The Briers

by V.J. Goll

  Three

  Present Day:

  He woke when it was still dark outside. The clock with its mechanical LED displayed showed it was 5 in the morning. His long, slender fingers turned on the lamp light that revealed a simple studio apartment. He choose chestnut furniture partially because it was on sale when he brought it. There was an open letter sitting on his nightstand that he ignored. He was never the type to live above his means. He looked at the slight grey walls surrounding him and pulled himself to walk to the open kitchen where a strong tea was brewing.

  Obscurity or importance?

  He asked himself these words. He almost muttered them out loud, but somehow, his brain and lips were not working together. Was it his brain and mouth? Advocates, the smart ones, knew when to be quiet and when to speak. Yet, she wasn’t the type to stay so silent. She had a reformer personality, a great disdain for things that didn’t work. He tried to think. Tracking down this person was not going to be easy, he thought as he poured the tea. She probably would function well in a job with quality assurance. This was another note on the profile. His brain worked mechanically.

  “You are troublesome,” he said out loud to the letter lying on the nightstand. He hated that someone asked him to find her. She obviously didn’t want to be found. Yet, that feeling, what he guess to be guilt, it drove him to want to find her.

  He looked at his list of search terms:

  Disability

  Advocacy

  Retaliation

  IDEA

  504

  Hard of hearing

  Traumatic brain injury (TBI)

  None of the searches with her name yielded any results except for the old articles. She has been playing obscured. He thought some more. She would be a good a type for quality assurance. He reminded himself. But how would she do it? He opened a tab on his computer with a word document. His fingers clasped together as he analyzed the writings upon it. He was finding her, but it was difficult. He closed his eyes trying to find her again. He knew the answers was somewhere.

  Pre-Sequestration (the past):

  It was Monday. My alarm woke me in the morning by vibrating beneath my bed. It was 8 am. I yawned with a slight displeasure of having to rise after listening to tapes and compiling case notes all weekend. I changed my clothing. I had political science in about an hour so I knew I needed to start going. I grabbed my other bag that was already filled with my textbook and a notebook for the class. I made some coffee and drunk it as I read through the first chapter. I knew today was going to be hard without interpreters. So, I prepared myself as much as I could. I almost walked out the dorm room without the hearing aids.

  “Oh, look,” said D to me, “Mara is sleeping on the couch like a homeless person.” I gave D a tired look. I don’t know why, but this comment annoyed me. Maybe, I do know why, but we aren’t quite there yet. Mara was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday. She curled up in a ball on the couch, soundly asleep, but, even then, she still looked tired. I felt bad for her. Maybe the couch was more comfortable than the bed.

  I don’t know. I reached up towards my ears on instinct. I knew I was reaching for the hearing aids to turn them off, but something had me just move my hair. I was choosing to listen. I didn't know why. I had enough complicated things to worry about than to deal with D. I remember my mom always telling me, “pick your battles.” Yet, I felt slight guilt for ignoring what D said. Was this a battle that I was supposed to pick? I understood being a target for people’s negativity. People have been telling me to keep my head down, not cause trouble. My presence was already causing enough trouble in this place. I went and got a small blanket that I had. I covered Mara with it as she slept. I did this purposefully in front of D a little bit. Maybe, I just wasn’t good with words, but I made my point. Mara could sleep on the couch if she wanted to.

  Wanting to escape D’s sniping, I slipped out of the door quickly. I wasn’t sure if my actions irritated her. Those kinds of people rarely change their minds and become angry when someone proves them wrong. Maybe, that was an assumption. Maybe, D could be a good person. Again, I don’t know. I just met these people.

  The University had split the academic buildings into what I would care Cores. Each individual Core supported an area of study. Not all the time would a specific area of study would be in a Core. There can be exception. Humanities took place in the central part of campus (Core III). Political science and legal studies were on the south campus (Core I). The southeast side of campus held the language and educational studies (Core II). Social work and psychology had the northwest side of campus (Core IV). Obviously, I was heading to Core I with having political science. The class itself had a main lecture and a recitation so it counted as four credit hours.

  The red paint on the bricks to the main building for political science where classes were held was fresher and brighter than the paint on the older buildings. It was a huge four story building that ran longitudinally. There was a bridge on the fourth floor that lead to the law library which was another huge building of the same build. The windows of these buildings were certainly larger as I walked towards it from my side of campus. I slipped past the double metal doors into the building which had finely waxed tile. I guess what I am trying to say is that it was clean. A lot cleaner than the other buildings that I have been gone through.

