late. Not super late, just enough to keep Caleb standing out in the cold for longer than he would have liked. She was full of apologies when she pulled up and hastily signed with one hand that she was taking them via KFC to pick up some dinner for herself and his dad.

While she was driving, Caleb sat back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes, content to nap a little on the way home.

Sometimes Caleb really wished he could speak aloud. Not that he could hear, exactly, he didn’t wish for that. But sometimes when he watched movies people had conversations with their backs to each other. Or facing in opposite directions. All of Caleb’s conversations were held looking right at the person he was talking to. There was no hiding.

A part of him wanted to keep his eyes closed and try saying the words: Mom, I’m gay. Mom, there’s this boy, and I really like him.

Caleb felt the car slow down, and he cracked an eye open in time to see the bright drive-through. He shut the eye again and kept his lips closed. It wasn’t like anything worthwhile could come out of them, anyway.

By the time they got home, Caleb excused himself to go straight to bed. He was exhausted. He thought the exhaustion probably came from keeping the secret of Luc as much as it was about being tired from his day.

Even though his eyes felt gritty and heavy, Caleb turned his computer on, just in case.

Of course Luc was awake. He was practically nocturnal. Caleb felt his mouth twitching up into a smile. He opened a chat window, not feeling up to setting up the video feed tonight.

Hey
, Luc typed.
You okay? How was your evening?

Fine, thanks. I’m so fucking tired tho.

Oh, sweetheart. Have you thought any more about coming to visit?

The offer for Caleb to go visit New York was dropped so casually into a conversation (
Hey, you should come visit sometime!
) that Caleb didn’t realize it was serious. It was only when Luc said it again, then once more, that he decided he should come up with an appropriate answer.

Yeah
, he typed. Cracked his knuckles.
I’d love to.

Awesome.

Caleb logged off not long after that, sending his apologies to Luc and insisting he really was just tired, they’d talk more soon. Luc understood. He always did.

The trip—or the possibility of taking the trip—was like a cloud that followed Caleb around for days. Sometimes it was a fluffy, happy cloud, spreading rays of sunshine that lit up his life. Other times it dripped cold rain down the back of his neck.

He knew asking his parents outright was out of the question. They’d undoubtedly say no even though he was eighteen, and they were always telling him he should be more independent, leave the house more, go out and see friends. They never wanted him to go far, though. There were boundaries. And Caleb was pretty sure New York was outside of those boundaries.

5. NYC

I
T
WASN
’
T
a lie exactly, right?

He
was
going to New York, and it
was
to meet friends.

At dinner he’d sort of danced around the subject with his parents, making things up on the spot, explaining how it wasn’t exactly organized by the Deaf Youth group per se, rather that a group of them had got together and decided it would be fun.

For good measure, he added the part about applying to NYU and wanting to see more of the city before his offers—if there were any offers—came in.

As Caleb had expected, his dad was all for it. His mom took some convincing, and it was only with a lot of eye rolling and heavy sighs that he managed to persuade her that she absolutely did not need to speak to anyone else who was going, or their parents.

“
Mom. Seriously. I’m not twelve and going to camp for the first time. Let me do this, please? I’ll be moving away for college come fall
.”

Her face blanched at that, and she’d acquiesced.

Caleb researched trains for days, checking the times over and over before finally putting his card details in and booking the tickets. Bus there, train back, because of the way prices worked on the weekend. He also knew, from memory, what time every bus back to Boston was for the whole weekend, just in case something went terribly wrong. There was enough money in his account to cover the journey too.

Caleb’s parents encouraged him to be independent and gave him a small allowance every week for doing things around the house—his own laundry, making dinner once in a while, cleaning up after himself. He didn’t spend much of it normally, just on gas for the car if he used it, so the money tended to build up. That meant when something big came up, like New York, he didn’t have to worry about cash flow.

When he finally told Luc, he almost bubbled over with excitement. They’d taken to chatting with the webcam on most evenings—it was nicer to communicate in a way that allowed him to see Luc’s expressions.

The whole charade to get around his parents’ desire to be involved in
everything
to do with the trip had been headache inducing, but Caleb had finally convinced them that he’d be getting a ride to the bus station with one of the other kids on Friday after school, and he only needed to be picked up on Sunday night.

On Friday morning both his parents were working and there was no one to see him off, so Caleb left a note on the kitchen table. He had worked on that for hours too, hoping for the perfect combination of nonchalant and excited.

After school Caleb asked Mr. Andrews to call a cab for him. Mr. Andrews didn’t ask questions, and when Caleb got into the cab he handed the driver a note explaining that he was deaf and could he please go to the bus station.

For the entire cab ride Caleb thought he might throw up. But he didn’t.

Caleb’s small backpack had been packed and unpacked at least five times during the week as he considered each outfit option, discarded it, then started again. Even though Luc had seen him on the webcam, he was still nervous about looking stupid—or feeling like he looked stupid, which was possibly worse.

In the end he settled on a loose, long-sleeved navy and white striped T-shirt to travel in, with dark blue jeans, a crisp white shirt for Saturday, and a long-sleeved black Henley for Sunday, one with little buttons down the front. The jeans he could wear all weekend. They were clean.

The last job before leaving was to pack his toothbrush into the small toiletry bag he’d borrowed from his dad, tucking it into the backpack and zipping it up. No one needed to know that there was a condom tucked into the toiletry bag among the travel-sized bottles of shampoo and antiperspirant. Caleb had taken one when they were handed out at school and… no one needed to know. But it was there, just in case.