Song of Summer (23 page)

After I'm ready, I run down the stairs, tripping over my sandals on the last step. I look up to see him grinning at me from the kitchen table.

“I saw that,” he signs, and I stick my tongue out at him.

Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, too, finishing up breakfast. I took longer than usual to get ready, so Mom's already cleaning everything up.

“You can have cereal,” she says over her shoulder as she loads dishes into the dishwasher. I grab a box and sit across from Carter, who's finishing a cup of coffee. I never knew he drank coffee.

“You look cute,” he signs.

“You, too,” I sign back, smiling. And he does. Classy, as always, in jeans and a white button- down. The sleeves are rolled up and he's wearing a tie in a very loose knot around his neck. He looks like he just came back from a dance. Or a runway.

We pile into my parents' sedan and I hold his hand as we drive. Bender is seat belted between us, like a person.

Carter and I look out our windows on the drive and his foot jiggles, bouncing the seat. I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. He swallows.

“You okay?” I sign.

A smile flits across his face. “Yes,” he signs with his left hand, since his right is holding mine.

We arrive at church and mill around on the lawn with everybody else.

“Robin!” I hear, and I turn to see Jenni.

“Thank you for coming!” I say as I hug her.

“Wouldn't miss it,” she says. She turns to Carter. “Hi!” she signs.

He nods hello.

“How's Trina?” she signs.

“She's good, thanks,” he answers.

Since Jenni got the job at the ice-cream parlor, she and Trina have become best buds.

“Good,” she signs.

We find our seats near the front on an aisle while Pastor Mark plays background music on the piano, giving everybody a chance to settle in and giving the band a chance to get to the front. I'm not in the worship band today—just the special music—so I stay in the seat I've chosen.

I pull Bender out of her case and hold my head close, tuning. Of course I tuned before I left the house, but changes in humidity or even driving over the bumpy roads can put any wooden instrument out of tune.

My other ear hears the worship band play its opening chords, and I jump to my feet before even setting Bender down. I look over at Carter and he stands unhurriedly, smiling at me.

“You okay?” he signs, teasing me with his eyes.

“Nervous,” I sign back, laughing at my jumpiness. The signing makes me lose my spot in the song and I stutter my way back into it. Carter smiles and looks at the big screens where the words are projected. He watches the people around us.

After the song, we sit down and the head pastor comes up to the front and introduces himself. He welcomes guests and asks everyone to shake the hand of someone close to them. I half write–half sign this to Carter. By the time I'm done, I'm flustered and he's grinning at me and everybody else is standing up, shaking each other's hands. I stand and turn around, ready to shake the hand of the person behind me, when I hear Pastor Mark begin the opening chords of the next song and everybody faces front, ready to sing again. It's exhausting.

Again, Carter stands with me and watches pleasantly as the people around him sing. His interest is waning, though. The lyrics to this particular song are just repeated over and over. I've always liked the repetition—it gives me a chance to experiment with harmonies or think of the words in a new or different way—but it's probably pretty boring if you can't join in the singing.

The song ends and the head pastor comes back up to pray. I squeeze Carter's hand. “Time for me to go,” I sign, and he squeezes my hand back. I grab my guitar and tiptoe to the stage, and as I pick up Bender, a little electricity runs up my arm, connecting us. I caress the neck and kiss the bridge. Bender may not be the Dread Pirate Martin of my dreams, but we've been through a lot. “Let's do this one more time, old girl,” I whisper.

I pull my stool around to the front as the choir shuffles onto the risers, and I take a deep breath to steady myself and my shaking hands. Jenni looks up from the prayer and gives me a thumbs-up. Carter has never stopped watching me. He signs something but I don't know what it is. “I… you.” Not I love you or I like you. I admire you? I… ?

“Amen,” says the pastor, which shocks me back to my senses. The ushers are already starting to pass the offering basket.