  I walked reading the room numbers on the sides of the hallways. I guess I could say the halls were whitewashed like we see in grade school. It was infantile in a way, but it was a place of learning. We were children being dressed in adult clothing. The introductory courses were being held on the first floor which I am somewhat sure was on purpose to prevent freshmen from being lost. I slipped quietly into the lecture hall being thankful that I was early enough to get a front row seat. It was one of those things that I had to scope out in class. I had to see the person speaking so I had to sit where I could understand them. I also had to pay attention to lighting. I knew they would dim the room because there was going to be power point. I selected my spot and pulled out my political science book. The first chapter bore a quote from the Federalist papers:

  “If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself."

  This was from Federalist No. 51. I sighed seeing this quote being aware of the truth behind it. I would be distracted from my readings to hearing the teacher speak. He was male which was in my range of hearing. I was relieved, but I still had to lip read because his voice would fluctuated in different frequencies.

  “Welcome to American Government,” he said, “right now, there are syllabuses passing around, I have to do the standard syllabus reading off for this semester.” I think some seniors in the class groaned because he followed this with a curt shrug of shoulders and an apology. I will call him Professor PS which ironically rhymes with BS that we sometimes see in politics.

  “There are two sections of the class,” he said to us, “one, we have the lecture which we will go over the standard practices of American government. Two, you will have recitation where you will discuss your required readings and current events. You are expected to read. I mean, this, read on current events and develop an opinion which shouldn’t be so hard for some of you.” There was some chuckling. I knew he was making fun of the democrats and the republicans currently sitting in the lecture.

  Advocates lean democratic. I was moderate, but I leaned democratic with my affiliation of services. It was unavoidable. I am not going to preach. It is not my job. In a pragmatic way, democrats tend to be more supportive towards essential social programs that society needs to function. Each and every one of us can be a functional member of society. It is just some of us need more support than others because of the barriers.
I won’t bore you with the rest of the lecture, but we covered the material for the first day. I went and spoke to my professor.

  “Hi, I am Ally,” I said to him, “I sent you an email about accommodations.”

  “You’re student with disabilities, right?” he said to me.

  I nodded.

  “Have your advisor finished your letter yet for accommodations?” he asked me.

  “No, he hasn’t,” I said to him, “there were some problems getting the paperwork done.” I was aware how he perceived this. It looked like I procrastinated on applying for services. I was in the wrong. I felt a slight pressure. Perception can create a hostile place. Was there something that was trying to push this to a hostile place? I didn't know. Something felt wrong about all of this. I thought of Mrs. K at this moment.

  “So, when the letter is finished,” he said to me, “we will work out accommodations.”

  “Thank you, Professor PS,” I said to him.

  I don’t know how I felt about this encounter. Maybe, it was frustration, but knowing how other people perceived me for things that was out of my control, it made me angry. I went back to my dorm and picked up the paperwork that I was going to give later. I turned it into the front office and requested a copy of it with a signature on it. They didn’t want to give it, but I wasn’t going to tolerate it.

  Knowing that I had some time to sit for lunch, I went to the student commons to eat. I have no idea what I got to eat, but my brain was in some form of auto drive at this point. It was worried. I was worried. I was preparing for my meeting with Bad Wizard.

  When is a reasonable timeline for me to have interpreters in the classes?

  When can I expect the letter of accommodation?

  I kept jotting a list of questions to keep me on track.

  “You don’t seem like you want someone to be sitting here at this table with you,” she said in her southern drawl. It was neither polite nor rude. It stated a fact. I looked at Mara in surprise.

  “Sorry, I guess,” I said carefully, “why do you say this?”

  “You’re tense,” she said taking a seat across from me. I was carefully gathering my papers at this point to hide them.

  “It is just the stress of the semester,” I said to her, “I am a science major, you know?” I learned to feign a smile to diffuse people. I don’t know why, but at this moment, I started paying attention to my surroundings. I started being aware that I was sitting alone at a small circular round table with three other chairs. I noticed that I was wearing a t-shirt with blue jeans. My tennis shoes were somewhat worn from the abuse I put them through. My hearing aids were not in my ears, but I heard her because she moved the table. I saw her in that moment because my instincts made me sensitive to movement. I put my hearing aids in and turned them on. It was suddenly very loud. I couldn’t hear when with the chatter around me. I became aware that everyone else around me was focused on meeting people and making friends.

  There was some pain there. I came here to the University to have a different life than what I had in middle school and high school. I should be wanting to make friends. I should be doing what they are doing. I looked at Mara again. I didn't want to be bothered, but I should be bothered. I wanted to be human.

