Page 69 of The Sign for Home

Now I ask you very SECRET PERSONAL QUESTION.

Long time ago I home from school on summer break. Mrs. Brother Birch catch me search on dirty SIN website called pornfiesta21.com. (Gasp! Gulp! EMBARRASS FACE!) Brother Birch very angry. He not talking at me for long time. So disappoint! Then later during Public Talk at Church he telling all congregation about SIN how I was jerk off with hands and looking at NAKED SIN PICTURES WOMEN and being willful young man who JH God should punished. Doesn’t matter disabled or not. Brother Birch NOT say my name, but I know everyone look at me anyway. They know I sinner. Later I promising BROTHER BIRCH I never do sin on pornfiesta21.com again. But still not trust me. He was say: I know young men, and I know Devil. After that he put special program on computer to restrict sinful websites. I only supposed look JW.org unless special permission. Brother Birch have secret SNEAKY way to check to see if I was be cheating.

So ask SPECIAL FAVOR: Can you helping me join FACEBOOKS special website and DeafBlind GROUP on internet? I need find old friend Martin and Big Head Lawrence long time not see and have questions. At library, I try set up FACEBOOKS myself but FAILING. Website not easy to enlarge and understand TOO COMPLICATED AND MANY ADVERTISEMENT. Can not see how to make profile for find friends. Please help?

But SHHHHH secret. Shhhhh. Must not TELL anyone. (VERY SERIOUS FACE.) Big Trouble. Please DELETE email after read.

HUGS,

Arlo Dilly

I stared at the email, longing to reach through the screen and give Arlo a hug with one hand and choke his uncle with the other. But his request put me in an impossible position. It was like one of the ethical questions one might see on the written part of the RID interpreter certification test:

Interpreter Question 164. If there is no physical or sexual abuse, should an interpreter get involved in a complicated conflict between the client, his family, and his ongoing interpreter?

Yes. Always.

Sometimes. Depending on the situation.

Rarely. Only if the client isn’t getting to use the internet the way he wants.

NO! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, YOU STUPID UNETHICAL FUCK-FACE?!

My job was not to set up social media profiles, nor to enlighten the student about the unfairness of their situation, nor to tell the client their religion is full of shit and everybody jerks off. My job was to relay the message between the hearing consumer and deaf consumer clearly and accurately. Molly was right: I was not Arlo’s savior. I reread his email one more time before I deleted it. As I lay in bed unable to sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about that one sentence: (All of us having hard time life. I know!) Why a parenthetical? All? I assumed he was talkingabout DeafBlind people and Molly, but then I started to wonder if he meant me too.

After thirty-five more minutes of pointless restlessness, I got out of bed, typed Facebook into the browser, and clicked the big green button that said Create an Account.

I just needed to get a photo of him.

30TRUTH-TELLING

The next day I asked Hanne to meet me for coffee before work at the Dunkin’ Donuts near Main and Lewis. I needed someone to talk to about everything that was happening, but also wanted to find out if Hanne had met with Arlo while I was gone.Was she behind Arlo’s little makeover?

I expected Hanne to be late as usual, but when I walked into the store, I saw her sitting at a table against the bright orange wall, sipping a large black coffee. She was wearing a yellow sundress and her giant Euro-looking sunglasses with her hair swept up in a very 1960s do.

“You okay?” I asked. “You look like a very somber, latter-day Jackie Kennedy.”

“It’s my mood,” she said, removing her movie-star sunglasses to reveal red, tired eyes. “Curtis is back in rehab and I have to meet his counselor today. I don’t want to look like the cause of his addiction. So I’m trying for the long-suffering-yet-beautiful-wife look.”

“Suits you,” I said. Neither of us managed a laugh.

After some awkward silence, hoping she might tell me what was really going on, I caught her up on the details of my life. Then, to follow up on my hunch, I mentioned how good Arlo looked with his new haircut. I searched her face for some sort of reaction but there was nothing. She simply stared at her coffee, barely even nodding. I figured my assumption was wrong. Then as I started talking about Arlo’s desire for a Facebook profileand needing a photo, Hanne’s eyes started to dampen. I reached for her hand but she quickly pulled it away. The gesture angered me.

“What the fuck, Hanne? If you have something going on, just tell me. Are you worried Curtis isn’t serious about getting sober again?”

Hanne shook her head and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle like she had a stomachache. She turned her eyes toward the shelves of frosted doughnuts behind the counter, and tears dripped from the angle of her jaw and splatted onto her yellow dress.

“Is it Wout?” I asked.

“No, no. Everyone is fine,” she said, still looking away from me. “Curtis says he’s serious about rehab. And Wout is doing some camping thing up at Bear Mountain with friends. It’s just…”

She went silent, like she was trying to avoid words that might make her cry. Her eyes stayed fixed on the rows of colorful frosted doughnuts.

“Those doughnuts, the ones in the middle with all the… what’s it called? I’m suddenly forgetting the word. Confetti?”

“I always call them jimmies, but some people say sprinkles. It’s one of those words that depends on where you live.”

“Jimmies? Well, I love them. They’re beautiful. I want to paint a painting filled with those jimmy doughnuts. Dozens of beautiful multicolored pop-art pastries, but then in the middle of them—the empty part—I want to paint the darkest black with little scenes of hell and suffering. Just chaos… chaos and darkness.”

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