Signs of Attraction

by Laura Brown

  After dinner he made sure I took my OxyContin and curled up with me in bed. Unlike the previous night, I settled right down in his embrace. Reed had become my personal teddy bear and security blanket. I knew it wasn’t a good place to be, but I allowed myself this small window of dependency.

  Chapter Thirty

  Reed

  THANKS TO A bastard of an internal alarm clock, I woke before my phone vibrated. The glimpse of the outside world between Carli’s blinds hinted at the winter wonderland the forecast had predicted. Snow meant bad roads and snow days. I’d complain come June, but right about now, I banked on the snow day. Only my phone held no notification of my school closing or delayed. Damn. Fueled by responsibility, battling reluctance, I slipped out of bed and away from Carli. I checked the news with one last hope that perhaps I missed an e-mail. Many schools were closed in the area, including hers.

  Mine was open.

  The streets outside her window had me blinking to adjust to the overabundance of white. Thick snow covered the sidewalk, dwarfed cars. The roads had been plowed and still took on a thin white coat. School was open?

  I could play dumbfounded later. Right now I had to get my ass moving to arrive at work on time. I grabbed my clothes and was buttoning my shirt when Carli lifted her head and blinked at the outside scene. “Snow?”

  I nodded. “Yes. My school’s open. Yours is closed.”

  She sat up as I grabbed my shoes. “You knew, snow?”

  “I tend to check the weather report. I hoped closed today.” I pulled on my second shoe.

  “But, snow, car?”

  I was never getting out of here. I grabbed the notebook by her bed.

  I knew it was supposed to snow. I took the T in last night, hoping there would be no school today. No such luck.

  Carli picked up her phone as I continued gathering my belongings. Before I could finish she stopped me. “Need a ride?”

  A ride would be a lifesaver. And a wonderful idea popped to mind. I gave her a kiss. “Why don’t you join me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why not?” As a teaching student with a hearing loss, this was a great opportunity for her.

  Her eyes traveled around some distant realm before she nodded.

  With her help, and her car, I headed home first and grabbed clean clothes before driving us both to my school. For all the white covering the land, the roads were surprisingly easy to manage. I fishtailed only once, on my street—a.k.a., the last place sanded in any storm, ever.

  I parked my car to the side of the tiny white school I worked at. Carli didn’t move. Seat belt still pressed against her bulky jacket, her jaw all but hung open as she gaped at the building. “Small,” she signed.

  I worked at a Deaf school, with only students who had a hearing loss. What did she expect? I raised one eyebrow. “How many Deaf kids do you think I have?”

  That stopped her gaping mouth. I headed through halls filled with student artwork, into the main office to sign Carli in and get a visitor’s pass. Paulina, the secretary, was already busy, and judging by her expression, handling multitudes of calls in different languages. She raised a single eyebrow at me while I had Carli sign in.

  “My friend. She’s visiting me today.”

  Paulina’s second eyebrow joined the raised stance. I grinned. She relaxed and shook her head.

  “You have one kid out so far—Kenny.”

  He lived the farthest away, so I wasn’t surprised.

  I brought Carli down the hall and into my classroom. I hit the lights and settled in at my desk. Only Carli stood by the door, taking in my room. “What?” I asked.

  “Six?” She pointed to the semicircle of student desks.

  She never had a peer with a hearing loss prior to me, and she was surprised? “Yes. Six students.”

  “My classes range from twenty-one to twenty-five.”

  “How many of those students have a hearing loss?”

  Comprehension settled in. “One.”

  Carli continued to take in my room. I looked around, trying to imagine how it looked from her perspective. High up on the walls I had the alphabet in English and ASL. Student artwork crowded the small wall space, along with some posters by ASL artists. The room was colorful, visual, tapping into my students’ needs.

  I moved to my desk as she checked out my students’ work. At one point, she caught my attention. “You like your job?”

  I smiled. “Yes.” I was about to say more, when the black hands of the clock ticked into view. “I have to go pick up my students. Wait here. Feel free to use my desk or anything else.”

  I headed to the front of the building and collected my students as buses and parents dropped them off. Once all five arrived, I made my way through the hall. I walked backward, signing with them about the snow as they tried to convince me we needed to make a snowman instead of have class.

  I flicked the lights as I backed in, notifying Carli of our arrival. My students took off their coats and brought their bags over to their desks. They all noticed Carli and looked back and forth between the two of us.

  I stood by the whiteboard and waited for all five to give me their attention. “My friend. Her name C-A-R-L-I.”

  Amanda raised her hand, her red hair pulled back in sloppy braids. She waited until I caught her eyes before signing. “What’s her sign name?”

  I leaned against the board and rubbed my chin. Two or more Deaf people were usually needed for sign name creations. A situation I currently had with my students. “She doesn’t have a sign name yet. She only started learning ASL five months ago.”

  Brad raised his hand. “Deaf or hearing?”

  I shot Carli a look before answering, happy to have a little play on words to show her and the students. I signed deaf and hard of hearing simultaneously, matching up the beats of the signs. Both were two-beat words, and one-handed, allowing me to blend them together perfectly. An ideal way of representing Carli, one smooth movement to identify both her ears.

