Left Out

by Tim Green

  “Library.” His dad pointed to a large brick building facing the street, and Landon felt a surge of pleasure because, even though he liked reading on the iPad, he preferred the feel and smell of a real book. The air on the sidewalk in the shadows of the maple trees lining the road was cool and heavy with fresh-cut grass. They only had to cross the street before his father pointed again. “There’s the middle school.”

  That gave Landon the opposite sensation. His hands clenched and his throat went dry. He looked at Genevieve. She had small features and a sharp nose like his mom. She narrowed her green eyes the way a mountain climber might size up Mount Everest.

  They continued on toward the center of town before Genevieve pointed out Womrath Book Shop. “A library and bookstore, Landon. This place is going to be heaven for you.”

  “And there’s a famous deli across the street, Lange’s.” Their father consulted his phone “Five stars on TripAdvisor.”

  They crossed the street and made their way to the deli. Three bikes leaned against a lamppost on the sidewalk outside. They made Landon nervous because with bikes usually came boys. Sure enough, they walked in and Landon saw the three boys sitting near the back in a corner. Two had dark hair. One, with a pug face, wore his hair parted on the side and swept over the top, flopping down so it nearly covered one eye. The other’s short hair, pointy stiff with gel, framed the elfin face of a TV character. The third had red hair in a buzz cut. He had freckles and big teeth. When they spotted Landon’s father, they immediately began to chatter and point. They were too far for Landon to hear, but he read the pug-faced boy’s lips as he laughed and said, “Hey, it’s the Giant. Where’s Jack?”

  Landon knew he should turn away, knew he shouldn’t look, shouldn’t read their lips and see their words. Nothing good ever came from three boys laughing and gawking, but he felt drawn to it the way he might poke at a bruise to test how much it really hurt. He peeked around the edge of his father, who stood oblivious, looking up at the menu board.

  “Dude,” the spiky-haired boy said, pointing, “look. It’s got a baby giant from outer space.” The boy made antennae with his fingers and clamped them on his ears. All three of them laughed, and Landon looked away now because they were staring at him. He tugged his cap down, horrified at what they might say if they could see the discs. All they were reacting to now were the battery packs and processors that fit over and behind his ears like giant hearing aids. If they saw the magnetic discs, which looked like fat quarters on the sides of his head, they’d go wild. They wouldn’t even have to know that the discs covered implanted discs attached to wires that were tucked beneath his brain to get excited. He’d heard it before.

  “Hey, Frank!” someone would say.

  The first time it happened, Landon shook his head and pointed to himself. “My name is Landon.”

  “Frankenstein, dude. Frank-n-stein!” And they’d point to their own heads with fingers in the spots where the moveable magnetic discs connected to the disc implants beneath his scalp. Sometimes they’d stick out their tongues, cross their eyes, or both.

  Landon was nervous when a waitress took them to their table near the boys. He sat in the chair with his back to the three boys and focused on the menu. There were lots of choices. His father ordered a tuna melt, and Landon asked for the same. Genevieve got turkey on a croissant with brown mustard and Swiss cheese. She didn’t eat like a kid, and it was just another way that she seemed more advanced than Landon, even though she was a year younger.

  Landon couldn’t understand the chatter behind him now. The sounds he heard with the implants weren’t sharp enough for him to understand what was being said without the ability to also see a person’s lips. He could read lips fairly well, but the best way for him to understand what was being said was to hear the fuzzy sounds and see the lips at the same time.

  Landon tried not to stare at his sister, but he couldn’t help feeling concerned each time she glanced past him to where he knew the boys were sitting. Then she put her croissant down without taking a last bite. Her face turned dark. Her eyes moved in a way that told Landon the boys were headed toward their table. Landon tapped Genevieve’s arm, trying to get her to look at him. If he could draw her into a conversation, she might not do anything bad, but she swatted his hand away without moving her eyes.

  The three boys moved past the table in a tight group. Landon heard one of them say something, but he had no idea what because the diner wasn’t quiet and the boy didn’t speak loudly. It must have been bad, though, because Genevieve sprang from her chair and darted at the biggest one of them like a terrier on a rat.

  4

  Genevieve gave the redhead a shove, pushing him back so that he stumbled into another table, upsetting the drinks of the four ladies who sat there. Landon heard a muffled shriek. Both he and his father jumped up. His father grabbed Genevieve by the shoulders, holding her back.

  “What’s your problem?” The redhead glared and clenched his fists. He stood nearly as tall as Landon, though half as wide.

  “My problem is you!” Genevieve struggled to get free. “And you!” She kicked out at the pug-faced boy’s shin. Thankfully she missed, but the three boys backed away toward the door.

  “Come on, Skip.” The spiky-haired one tugged the redhead’s arm. He turned to the pug-faced kid with the floppy hair and said, “Xander, let’s just go.”

  The entire diner stared in disbelief as Genevieve’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Genevieve, you can’t act like this,” their father scolded as he guided her back to her seat. He kept his voice even and calm, though, and then he turned to the ladies at the table of spilled drinks where a waitress was already at work with a towel. He produced his wallet and removed some bills. “I’m very sorry. I’ll pay for those drink refills and any cleaning.”

