Page 10 of The Sign for Home

“No. That’s enough. We will follow the schedule you were given. That’s how college works!”

Molly’s ASL, while not exactly beautiful, was fluent, which was a relief. An ASL interpreter being qualified for a job is never guaranteed in a state that doesn’t require interpreters to be licensed or certified. It was what Molly said that bothered me. It was never an interpreter’s place to make a decision for the Deaf. Our job is to interpret the message well enough so that the Deaf can make decisions for themselves. I might have saidsomething, except that Molly had been Arlo’s interpreter for a decade. I was the new guy. Still, there was somethingoffabout their whole interaction. Then I caught sight ofThe Watchtowermagazine sticking out of Molly’s purse. She was a JW too. I was about to spend my whole summer with two JWs.Yippee for me.

I had nothing against JWs. Some of the best and nicest interpreters in New York State are Jehovah’s Witnesses. And I was certain she’d have had plenty of experience working with a gay guy. One of the weirder aspects of the interpreting business is that it is, for the most part, composed of four discrete groups: children of Deaf adults (known as CODAs), brainy progressive women, overly zealous religious folks, and finally, queers like me. CODAs become terps because ASL is their native language and practically a ready-made career. Brainy progressive women because it is a profession where they never stop learning and get to make a positive difference in the world. Religious zealots because interpreting offers a flexible schedule to do missionary work and knowing ASL allows them to proselytize to a marginalized group. Out west the Mormons fit this slot. Here in the Northeast we have the JWs. As far as we queers go, I suppose it’s because we understand what it is to be an outsider, not to mention we look hot in black and are great with our hands.

“Hey there!” I finally shouted, hoping my interruption of the disagreement would work in Arlo’s favor. “Hope I’m not too late.”

Molly looked at her watch and let Arlo know I had arrived.

“I was always taught it’s customary to arrive at a new job at least fifteen minutes early,” Molly signed without a hint of humor.

So much for her being the nice kind of Jehovah’s Witness.It was far too soon to tell her to shove it up her skinny, sour JW butt, so I forced a smile and lied about not being familiar with the campus.

“So where’s this class?” I asked.

“Arlo’s schedule says to go to room C-122,” Molly said, simultaneously signing to Arlo. “We can’t change that now.”

Arlo looked distressed. I tapped him on the shoulder, and his hands lifted into mine.

“Hi! Sorry I was late,” I signed. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

Arlo shook his head no, but his face twitched with dismay.

“I just want take different professor’s class,” he signed. “Molly say:Impossible. Class full. Close finish. Sorry.”

“I’m sure Molly is just following rules,” I signed, trying to appease Molly a little. At first anyway. “When I was in college up in Rochester, I used to always get into classes that were supposedly full. You don’t mind if we try, do you, Molly?”

As she had done that first day at the Abilities Institute, Molly looked at me with such disgust, you’d think I just ate a baby. She quickly shoved her hands under Arlo’s, nearly knocking me out of the way in the process.

“That’s very nice of Cyril to offer his opinion. But this isn’t Rochester. Let’s go before you miss the start ofyourclass.”

Molly began leading Arlo toward his originally scheduled class. No longer able to control myself, I headed them off, stopping them, and addressed Molly while I interpreted for Arlo.

“Whoa there, Molly! Remember, you and me, we’re just the interpreters, right? Isn’t it, you know, better to support Arlo in making his own decisions? Can we agree on that?”

Molly rubbed her hands down her flowered print skirt, wiping the fury into the folds of violets.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brewster?” Molly’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “How long have you actually worked with Arlo? A day? An hour? By my watch I’d say between five and seven minutes, if we include the walk from your car to arrive here—late. Now, shall I suggest we get to the class and do the jobs we are paid for?”

Molly rolled her eyes and again offered her arm to Arlo. Annoyed, I yanked Arlo’s hands back into mine.

“Of course, as all interpreters know, Molly”—my voice wavered withnervous anger—“the Deaf consumer is the boss, right? So, Arlo, what wouldyoulike to do?”

There we were, me and another interpreter, standing in the middle of a hallway using the DeafBlind student in a game of tug-of-war. How did it all fall apart so quickly?I will surely be fired before the day is out.But then I saw it: while Molly was seething, Arlo was suppressing a smile.

“Calm, calm,” Arlo signed. “Everyone confuse. Hold on. Idea! Maybe this time I decide? Okay, Molly? I will ask professor sign paper—okay? Suppose say ‘no’? Then accept! We go back regular class. Okay, Molly, okay?”

At first Molly looked annoyed. But then, as she stared for a second at Arlo’s nervous smiling face, I caught the quickest glimmer of something: her heart, it appeared, did beat.

“Fine,” Molly signed, rolling her eyes. “But it’s a waste of time.”

Then, without interpreting for Arlo, she whispered at me through her teeth: “So this is how you are? They warned me about you.”

7BANISTERS AND BALONEY

You are walking down the hallway with Snap, Molly, and Cyril, your new interpreter. You grasp Molly’s elbow. Some people get fat when they are older. Molly has gotten skinnier and smaller as if she has been shrinking. When you first met Molly ten years ago at the Rose Garden School you were only thirteen and had just woken up in the strange bed after having cried yourself to sleep. It was dark, and you didn’t know where they had taken you. It was Molly’s cold fingers that told you everything.

“It’s called the Rose Garden School,” she signed.

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