  “How has your day been?” I asked her. I wanted to learn conversation with another person. People would always tell me that I was scripted towards politeness. There was an unnatural feel to me being polite, but the truth is. I always wanted to be respectful so I always choose my words in this manner. Yet, when I think back, it was this uncanny behavior that would bothered most normal people that was the exact behavior that lead to. I don’t know how to describe what it lead to. It was a good thing, but it was a very, very bad thing.

  “I just got finished my calculus lecture today,” she said to me, “we immediately went into the material. It was a lot to learn.” She was taking Calculus II which apparently people have told me it was the 7 headed dragon of evil.

  “That sounds hard,” I said to her, “I took some lighter classes this semester, but I have chemistry, political science, and human development,” I told her. I intentionally left out the COATS program because I didn’t want to be target practice for being disliked. It was not common for undergraduates to be in the program.

  “I have chemistry also,” she said to me. Her voice carried some excitement.

  I looked at her in surprise. I was used to being in crowds of people, and no one knowing my name. I was used to not having people talk to me. To see someone excited, it was bewildering, but I remember it was also the first time that someone showed interest in having something similar to me genuinely. I wasn’t the weird kid anymore who struggled with language and relationships.

  “T-that’s cool,” I said. It was the first time that I fumbled with words. I was never good with language. When I spoke, people have said that it was with a concentration as if I was constipated. Yet, those words came from the man that I know as trouble.

  Mara became quiet. It was weird. I wasn't sure if we were too socially awkward to continue our conversation, but I saw a change in the way her eyes looked. She wasn't happy.

  What was it that she wasn't happy about? I watched her eyes knowing that she saw something. Was she going to avoid looking at it? Or, was she going to watch it? I didn't know, but seeing the drop in her mood bugged me. I felt like whatever it was. It wasn't something good.

  Yet, I restrained myself and my scientific curiosity to investigate the causation of her becoming silent. I forgot that I was trying to read a human development textbook that was in front of me. I blinked drawing myself back into focus. The words blurred in front of me a little bit. I turned the book diagonally to accommodate my eyes so it just saw the words line by line. For some odd reason, I always read better when I read sideways. Also, I write better when I write sideways. I took my mechanical pencil and made faint boxes in the textbook to draw out the substance of the reading. I knew I intended to erase it when I would sell back the textbook at the end of the semester.

  Mara did likewise. She was absorbed in some book. It felt like we both were quietly creeping into some figurative woods acting like nature to avoid sticking out to something. Our actions was covering who we were. It was covering something else.

  "Can we study together?" she asked me. Her voice snapped me back into awareness of the noise around me and her.

  "Sure," I said feeling weird hearing my voice, "I don't mind if we study together." She nodded starting to pack up her books. I guess she had somewhere to be.

  I suddenly didn't want to linger in this place. So, I did the same. She said something to me about having to hurry to class and left. It was some weird farewell, but I looked up from packing my books.

  I saw it. I saw where the feeling was coming from. It was a girl who sat with a bible near her watching me carefully. She was one of those preparatory school looking types that might have been a cheerleader. I don't know. This was the first time A and I met each other and said nothing to each other. Understand, I am not picking her name as A because of the other book with the scarlet in it with the same significance. Yet, A seemed to be everything like a formal Christian. She seemed to live for the word. That look, I guess I gave her was too long. It invited her to speak to me.

  "Hi, I am A," she said to me in a cheerful voice, "I haven't met you before." I am just glad that she didn't have her hair tied back into a ponytail with a bow to add to her cheerleader persona.

  "I am Allison," I said, "I take it that you are Christian."

  "Are you not?" she asked me as if I was missing out on something important.

  I choose not to answer this. "How are classes going?" I asked her deflecting the question.

  This caused her to frown a little. I saw it for a brief moment. I don't know why. It seemed the world slowed with our interaction. There was something that I was supposed to see.

  "I saw you sitting with Mara," she said to me, "I have been wanting to talk to her. How has she bee
n doing?" I saw saying this to me made her slightly happy. It made me slightly uncomfortable. The classic southern attempt to weasel out gossip was heading my way. "We went to high school together," said A, "and, I went to the same church as her." She added this as if to justify the need to pry. I felt a distaste at this.

  "The one her father preaches?" I asked her.

  "Yes," she said, "I now attend the Pasture church here that is held in the student center. I was trying to summon the courage up to ask Mara if she wanted to join me."

  This statement was supposed to invoke pity about the Christian struggle. "She knows where it is," I said to her, "I am sure if she wanted to go. She will go. People should follow their hearts."