  Landon took a quick look around. Everyone was staring and whispering. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to die. He shook his head and tapped Genevieve to get her attention. “You know I don’t want people staring,” he scolded.

  “You can’t let people disrespect you—here or when you’re on the football field, Landon,” Genevieve said. “You need to learn that.”

  “This isn’t the football field. This is the diner.”

  Genevieve gave him a fiery look that quickly melted, and he was afraid she would burst into tears, but she bit her lip and put her hand on top of his and said, “I’m sorry, Landon. I just can’t stand . . .”

  “Don’t worry so much about me, Genevieve,” Landon said. “I’m gonna be fine here. This is a football town. When they see me play, no one’s gonna laugh. I promise.”

  “You don’t—”

  Landon cut her off with his hand. “You have to ignore people like that, Genevieve.”

  Her eyes burned again and her nostrils flared. “Maybe you can ignore them, Landon. You didn’t hear what they said, but I did.”

  Landon’s mouth turned sour. He glared at his sister, removed his hat, and disconnected his electronic ears, the processors, the magnetic discs, and the wires that connected the two parts. The components dangled in his hand for a moment like small sea creatures, and he showed them to her before he stuffed them into his pockets and put the cap back on his head. Genevieve had humiliated them all. They’d just moved here and Genevieve was already getting in trouble. Whatever those boys had said, she should have ignored it, just like he did.

  Removing the external equipment for his implants was the most powerful statement Landon could make. He was cutting off his sister, cutting off the entire world. Now, none of it mattered, and as long as he refused to read their lips, no one could bother him.

  5

  They walked home after lunch. Landon’s mom was at the kitchen table surrounded by boxes, writing on a notepad and looking busy. She smiled when Landon’s father set down her spinach salad. Landon didn’t have to hear to know what his sister said as she threw her hands in the air. He snuck a look.

  “Landon took off his ears!”<
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  Landon cruised peacefully past them all, headed for the living room and his favorite reading chair, which the movers had positioned near the big window looking out over the pool and lawn. It was a heavenly place dappled with sun shining through the trees, and he took it, iPad already out. The smell of polished wood and the hint of warm dust filled his nose. He knew he’d be spending some serious time in this spot.

  His mother usually gave him some space when he pulled the plug on his ears, so he jumped when someone tapped his shoulder. It was her. She motioned for him to reconnect. He stared at her for a moment to make sure she really meant it. She did. Moving slowly, he removed the gear they called his “ears” from his pocket and hooked it all up.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Genevieve is a maniac,” he said.

  “She’s very protective of you.”

  “She knocked over everyone’s drinks and made a big stink.” Landon glared at his mom. “You and Dad teach us to walk away.”

  “It’s harder to do that when it’s against someone you love,” his mother said. “It’s easier to walk away when someone is making fun of you than of someone you’re close to.”

  “Why?” Landon tilted his head.

  “Because . . .” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know, Landon, but it is. You just, you need to cut her some slack.” She paused for a minute. “Do you want to see your room?”

  “I like where they put my chair.”

  She swatted him playfully. “Who do you think had it put here?”

  She sat down on the arm and hugged Landon to her. He hugged her back, but separated when it got too tight. She looked tired and sad.

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “I’m fine, Landon.” She sighed. “I want you to be fine.”

  “I’m always fine, Mom. You know that.” He got up. “So, where’s my room?”

  She studied him for a moment before rising and leading him into the front hall and up a big wooden staircase. Down at the end of a wide hall, they went right and into a long bedroom with its own bathroom. Part of the ceiling slanted at an angle and the whole room was paneled in wood. His desk and bookshelf stood empty on one side, and his bed lay on the other side beneath three rectangular windows. His computer sat on the desk. Boxes were everywhere.

  “You like it?” his mom asked.

  Landon climbed up on the bed and looked out the windows, smiling. “It’s like the inside of a pirate ship.”

  “There’s a park just a few streets away.” His mom pointed out his window. “The school—did you see the school?—it’s not far either.”

  “I did.” Landon thought about the boys and the school, and then his face brightened. “I can walk to football practice! That’ll make things easy for you guys.”

  “Landon . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She sat down on his bed and patted the spot beside her. He took it.

  “I’ve been thinking about football.”

  “It’s America’s sport, Mom.”

  She stroked his hair and he made a big effort not to back away. “It’s harder than it looks, Landon. You’re not a violent person. You don’t get angry very often, and when you do, you . . . you . . .” She pointed at his implants. “You unplug.”

  “Just because I don’t push people into other people’s tables doesn’t mean I don’t want to. In football, you’re supposed to push the other guys. It’s part of the game.” He pulled away from her touch.

  His mother stood up and went to one of the boxes. “I’ll say this once and only once. Be careful what you wish for, Landon, because you just might get it.”

  From out of nowhere she produced a razor-blade box cutter and with one quick motion slit open the top of the biggest box. She began taking things out and setting them carefully on the bookshelf. He knew working calmed his mother’s nerves. She placed several ceramic animals in a small cluster Landon could see—a lion, a tiger, a bear, an elephant. She stepped back to review them before fussing some more.

