Page 54 of The Voice We Find

As soon as I step into the lobby, I shoot a reply back to Gabby.

I’m here.

Unlike the first time I visited, I’m struck not only by the nostalgic interior of a theater rich in history and charm, but also by the freshly painted walls in the lobby. Gabby and her crew have been hard at work. I detect where the cracks along the baseboard have been caulked and where dated light fixtures have been upgraded.I meander a bit farther to the center of the lobby, where I focus on the inky-black domed ceiling. There’s a smattering of painted metallic stars in the center—no doubt the namesake for this gorgeous theater—but as I ponder the impossible darkness after all the ambient light has been blotted out during the live shows, a chill skitters my spine.

Footsteps approach from behind, and I swivel to find Gabby. She smiles and signs hello to me in ASL. I sign back, proud of myself for learning a few basics on my own.

She gives me a hug as if she’s known me for years.

“Good job,” she exclaims, and when we break apart, I notice her hearing aids more than usual due to the double Dutch braids she’s wearing tonight—an adorable style on her. Though I’ve seen her aids dozens of times, I’ve never seen them so exposed. The technology is fascinating. They’re so small, and the wires are nearly invisible to my naked eye.

She picks up on my focal point, and I immediately want to apologize for staring.

“Thing One and Thing Two are getting a bit more attention than usual today,” Gabby says without any sense of self-consciousness.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t stare, I’m just fascinated by how they work and...”

“And what?” she teases. “It’s okay, Sophie, I’m not easily offended. You can ask me anything.”

“I thought you couldn’t hear out of your right ear but you still wear an aid in that one?”

She nods as if she’s answered this many times before. “Right, because even though I’m profoundly deaf in the right, these aids use the vibrations inside of my skull to transmit sound to my partially hearing ear.” She shrugs, and the action is so authentically teenage girl that I can’t help but smile. It’s weird to think I was her age only a decade ago. “My brother explains the science part a lot better, but in echoey spaces like the auditorium we’ll be in tonight, they make it easier for me to localize sound and pick up on specific conversations.”

I’mstill stunned by their size. They’re a fraction of the size I remember my Gigi’s being when I was her age. “Are they comfortable?”

She pauses before answering this time. “They’re okay. Sometimes the distortion can be really annoying, and I get headaches if I wear them too long, but it’s the tinnitus that makes me feel...” She purses her lips. “Like I want to rip my ears off.”

“Tinnitus.” I scrunch my eyebrows, trying to place the word. “That’s the high-pitched ringing sound?”

“For hours and hours,” she confirms and then says, “But I can be a better help to Portia tonight if I keep them in. I’m not as skilled of a lip-reader as Tyler yet, and even if I was, it becomes really difficult when there are multiple speakers interacting at once. I can help Portia with interpretation when I have them in, although the acoustics in the room still cause me to miss things. But that’s why we’re here, right? To promote the many benefits of interpreters.”

“Right.” I recall the interpreters I’ve watched during second service on Sunday mornings. When Portia first started the ministry at Seaside so her husband could attend, she was the only interpreter. Now, there are four on rotation.

Gabby links her arm through mine and tugs me deeper into the lobby. My pulse kicks a little harder in my chest. I can tell my brain I’m only here to attend a class, but my body knows exactly where I am. I’ve simply been inside too many auditoriums for me to pretend otherwise.

“If it wasn’t for my brother,” Gabby continues with ease, “I probably would have ditched my aids altogether after camp, though.”

The mention of August sends a rush of warmth through me. “Why if not for your brother?”

“Because he doesn’t want to accept that I’ll be deaf forever.”

This draws me up short. “What do you mean?”

Her hesitation is the first time I’ve felt her hold back, and I don’t know if it’s her brother she’s protecting or herself. “My condition is degenerative. It’s why my aids don’t work as well now as they did when August first bought them for me.” She rubs her lips together. “August still hopes I can befixedsomeday—that my lifewill be better if I can go back to hearing and communicating the way I used to.”

I flinch at her use of the wordfixed, and it takes me a second to recalibrate my thoughts. “And what do you hope for?”

“Peace.” Her voice holds so much honesty, I don’t dare take a breath. “I should have died two years ago in the same accident that killed my parents, but I’m still here. I don’t understand why things happened the way they did, but I trust that God has a plan. My mom raised me to believe He works in every circumstance in our lives. Even the hardest ones.”

The way she speaks about God, with such confidence, reminds me of what August said about Gabby finding comfort in her faith. And I understand it now. Because her words have brought me comfort, too.

Behind us, I hear several more people enter the theater. By the way they’re conversing back and forth, I know they’re hearing attendees. As I follow Gabby through the auditorium, she boldly greets each guest with a smile and a wave, being sure to thank them for coming.

Meanwhile, butterflies hatch in my gut at the smell of polished wood and velvet seat cushions.

“So glad you made it, Sophie,” Portia says, greeting me as Gabby points out our saved seats facing the front of center stage. While Portia asks questions about my day, the sight of the stage behind her is distracting at best. “I was hoping to talk with you about something after the meeting tonight. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

And then the butterflies hatch in full. With as much as I appreciate Portia’s kindness to me, I’ve feared being asked to do more at the theater outside these Tuesday night classes. For one, my commitments at the studio and the winery simply won’t allow it. And for two, I’m not ready. No matter how badly I want to be, the panicked hum in my limbs warns me otherwise.

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