“You can hear?” she signed as I watched her forehead line.
I tapped my right ear. “I have some hearing in this ear.” I turned my head to show her the aid that gave me partial hearing.
Clara leaned forward, looked, then backed away. Her haunted eyes turned back to the river. She enquired, “What does it sound like?” I followed her pointing finger and stared at the running river.
“The river?” I signed.
Clara nodded her head. I closed my eyes, wondering how to explain the sound to a girl trapped in silence. Opening my eyes, I leaned forward and traced my finger down her arm. I curved the invisible line I was making until it fell away at her wrist. “Like that,” I signed. “Only imagine several fingers increasing the volume.”
Clara stared down at her arm and retraced the path I’d just traced with my finger. Her eyes closed and my heart melted when I saw a tiny smile tug on her lips.
Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and, when her lids opened, her brown eyes weren’t quite as sad as before. Clara’s head dropped, when her hands asked, “Have you always been able to hear?”
I shook my head. “I had a tiny amount of hearing, only about seven percent. Mainly it was just little sounds, but nothing was clear. I had an operation when I was eight and suddenly I could hear. It was strange at first, but I had to learn how to deal with it quickly.”
“I can’t hear anything,” she divulged. “Neither could my mom.”
I remembered Lexi said her mom had died, and I replied, “My mom was fully deaf too.”
Clara’s expression relaxed, then it morphed into sadness. “My mom died,” she signed. “Last year. From cancer.”
A deep ache set in my chest because I understood what she was going through. I reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing her small fingers in support. Then I drew back, and confided, “My mom died too. Five years ago.”
Clara’s eyes shimmered. “Do you have a dad?”
I shook my head. “It was just us. When she died,” I stretched out my hands, and quickly signed, “I was put into a group home.” Clara sucked in a breath, and I asked, “You have a dad?”
She nodded her head. “My stepdad. He’s nice, but he doesn’t really understand me. He can hear, and he can sign, and he loved my mom with all of his heart. But… but he moved us from California when Mom died. He got a new job and said he needed a new beginning.” Clara stopped signing and I could see anguish flit through her eyes. “I started a new school, but I never really fit in.”
I noticed that her hands had started to shake, and I knew. I just knew what was coming next. I knew because I’d lived it.
“It’s okay,’ I mouthed when I took hold of Clara’s hands. She read my lips and pulled her hands back. I sat forward as she glanced out of the window.
“It was two girls mainly.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “I went to a deaf school, so it wasn’t because of my lack of hearing.” Her eyebrows pulled down. “I don’t know why it was, I could never think of a reason for why they singled me out, but they didn’t like me almost from the minute I arrived.” My stomach griped in pain, in sympathy.
Clara blinked back tears, but nothing else was said. I could see she was lost in the memory, in the pain she was still living with each day. Reaching forward, I held her hand and we stayed that way for a while, the two of us watching the river flow past the house.
A lady came into the sunroom breaking our silence. I looked up to see her carrying a tray. Two drinks and snacks were on the tray. She placed it down in front of us. I smiled in thanks, and we were alone again. I caught Clara staring at me.
“You okay?” I signed, dropping my hands only to place her drink in front of her.
“You’re the first person I’ve been able to speak to since I got here. I have to write everything down, but I don’t like to. The words staring back at me hurt too much.”
I chased the lump away from my throat, and signed, “Well, I’m here now.”
Clara cast me a smile and asked, “Are you going to be here a lot?”
“Do you want me to be?”
She nodded her head, a blush on her cheeks. “It’ll be nice to have someone to sign to.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve… I’ve missed it.”
I swallowed. “Then I’ll be here most days. We can sign.”
Clara nodded and took a drink of juice. She didn’t say anything else as many minutes ticked by. But neither did I. I heard Lexi’s voice before she entered the room, and I turned to see her arrive in the doorway, a hesitant smile on her face. “You ready to go, sweetie?” she asked.
I nodded my head, and rested my hand on Clara’s arm. Clara turned to me, and I signed, “I have to go now. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Clara nodded.
I got to my feet, readying to move, when I stopped and signed, “I know how you feel, Clara. I understand how it feels. How it feels to be on the receiving end of hate. To be hurt by others for no reason.” I patted my hand on my chest and signed again. “I understand. You can talk to me.”
Clara’s eyes filled with tears, and she dropped her head, but I caught her soft nod. Laying my hand on her shoulder, I signed, “Goodbye,” and walked to Lexi who led me out to the parked car.
When we got inside, I couldn’t get Clara from my mind. I couldn’t get how alone she must feel from my head. I couldn’t rid my mind of the deep sadness in her stare, and I couldn’t rid myself of the fear, of the hopelessness in her words.
“You okay, sweetie?” Lexi asked. I blinked back the blur from my eyes realizing we were already on the road, driving home.
I nodded my head, then said, “She was so sad, Lexi. She… she was so hurt and in pain.” I pressed my hand over my stomach. “It caused me pain to see her that hurt.”
Lexi sighed. “Honey?”
I lifted my gaze to Lexi. “Yeah?”
“She’s like you.”
My heart fired off, its beat coming too fast. “What do you mean?”
“You have the same sadness in your eyes as Clara when I look at you. You seem to be carrying the same pain inside you as she does.”
Lexi’s words stabbed me like daggers. Clara’s lost expression filled my mind. I was like that? I asked myself. I thought of Clara’s hesitation as she spoke, of the darkness that hovered over her like a rain cloud. And I knew, deep down, I was like her.