  It had the added benefit of winning over my students. They all turned to her, accepting her as a peer, as someone they could look up to.

  Jack waved. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Nosy students. Men and women can be friends without dating.” Now I just had to not act like a man in love, and no one would call my little lecture bull.

  Amanda raised her hand. “Then she really needs a sign name.”

  Oh well. I eyed Carli. “You’re right. Want to help me?”

  The excitement level of the room bumped up a few notches. Sign names commonly used the first letter of the first name positioned over different parts of the upper body. Sometimes the first letter of the last name became incorporated. Most of the students began throwing out ideas with C in the movement. Since they didn’t know her last name no one opted to use it. As they were convinced we were an item, they almost matched her sign name to mine, an R to the side of the forehead, but that didn’t feel right.

  Amanda came up with the winner, the C to the heart. A sign name I felt matched the person. And I’d finally be able to stop using a generic one for her.

  I got my students back on track and resumed the scheduled lesson plan. When I glanced at Carli, I found her watching me, just as interested as my students were. I wondered how much she followed. I signed differently in class than with her. My students were native users, or if they weren’t, needed to see native language. I signed full ASL grammar with them, when I sometimes switched into more English grammar with Carli or my friends. I definitely wasn’t slowing down. It was a side of me I hadn’t shown her.

  Well, one of many.

  After all my students were picked up, I made my way back to my classroom and Carli. I didn’t bother flashing the light. She sat at my desk, head bowed over her work, long brown strands covering the sides of her face. The world behind her was white and sunny, casting an angelic glow.

  I walked over and grasped the edge of my desk. She jumped, and I couldn’t help laughi
ng.

  “You scared me,” she signed.

  “Sorry.” Though I really wasn’t.

  “You’re an amazing teacher.”

  My smile grew wider. I grabbed a clean piece of paper and fished a pen out of my cup holder.

  I enjoy giving them a good day. Not all of them have ASL at home. Some of them have parents like yours, not understanding their hearing loss. I was lucky that my mom signs and that she helped me get a good education. I want to give a little of that to my students if I can.

  Once again, I mentioned only Mom. Dad was the one who taught me English, who taught me . . . everything. And yet I hid him like I hid the dirty secret of his death.

  She pointed to my words. “See? Amazing.”

  She continued to look like she fit in my world. And with her ears, her experiences, and her desire to teach . . . I tapped the paper and began writing.

  You could do this, you know. Teach Deaf students.

  Her eyes shuttered, and she shook her head.

  I don’t know enough ASL.

  I turned the paper so I could write.

  You can learn. Maybe get your masters in Deaf Ed.

  Her eyes cleared into an emotionless void.

  Learning anything new is questionable at this point.

  I shook my head. How could she not see?

  You keep picking up more signs, and that’s since the attack.

  Her hands shook as she raked them through her hair.

  I need to see if I can graduate first.

  I squatted in front of her.

  You can. You will. I believe in you. The Carli I met is still there. She’s a little slower, a little more cautious, but she’s still there.

  I felt her, I saw her. Couldn’t she see herself? Her father hadn’t taken the woman I knew, the woman I loved.

  But her eyes were not the same as they had been. She ran a hand across my cheek before signing, “Thank you.”

  We made it back to campus so Carli could attend her ASL class. A little over a week since her attack and she was getting back to normal. How could she not see how much she was recovering?

  I hit the library and got some studying in while Carli was in class. I caught up with her after, and we joined the Tuesday night dinner.

  “Looking good, sweetie,” Willow said when we arrived, before pulling Carli into a hug.

  “Reed dragged you into his classroom, huh?” Val teased.

  “Good experience for her.” I leaned on the table, all but begging Val to bring it.

  Willow waved, interrupting the stare Val and I had started. She turned to Carli. “How’s classes with the left ear?”

  Carli’s hair fluttered by her face. She pulled it back into some complicated twisted thing at the nape of her neck. “A struggle. My brain’s not . . . right . . . ”

  Willow frowned. “What are you going to do? I mean, in my own class I turned off one hearing aid today and only lasted ten minutes. Then again, my kids speak fast, and half of them have accents.”

  Carli shrugged. “I don’t know . . . not yet.”

  Val’s eyes bored into me, a silent question brewing in them. In her defense, she’d seen me do this before. The whole reason Willow was in the Deaf Ed program? Me. I’d had a hunch it would be a good match, and I was right.

  I wasn’t wrong with Carli.

  “No,” Val signed.

  I tried, and failed, at hiding the smirk. “Too late.”

  “Leave the poor girl alone.”

  Amazing she could sign such a phrase with a straight mouth. I draped an arm over Carli’s shoulder. “Never.”

  At the end of the meal, I caught Carli rubbing her temples. Her eyebrows pulled tight across her forehead. Dammit. I pressed my lips to her head, doing what little I could to make her feel better.

  I made sure to walk her home. Once she was safe, I kissed her good-bye, even though I wanted to stay. After she was inside, I jogged back to the restaurant, where Val waited to drive us home.

  “You can’t convert everyone, you know,” she said in greeting.

  “Nothing wrong with planting an idea.” I tried to keep walking, but Val grabbed my arm.