When I look to Pastor Mark, he's already trying to catch my eye, smiling encouragement from his position behind the folk harp. I give him a shaky smile and turn to face the audience. I swallow and tell myself to start. Now I know what a bride must feel like as she's walking down the aisle, exposing the deepest love of her soul to a well-meaning but staring audience.

The new patterns firmly engrained in my muscle memory, my fingers start to pick out the familiar minor chords and my voice cracks a little as I sing, “What wondrous love is this, o my soul, o my soul…” The first verse is just me and my guitar. We fit hand in glove, Bender supporting my floating soprano. We dance—her leading at times, then me taking over. We know each other's moves so well, I'm almost surprised when the rest of the band joins us for the second verse.

Now it's a group dance. A contra, all of us moving in intricate patterns, fitting like a puzzle. Each note drops down a sliding stair step into the start of the story. “When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down…” The choir joins in on an
ooo
as my backup for the second half of the verse. I look out into the audience. Some people are closing their eyes. Tears drip down a woman's face. She wipes them away with a handkerchief. I glance up. Carter has switched from watching me to watching the people around him.

“To God and to the Lamb, I will sing, I will sing…” and my fingerpicking turns to strumming, the song growing stronger and stronger, the dance winding and stomping. Insistent. Almost tribal. The choir joins in dense harmony at the line, “While millions join the theme,” and one by one, the audience gets to its feet, singing along with the words projected on the screen. A chorus of love.

I can't bring myself to look at Carter any more. I'm afraid my face will give me away—that I want him to hear more than anything. I want him to sing more than anything. I want him to join with me, adding his beautiful, musical laugh to the chorus.

A key change brings the stragglers to their feet and the fourth verse starts. It switches to a major key with the sopranos soaring above everybody and the bass thrumming out a beat that reverberates in my chest. Hands raise and all voices ring out loud and strong for the last verse: “And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on, I'll sing on…”

I'm engulfed in the sound. My fingers tingle, no longer simply hitting notes, but speaking the language of my heart. I give myself over and my throat sings raw, eyes closed, not to keep people out but to concentrate on the moment. Like they close while tasting delicious food or upon sinking into a hot tub or in the heat of a kiss.

The verse ends and I open my eyes. Light floods the stained glass window in the back. The congregation stops singing. The dance slows. The choir and band cut out, leaving just me and Bender to our intimate, reflective dance. I repeat the last stanza, finger picking the chords, turning it minor again. “Throughout eternity, I'll sing on.”

The last note echoes for a minute in the silent building. I close my eyes once more to hang on to the moment, not ready to let it go. Then the congregation, already on their feet, explodes into applause. They lift their hands and close their eyes. I shoot a questioning look at Pastor Mark. He smiles broadly at me and raises his eyebrows, indicating that I should take a bow. I look at the mass of faces and duck my head, blushing and smiling. They clap louder. Maybe if I bow they'll stop.

I stand up, Bender in hand, and take a small bow, feeling like a fraud. I didn't really do anything, after all. They shouldn't be clapping for me, they should be clapping for the music. All of a sudden, I remember why I ever played this in the first place. I look up, seeking the one face I want to see more than anything in the world.

But Carter is gone.

Carter

I tear off my tie and throw it on the ground.

If I had my bike right now, I'd drive off and never look back.

I wish I'd never left my house that day in July.

I pace and my thoughts are so loud I can almost hear them. They rattle in my head and bang against my skull and through my fingertips. I want to punch something.

I should have seen this coming. I should have known better. It's not possible. Not for me. Other people can bend and conform and mold until they become someone new. Not me.

And all those people who could hear? They were brought to their feet. Businessmen and farmers and teachers and children and people who were so old they could barely stand. They didn't want to stand at first. At first they were content to sit and listen. And it wasn't like a concert—not like the concerts I used to see. Those were a mass hysteria of people each trying to outdo each other. Fanboys and fangirls who wanted attention and euphoria. No, these church people were moved. Literally. They were acted on by an unbalanced force. All I felt was a tremor in my feet. The tremor didn't even come from Robin.

