Page 34 of The Sign for Home

“Um, that’s a lot of food…”

“I know. I have nine dollars and seventy-five cents in wallet. Various dishes—must try today. Why? So later I will know what I want to order. Many many years baloney sandwich lunch every day. Same same same. Fed up. I want something new. Thank you.”

Arlo pulled out his wallet and felt each of the nine dollar bills and then dug into the change pocket for three quarters, placing all of it in my hand. Then he smiled, like he had just placed an order for a Rolls-Royce when he could only afford a Ford Fiesta. I looked at Bitsy, who, despite everything, had once again picked up the white bread and knife full of mayonnaise.

“Put down the knife, Bitsy!” I said. “No baloney and cheese today!”

Then, without signing to Arlo, since I wanted it to be a surprise, I told her to get ready to give us all the entrées they had available on the line. I was gonna go sit Arlo down at the table then come back to get the food. She and Doris looked at me again like I was crazy.

“Allthe food?” Doris asked. “Are you shittin’ me? That’ll be over thirty bucks, ya know?”

“Yep. The spaghetti and meatballs, the special, everything! And you know something, also make him a BLT, which happens to be my favorite sandwich. It’s time we all lived a little around here, right?”

Doris looked to Bitsy, deferring to the taller woman for the go-ahead. Bitsy placed her mayonnaise knife down and picked up her serving spoon and grinned like a devilish conspirator.

“Let’s give the kid what he wants, for chrissakes!”

You wait for Cyril to bring you the delicious food you ordered. It will cost almost two days’ worth of lunch money, but you are very excited to try thenew food. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Suddenly, as if your body is possessed by a demon, your fingers try to remember how to spell the name. S-H-H-A? S-A-H-S? S-I-H-H-A? You remember her name-sign, but the spoken name was like how people spell the sound the mouth makes when a person says “shhh” plus other letters.

A-H-S-S? S-A-S-H?

Someone taps you on the shoulder and you jump from fear.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Cyril signs into your hands. “You were spelling something to yourself?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you lie. “Just trying to remember something for essay.”

Red star.

Cyril then moves two trays of food in front of you, and you are overwhelmed by the smells. You push all the sinful memories back down into the bad part of your brain. You are starving.

“I hope you are hungry!” Cyril says. “You have a lot of choices.”

You breathe in the fragrant spicy spaghetti sauce and the “special” chicken dish… but, wait, there is even more than what you remember.Sniff. Does the “special” chicken dish have bacon?Sniff. What is that flowery smell in the meatballs? You lower your head like a bloodhound, trying to locate the source of each luscious scent.

“Can eat now?” you ask.

“Sure, sure! Go ahead! Dig in!”

After you make your way around the sumptuous spaghetti and meatballs, the dark and surprising “special” chicken, you discover that the interpreter has brought you even more food than you ordered. French fries, pizza, and a sandwich you have never tried before. You bite into it. The harsh crunch of the toasted bread itches your lips. But then your senses are ravaged as the cool tomato chills your teeth, the wet lettuce snaps and whips against the inside of your cheek, and finally the warm mayonnaise and the salty-sweet crunch of the bacon!

Cyril taps your shoulder.

“You like it?”

“Yes!” you say. “Delicious!”

SignDELICIOUS: The middle finger and thumb touch each other as they meet your lips, then they pull outward as the thumb curls against the middle finger, which draws down to the palm, as if it’s pulling a sumptuous string from your mouth.

“Sandwich name, what?” you ask.

“It’s called a B-L-T. Its initials. It stands for bacon, lettuce, and tomato.”

Because he is doing Tactile Sign Language with you, the interpreter’s hands now have mayonnaise on them too.

You take turns eating from each plate in front of you. One more bite of BLT, then spaghetti and meatballs, then special chicken and back again. Snap’s big head slides warmly into your lap. She is hoping something juicy will fall from your hands, unnoticed. Even guide dogs take advantage of the DeafBlind sometimes. But this time it’s okay. There is enough food for everyone. You feel for a meatball in your spaghetti plate and sneak it down to Snap, who gobbles it down, almost nibbling off your fingers.

“Snap! Down!” you sign like you are angry, but you’re not.

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