Page 21 of The Sound Of Us

Mayor Harebell had been briefed regarding my ability to lipread, so he creates all sorts of theatrics with his mouth, letting me know how happy they are to host me for the next few months. And that some of the older folk remember my father from the old days and how sorry they are to have lost one of their own. I thank him for his condolences in sign and he panics, so I type it out for him on my phone.

“It’s an honor to have you here, Mr. Saxon,” he says dramatically, returning my thanks with one of his own in sign, looking very pleased with himself for it.

I might have taken some exception to the whole thing if David Shapiro hadn’t given me the heads up on what to expect.

To the unsuspecting person, one might feel like a circus act passing through the way this town ‘welcomes’ new people. But if you’ve been given fair warning, like I had been, you’d see that this is a town starved for life. For anything new. Their enthusiasm is only an expression to be a part of something new and exciting. And renovating Aunt Alberta’s old house is about the most exciting thing to happen to this town in years, David had said.

I was told my new neighbor, Mrs. Dalton, who I am yet to meet, went through the same thing in the eighties. She was followed around and showered with all kinds of gifts for months. Until the new pastor came into town from the city. And on it went. And so, here I am, the latest shiny new toy.

I take everything with a pinch of salt and choose to appreciate their hospitality and their intentions and make the most of it while I’m here. This is, after all, the town my father had wanted to come back to for so many years.

It’s humbling to see people with so little go out of their way to share what they have with a complete stranger.

So, I ride with the mayor in his ‘74 Chevy. Sometimes he forgets that I’m deaf, and he speaks while looking straight ahead, and I can’t get any of what he’s saying. Then he looks over at me, apologizes and focuses on the road again.

The library is small, with a small lawn space at the front. Kids run about with balloons and teenagers huddle together, their faces buried in their phones. Every single one of them waves at me in greeting and I return each one with a smile on my face. And I’m not faking it too. I… I’m genuinely enjoying this. Why don’t we have this in the city?

Inside the library, I’m given a seat right at the front, with the Mayor Harebell, his wife and their three teenage daughters. I pretend not to notice their mother giving them several side eyes whenever one of them stared at me too long. Sadly, although I can’t hear them, I can read their lips very well. He’s gay, you idiot, the one at the end of the rows says. Apparently news travels fast in these small towns.

After that, I focus on everything else but those three, my eyes roving every now and then across the room looking for blond curls.

I must be in the favor of the gods because not only does he appear, but he does so right in front of me. He comes from behind one of the bookshelves carrying what looks like a bible and places it on the podium. A reed-thin stick of a man comes up behind him. Immediately, I know with his formal pants, shirt and tie, he’s the town pastor. I was told this was a gay friendly town, so I don’t put my guard up.

The blond boy jogs down the step separating us from the pastor. I can’t tell how old he might be. He looks young, but I don’t think he’s a boy.

His eyes lock on mine as he walks, his gaze grabbing me by the throat and squeezing the air out of my body. He’s not smiling that friendly River Valley smile. In fact, his eyes—and they’re so damn pretty—flick away from mine and back again like a nervous teenager. I follow his movements, uncaring about the fact that I’m openly staring at him. Unblinking, because I find the idea of missing even one millisecond of his face inconceivable.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats. The movement causes his sweats to stretch in the front enough that I’m forced to look away. But I’m not fast enough. He’s caught me looking at his junk.

Well, fuck. What a creep I turned out to be on my first day. I’m not usually like this, but that guy is just so… interesting.

The pastor starts talking, his face turned slightly away from me. A woman—his wife, I assume—sitting on the chair to the side gets up and whispers something in his ear and he casts several apologetic glances in my direction. She sits down again, and he lifts his head high, turns his body so it faces me and says, according to his lips, “Thank you, Mayor Harebell, for letting me open this morning’s breakfast celebration. I believe our special guest and our newest resident for the next few months can read lips—”

He looks at me for confirmation. I nod and give him a thumbs up for good measure.

He beams and carries on. I dare not look backwards to see where the blond guy went.

The pastor looks at the crowd. “This is okay, right? He’s fine if I talk like this, right?”

When he looks at me again, I give him another thumbs up, but I’m less enthusiastic or impressed this time. It’s only the horrified look on his wife’s face that allows him an inch of mercy for speaking about me as if I’m not here. The ignorance is unintended but still irresponsible.

With a smile in my direction, he continues with his speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, River Valley is a town that welcomes all people. No matter where you’re from, you’ll always feel at home in River Valley.”

He pauses and, with a raise of his eyebrows that produces thick lines on his forehead, he seems to ask me if I’m still okay. I’m not entirely sure, so I give him a vague thumbs up.

“We welcome everyone to River Valley with open arms, even the gays—”

A quick glance at his wife’s scowl tells all of us she’s furious and embarrassed for what her husband is saying up there. The flustered pastor wipes his forehead with his handkerchief and smiles awkwardly at me.

I mean, I must be a double slice of strange and wonderful for this town, being gay and deaf at the same time.

The microphone stops working, it seems, because the pastor taps on the head several times and screws up his face. The blond boy walks up to the front to help him.

I get a good look at his profile while he fiddles with the mike. He’s a little skinny but with enough muscle on him to pass as lean. His clothing hangs a little loose on him. I don’t know if that’s for style or if he really can’t find clothes that fit him.

His nose is straight and from here I notice he has freckles on his nose and the part of his cheek I can see. A chin that points out slightly and long, slim fingers. He pulls his lips into his mouth, concentrating, and all that does is bring his pretty dimples out on full display.

He finishes with the microphone and walks back to his seat somewhere at the back. He doesn’t look at me when he passes.

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