  “She was just beat up. She’s struggling. She doesn’t need your pressure.”

  “She looked happy in my classroom. Plus, with her deaf ear, this might be a better match.”

  Val shoved her hands into her hair and started walking. Then she stopped abruptly and turned. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  I took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

  She took a moment to gather herself. “Your heart is on the table. I see it clear in everything you do. But hers is not. She’s holding back. Until she recovers, there is no moving forward.”

  I looked up at the inky-dark sky. “I love her. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Val nodded. “What happens if she doesn’t love you back?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Carli

  I WOKE UP to what could only be described as shards of glass rocketing around my skull. The shards rocked back and forth, scraping and dragging along the way. If I moved, the scraping would shoot up to turbo. Odds were a few synapses would break in the process. I’d lost enough cranial functions. I couldn’t risk losing any more. My eyes refused to open. My body refused to uncurl from the fetal position. Hands on my head, I tried to keep it from falling off.

  Through my tears, I reached to my nightstand, knocked over a notebook and a box of tissues, fumbled past my cell, before connecting with my OxyContin bottle. I managed to get the top off and a pill in my hand, then swallowed the pill.

  Shit. Wrong move. Mistake.

  Now I couldn’t drive. I knew there were a few other student teachers at my school, but I wasn’t friends with them and had no idea if they were even on campus. Besides, I still couldn’t move out of bed.

  Way to go, Carli.

  Tears raced down my cheeks, and I did nothing to stop them. I stayed in bed, curled into a pathetic lump, willing my head to fall off already.

  The intense pain had me shivering. How could pain be cold? I rocked back and forth, a pathetic excuse for a human being. A hand shook my shoulder. I forced one eye open and found D, mouth flapping. With my right ear pressed into the pillow, I couldn’t register a single sound.

  “Can’t hear, can’t move head,” I said.

  D looked around, hands in her sleep-tousled hair, and grabbed the notebook by my bed.

  What can I do?

  “Nothing. I already took OxyContin. Now can’t go to work.”

  Need me to contact your school?

  Yup, I did. Badly. I was able to direct D, and she handled notifying the school I was sick. By then the medication had started working, just enough so I could move my head. D grabbed my hearing aid, and I put it in.

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” D said, rubbing my leg.

  “Getting more common now.”

  D frowned. “Need anything?”

  A lobotomy. “Not yet. Check on me before you leave? I think I’m bedridden today.”

  “Sure thing.” Another long look and she left me alone.

  I pulled out my phone.

  Me: Bad day. Life sucks.

  Reed: :-(

  Me: I’m going to wallow in self-pity once I gain enough mobility to wallow.

  Reed: You were doing better.

  Me: Haven’t you gotten the memo? I’m never getting better.

  Reed: Don’t give up.

  Me: Talk to me when I’m not high on OxyContin and home from work.

  I tossed my phone on my bed and curled back into myself, closing my eyes against the world. If only it would go away, all of it.

  The sun was high in the sky when I dared open them again. My head still killed me, but I couldn’t figure out if it was time for more pain meds. I hadn’t had a day this bad since the attack. Which proved I pushed myself way too much the day before. And all I did was watch Reed teach, a little prep work, ASL class, and dinner with frien
ds. Okay, so maybe that was too much. At least for me.

  I turned and eyed my medication. A hopeful thought floated around my banged-up, messed-up, fucked-up brain: a way out. The amber bottle was half full. Perky little pills grinned at me, called out to me. They promised to take my pain away, my lack of concentration away, my dependence on society. One handful would solve all my troubles.

  I stared at the bottle for minutes or hours, I wasn’t sure. Time stopped when my brain got bad. My hands didn’t move toward the bottle. No, they stayed at my side. In my head, I imagined reaching out, depositing the pills into my hand. Maybe one pill, maybe ten. Perhaps the whole bottle. The smooth edges would feel good against my palm, good inside my throat. It wouldn’t be hard to swallow. One at a time or all at once. I could do it.

  If my hand would move.

  Coward.

  I rolled away from the medication and closed my eyes to the world, to the pain, to the utter disappointment in myself.

  What parent could do this to a child? Didn’t parents want their children to have bright and full futures? Mine was dark and empty. And as I lay on my right ear, silent.

  I was still in bed, having gotten up only to go to the bathroom, when my phone buzzed. Or rather, when I finally paid attention to my phone.

  Reed: Want some company?

  I picked up my head. Bad idea, freight train. Instead I gained a small notion of smarts and checked the time on my phone: 5:00 p.m. Holy shit. When did that happen?

  Me: You downstairs?

  Please don’t be. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet and wanted to stay in my own hell.

  Reed: Yes.

  Dammit.

  Me: Give me a few minutes, head bad. I’ll text you before I buzz.

  As slowly as I could, I lifted my head and got myself standing. The room spun with the pain, but I gritted my teeth and made it to the front door. I texted Reed and pressed the buzzer. Head against the wall, I knew I wasn’t going to last long on my feet. I cracked open the door and grasped furniture for support as I made my way back to bed.

  One of these days, he wouldn’t find me curled up in a ball of pain.