I watched her so hard. I didn't see someone who made others' soul senses tingle. She looked like a beautiful but scared girl playing an instrument and singing. She glanced at the audience twice, I think. She wasn't looking at them for their approval. She wasn't looking to connect with them. This was no show, so they did not stand for Robin. I don't even know if they stood for the music. They stood for the way the music made them feel. For the soul sense that was activated. Because the music illuminated something that the words alone could not.

It's hot. And bright. I pace in the dead August grass of the church lawn. The sun beats down on me. I take a deep breath. Letting the air out slowly keeps frustrated tears at bay. I put my hands on my head, running them through my hair and feeling the scar on my skull behind my right ear. It makes me want to scream. But even my scream shows everyone that I'm different. That I don't belong here. I belong back in New York at my school with my friends and my family and my bike.

But I'm trapped. No way home except in an old sedan where music is securely buckled between me and my girl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Robin bolt out the heavy front door, skirt swinging around her knees. Her eyes find me. No. Not now. I can't do this now. I turn away.

She taps my arm and I shake my head, refusing to face her. She takes ahold of my arm and steps in front of me. I catch a glimpse of her “I'm sorry” before I turn away again.

Her grip tightens and she steps in front of me again. “Carter!” she signs. “I'm sorry! Okay?”

I shake my head and turn away again. I don't want to sign with her. I don't want to see signs on her hands. I don't want to share any more of myself with her.

Her hand relaxes its grip on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it drop and dangle by her side. She runs her fingers through her hair and shakes her head, walking over to a large rock in the landscape and sitting heavily, her blue skirt crumpled. Her head is in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

She's crying, hair covering her face in a cascade.

I swallow and sigh. My feet take me to her, almost against my will. I kneel down and put my hand on her knee. She looks up at me, her blue eyes red and wet. Shaking her head, she looks away.

I place my hand on her wet chin and gently guide her face back to mine. “I'm… sorry,” I sign, but I don't know if I am. “I'm sorry I was so mad.” There. That's better.

She shrugs and sniffles, taking a shuddering breath.

“No, I'm sorry,” she signs. Her lower lip is curled under and it wavers with each gasp for air. “I thought… ,” she pauses. “I thought I could make you want to hear.” She bites back tears, presses her lips together, and looks away again.

I withdraw my hand. We sit like that for a while, her on the stone, me on the ground. I'd known it all along, really. From the moment she asked me to come. From the moment I met her, I knew that she would want me to hear. I shouldn't be upset that it happened, I should be happy that she accepted me for this long, right?

I touch her face again and she turns toward me. “I know,” I sign.

“I'm sorry,” she signs again, eyes pleading with me.

“I know.”

Slowly, she draws a pad of paper and a pen out of her skirt pocket. She flips past a summer's worth of conversations and I wish it could transport us back in time, before all this happened.

“I just want us to sing,” she writes. “With millions. For eternity. Like it says in the song, you know? I want us both to sing.”

She holds the pen out, her eyes begging me to answer. Finally, I take the pen and write back. “What if my version of heaven doesn't include singing?”

“But it can!” she scrawls, writing so fast I can barely read it. “If Heaven is a place where everything is perfect, then you can hear and we can sing!”

And there it is. Plainly stated. There are no deaf people in her perfect world.

A tear wells up and rolls down my cheek before I can stop it. I look away and wipe it off. Thankfully nobody's outside on this sleepy Sunday morning. I get my breathing under control. My throat is tight but there are no vibrations. Good.

“I see,” I sign, looking someplace above her head, avoiding her eyes. “I'm sorry. For everything.” My hands stutter. “Done,” I sign. “We're… done.” I don't walk away, though. I just stay crouched in front of her, the cold from the ground seeping up through my jeans.

She shakes her head and bites her lip, the tears rolling down her cheeks again. Her shoulders shiver.