  "Yet, God judges your heart," she said to me, "if you aren't going to church and putting God first, he will judge you harshly for following worldly things like selfishness." This caused my cue to go.

  I spoke, "I certainly hope God judges more wisely than an attendance sheet." I was gone into the sea of people leaving A behind me.

  I step outside to see one lone spider, it was the widow with a red peak, staring me on the sidewalk. The summer sun was hiding behind clouds that protected us from its glare. I looked at the spider suddenly wandering why it was there instead of going someplace to make webs. Again, these kinds of spiders are poisonous in a bad way so being a bad cop, I stepped on it. I wasn't sure why it was in my way. Creatures are strange sometimes.

  "You can hear," said the Bad Wizard. I looked at him in disbelief. He was holding an audiogram cleanly marking me at moderate to severe. I needed interpreters.

  "Not enough to pass my classes," I said to him. I felt anxiety saying these words. Why did my life hang so much on other people's judgment?

  “I disagree,” he said to me. I had to explain to him that when I was under an oral education philosophy in high school. I struggled with the material immensely, and it negatively impacted my grades.

  "But as a lady as bright as yourself," he said to me, "you don't need interpreters. You talk just fine." Now, he was attacking the Midwestern accent that my mom strictly raised me to speak. I don't know why, but this subtle attack towards my heritage irritated me.

  I sighed. He wasn’t going to relent. “My audiologist wrote in my paperwork and my previous school IEP plan had with me interpreters,” I said to him firmly, “so, just to clarify: are you making the judgment of my accommodations based on your experience? If so, what criterion are you using and what background do you have to make these decisions? I would like to know.” I felt mechanical asking those questions, but I wrote them down on the sheet of paper before me to prompt me asking them. I wasn't going to let him win. I wasn't going to let him try to ruin my life.

  He looked at me realizing that I wasn’t going to budge. I would later realize this is how most special needs accommodations meetings run in the south. They don’t want to service you most of the time. You have to make them do their job.

  "I will have to postpone meeting you today," I sent to Eric. It was late. I felt bad. The evening sun was blinding me a little bit. I didn't feel like doing this. Eric sent me back a text message letting me know it was okay, but to see him tomorrow. I rubbed my tired eyes. The stress was already eating me. I always felt like that there was some twisted notch in my right shoulder. It pained me.

  I frowned at the e-mail. My scholarships should be in place. I was from a state that covered tuition and book costs for all students with a certain grade range. I went on the school billing system which reminded me of some emulator that you would use to play video games. It felt old and out of date. I could almost say it was clunky as I was clicking through it. I sent an email to the bursar inquiring about the balance. I felt like something was wrong. I didn't know what it was.

  AP credit gave me a pass into human development which was a required core course. I was told that the introductory psychology classes were larger groups. Yet, my class was smaller in contrast. Professor Goodwill was a unique professor. He had a passion in the subject as he stood in the front of class greeting us with a beam. I sat down in the front row which was avoided by most students. He looked at me with curious eyes, and I looked back at him forcing a smile before redirecting my attention to shuffle through my bag. I think I was avoiding his gaze a little bit. I heard his voice causing me to look up from finding my notebook. I didn't quite make out the words he was saying, but I knew he was speaking. Some people have asked me what lip reading was like. For me, I hear an alternative voice in my head. It is often a whisper that translates the words to me.

  When I came back to the dorm, I could tell my eyes were exhausted from lip reading. They lose their ability to adjust to light from the strain. I tried to read my textbook, but it was blurred a little. I knew my eyes were tired. I was sick of seeing the light. So, I laid down to try to give them a break. I wasn’t tired, but I just stared into the blackness that my eyelids created. It is weird when we see black with our eyes. Technically, it is just a black curtain with a 2 dimensional depth. Yet, with a slight trick of our minds, it can become a 3 dimensional depth. I always found my heartbeat picking up a pace when I allowed myself to see the darkness as vast around me. In science, they teach you that the color black absorbs light. It creates heat. When I think about me this blackness, I think it could almost absorb me. Yet, perhaps, it could transform me if I allowed it. It was a curtain that split me from something, perhaps my subconscious.

  Something was bothering me in my mind. I thought about the testing and how they tried to prove me a cheater. I thought about Mrs. K and how she tried to deny me opportunity for college. I thought about the Bad Wizard. All of this was too smooth for it just to be a bad run. It felt coordinated. I knew the other students with disabilities didn't have issues. This was one of the better schools. It was just me right now. I felt weird thinking this.

  What was it if it was not coincidence? I wondered. I didn't know. It was too staged. It was too decided. It wasn't me who decided the outcome. It was them.