Barrett

I take a deep breath and relax slowly. As I breathe out, I come into myself. In this instant I can just be myself. I’m not the stupid son, failing student, or strange deaf boy who talks funny. Right now I’m just Barrett, another eighteen-year-old guy.

Being in the darkness is actually a pretty big fear of mine. Not because I’m scared of the boogie man or anything, if only it were that simple. Being in the darkness always leaves me vulnerable and at a disadvantage, and I learned at a young age that’s never anything I want to be.

If I can’t see, I can’t hear. Right now though, I’m the one with the advantage now that my eyes have adjusted to the minimal light in the room. The music is blaring, and the bodies are moving, and for once I’m not the only one missing out. People are yelling into their friend’s ears. I’ve made out so many people who are yelling “what?” and “I can’t hear you” that it makes me laugh. Welcome to my reality.

A lot of people assume that deaf people can’t dance. Sure, we can’t hear the music, but we can feel the beat of it down to our core. I’ve always loved to dance. I make up a melody and words that are all my own. I let the beat carry my movements, speak to my soul. The dancing may be for the others, but the song is all my own.

I close my eyes and let the rhythm take me. I ignore whatever girl is gyrating in front of me and let my natural movement take control. I dance with one girl after the next welcoming the sense of normalcy. That is until one of them forgets and leans back to whisper something in my ear. It’s usually something seductive or a joke of some kind, so I just smile and nod and they are none the wiser. They know I can’t hear them of course, but for this moment in time they forget, and I let us both have the illusion, just for a moment.

But just like anything else that’s too good to last, it ends much too soon. The lights come on, and the music dies along with my illusions.

“Food want you?” Codi signs to me.

“Tired me. Eat you. Home me.” I sign back to him.

My brother is a cool kid, but he’s just that—a kid. My dad put him in the position of being my interpreter at too young of an age. When we were kids, it was like a secret game between just us. But as we got older, he just slid into the role. Having him around meant our dad didn’t need to learn, so he’s always just relied on Codi to speak to and for me. It’s not as depressing as it sounds. As Codi puts it, I’m lucky I don’t have to hear anything our dad has to say…or slur.

“Fun you. Home late not.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Codi mouths and smiles before he runs to catch up with his friend Brian. Codi has always been my best friend, but he needs to start hanging out with kids his own age. At the end of the year I graduate, and he still has three more years left. The idea of graduation looming just ahead instantly knots my stomach. There’s no way I can leave Codi, yet the idea of staying here and working in my uncle’s garage for the rest of my life makes the knot even tighter. I push those thoughts to the back of my mind for now as I head to my car. I run my hand slowly down the side of my beautiful 1969 Ford Fairlane. I can’t help the pride I feel every time I see her. My uncle let me fix her up in his shop and work off the cost of the parts. It took me three years, but she runs smooth, and her black paint glistens in the sun.

I slide in and put my key into the ignition, feeling the engine come to life. This is my favorite part. I let the vibrations move from my foot up my leg and tingle in my spine. There’s nothing like the vibrations you get from a smooth running older car. I come alive behind the wheel. I can feel every acceleration, brake, dip, and bump in the road. Sound isn’t needed or wanted. Speed. All I need is an open road and speed and I am at home.

It is exactly three miles from the school to our trailer park, but I take the back way as usual. It gives me an extra seven minutes to roll the windows down and feel the wind attack my face as I eat up the road. I hug each curve, not bothering to slow down. I know these roads, and they know me. When I’m alone I can drive full out. I won’t take any chance with Codi or anyone else in the car, but this is something I’ve been doing since my mom died. The first time I got behind the wheel after the cancer took her, something in me broke. I didn’t care if I lived or died, and I was reckless to be honest, but years of drag racing instilled a certain amount of discipline and control. I found myself transforming behind the wheel. I shed the insecure and lonely boy for the confident man who has control over his surroundings for once in his life. I let the elements take over and surge in my blood. The wind caressed my face, the motor embedded me in its tingly embrace. It unlocked a part of me that I thought died with her.

So now when I’m alone and can’t be at the track, that’s what I do. I take the long way home and allow all my problems to fly right out the open window. Hearing people seek quiet to sort through their thoughts. I seek stillness. The irony isn’t lost on me that my stillness comes with speed. I need at least eighty miles per hour to find the stillness of mind I crave. Behind the wheel, I’m not unloved or unwanted. I’m not a high schooler raising his little brother and providing for his worthless father. Behind the wheel, I am free. Behind the wheel, I find my sanity. Now if only I could find my purpose.

I pull up to the trailer and see my father isn’t alone. I can’t handle this, not tonight, so I don’t even bother to get out. I could text A.J., but he’s with his girl tonight, so I don’t want to bother them. I look down at the dash to check the time and see that I have enough time to make it to the grocery store and do some shopping for the week before it closes. I prefer to shop without Codi there anyway, because I can never hide the panic I feel having to shop on such a small budget, so this works out. I flip my car around and head back the way I came.

The high of my drive is quickly replaced by reality when I look into my wallet and all that stares back at me is seventeen dollars. I sigh, mentally calculating how I can make this stretch an entire week. I get out of my car and grab a basket on my way in. I go right to the bread aisle and grab two of the cheapest loaves of wheat bread they have. I’m so tempted as I walk by the soup aisle, but I ignore the ramen. I could get several meals for just a few dollars, but it’s football season and Codi needs as much as he can get, so I ignore the wax-coated noodles that scream my name and grab a jar of peanut butter to accompany the bread. Next come the eggs. I wince at the cost, but I ignore it and add two dozen to my basket. On the way out, I grab a bag of potatoes and head toward the checkout stand. Looking down at the dollar and few coins I have left over, I walk next door and buy a Taco Bell dollar and stash it away in my wallet. I used to get odd looks when I would buy the fast food vouchers. I doubt they sell one dollar vouchers to anyone but me, but now they’re used to it. Every week I save my last dollar and get at least one voucher. If I’ve had a good race, I’ll get a few more. Running out of food has always been a fear of mine. We’ve always gotten by, but having them sets my mind at ease. An emergency food back up that doesn’t go bad. I give them to Codi when he’s going out so he doesn’t miss out on anything. I give them to the homeless I see hungry on the street. I’ve never used one yet for myself, but just knowing I could eases some of the stress that coils in me. Now it’s time to head home to check the street racing board, I desperately need a race next week. There’s driving for freedom, and driving for survival, lucky for me I get to do both.