  While she worked on arranging the cluster, Landon taped a Cleveland Browns poster to the wall.

  His mother took a picture from the box, examined it, and smiled before showing him. “Remember this?”

  It was a picture of the four of them—Landon, Genevieve, and his mom and dad—plummeting nearly straight down on Splash Mountain, the best ride in Disney World. His sister and his parents had their hands in the air and their mouths open, screaming with joy during that scary final plunge. Landon gripped the seat, ready to endure the fifty-foot drop. It wasn’t his idea of fun, but he had wanted to prove to himself he could do it. He’d insisted they get the photo, to record the experience, and whenever he looked at it he was glad he’d taken the ride.

  “That was a fun time.” Landon glowed with pride.

  She smiled warmly and set the picture on the shelf.

  Landon removed his football from another box. It was his best present from his dad last Christmas, an official NFL ball, and he placed it next to the Disney World picture. His mom paused to study it.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking . . . ,” she said, “you can be part of a football team without actually having to be out there with people bashing your noggin where you’ve already got some sensitive equipment.”

  He tilted his head at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well . . .” She adjusted the picture. “You can help out the team and be a part of it. Every team has one of these . . . well, it’s a manager, a team manager. All the big-time college programs have them, a student manager, and high schools do too. Lots of sports teams have managers, and they’re very important, and I think it would be a super way for you to fit in.”

  She left the picture alone and stared hard at him.

  Landon’s mouth sagged open as he processed everything she was saying. She had actually devised a plan for him to be on a football team without playing football. It was diabolical. He shook his head violently and reached for his ears, ready to pull the plug again because . . . and he had to say this out loud.

  “Mom, no. No way!”

  6

  Ten days later, Landon was sitting on an exam table in a hospital gown and his boxer shorts while Dr. Davis, a cochlear implant specialist, studied his medical history.

  The doctor set the folder down and then took Landon’s head in his hands, squeezing like it was a melon in the grocery store. As his long, cool fingers searched around Landon’s implants, circling the magnetic discs, he asked how Landon communicated.

  Landon watched his mom clear her throat and explain. “His SIR . . . uh, Speech Intelligibility Rating—”

  “Of course,” said the doctor.

  “He’s a seven point two,” his mom boasted. And Landon was proud of that score. He’d been going to speech therapy every week for years, and as a result, people nearly always understood what he was saying.

  The doctor’s pale green eyes stared at Landon’s face. “What did you have for breakfast, Landon?”

  “Uh, eggs and bacon. I had some cinnamon toast too. And juice.” Landon knew from a lifetime of wrinkled brows or snickering grins that his speech didn’t sound like most people’s. “Garbled” was how it was mostly described—off base, not normal.

  The doctor pressed his lips, looked at Landon’s mom, and then turned back to him and said, “You’ve worked hard on your speech therapy, haven’t you?”

  Landon blushed and nodded. He couldn’t help feeling proud, because here was a man who knew his business when it came to the way deaf people spoke.

  “Yes, your impediment wouldn’t keep anyone who’s paying attention from understanding you.” Dr. Davis looked back at his mom. “How does he understand others?”

  “He gets a good deal from sounds, and he’s good at lipreading, but he does best with a combination of sounds and lipreading, unless you shout.”

  The doctor asked, “No sign language at all?”

  Landon’s mom’s back stiffened. “We made a conscious decisi
on to concentrate on auditory focus and lipreading.”

  “Also, coaches don’t know sign language,” Landon blurted. “So it’s good to be able to read lips.”

  “Sports?” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “What do you play?”

  “Football.” Landon glowed with pride. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Okay, on your feet.” The doctor took out a stethoscope and began to look Landon all over, from head to toe.

  Landon stood there in his boxers, his feet cold against the tile floor. A slight trickle of sweat escaped his armpits.

  “But football . . . with the implants, how safe can that be?” Landon’s mom seemed to sense the tide going against her.

  “Most of that concussion business has to do with the pros, maybe college. And riding a bike can be more dangerous than junior league football. Breathe deep.” The doctor speckled Landon’s back with the chilly disc, listening to his lungs before he snapped the stethoscope off his neck, folded it, and tucked it away in his long white coat. “And this boy is healthy as an ox.”

  The doctor put a hand on Landon’s shoulder. “He’ll need a special helmet, of course, for the ear gear. And you need the skullcap under it.”

  Landon was ready for that one. He took his iPad off the chair where he’d set his clothes and showed the doctor what he planned to get.

  “Yes! That’s the best one.”

  “His . . . the implants?” Landon’s mother worked her lips, maybe rehearsing arguments in her mind.

  The doctor was a tall man with thick glasses, and authority had been chiseled on his granite face. “There’s a risk to any sport, but with the helmets they make today . . .”

  The doctor shook his head in amazement at modern technology as he scribbled some notes on Landon’s chart. “Clean bill of health and ready to go. Just get that helmet before tackling.”