Page 78 of The Sign for Home

“Independent? Impossible! Cook for you… who? Arranges rides foryou… who? Make sure you don’t spend too much money… who? Talk to Social Security office for you… who? What if murderer break in apartment? Live alone? No way! Scared. Forget it!”

You can feel your old friend’s hands go silent, yet they still twitch like they are full of words.Why doesn’t he say something? Is he angry about you disregarding his invite?All of a sudden, a tidal wave of angry words pummels your hands.

“Finish you! You not baby. DeafBlind can! Look, I cook, I clean, I take the bus and train alone. I get O and M training! If need special help, I just contact friends or case manager. No big deal. Sometimes hard? Sure. Some DeafBlind struggle. Sure. I see better than you? Sure. But know what? Martin full blind, vision zero, but he independent!”

You want to crawl under the metal bench. You recall how Cyril had tried to make the same point as Larry, when he came back from that conference and told you about that woman Tabitha, the DeafBlind boss. Why has no one told you about this possibility of independence before? Larry goes on to tell you how both he and Martin are involved in the DeafBlind rights movement, and that both of them had traveled to Washington, DC, with a big group to demand the government provide funding for SSPs, trainings, and free assistive technology for DeafBlind people all over America.

Then your old friend, perhaps feeling he has been too harsh, says, “Sorry. I talk too much… blah blah blah. What about you? Still live with uncle? Molly still interpreter?”

You wish you had some long story of a new happy life to tell him, but you don’t.

“Yes. Same thing,” you say. “Many years.”

“Can I ask you private question?” Larry asks in a more serious tone, which makes you nervous. “Long time ago, at school, you ran away and didn’t say goodbye to best friends. Why?!”

Larry’s signs grow more agitated, while his leg presses against yours, twitching like he is trying to control himself.

“When you disappear everyone very upset! Girls Em and Marla cry,Why Arlo leave us? Why Arlo not write email to us?Me and Martin, when not hear from you many weeks, we cry too. You supposed to be our best friend… but then disappear… no explanation. Recently, when Victor from DeafBlind Facebook group tell me you want contact me, I think:Fuck Arlo! Fuck Arlo for run away and ignore friends many years!Then I ask Martin. He says:Calm down, Larry! You must go and ask Arlo ‘Hurt us… why? Disappear… what for?’So, now tell me! Why? Why you run away and so cruel?”

Larry’s anger confuses you. Didn’t they already know? Didn’t both he and Martin know how you were charged with a crime? Didn’t he understand how S’s death impacted you? Did they actually think it was your choice to disappear and not communicate with them?

Your hands pound his palms in fury.

“You crazy? I not run away! I want to say goodbye to best friends. School and uncle force me leave! I want to contact, but uncle forbid! They tell me I must forget. And I hurt so bad… hurt so bad for long time. Must forget! Understand? Because of what happened. You know! What happen with sweetheart S!”

You can’t do this. Too much remembering. The wordsweetheartconnected to the name S makes the long-ago ache return. Your stomach roils with sick.

“No, no, no,” you shout. “Can’t talk about that! No!”

You yank your hands from Larry’s and sit on them, feeling utterly alone again. After a moment, using the same Protactile method Cyril taught you, Larry “nods his head” on the side of your thigh. He understands. You unleash your hands and lift them to him.

“You still heartbreak?” Larry asks. “So sad about S.”

“My heart broken… forever.”

There it is. The truth.

Again Larry “nods his head” on your thigh, then says, “So manypeople cry because what happened S. Everyone gossip that S not jump, that S pushed. Very puzzling! No one say truth. But still… not fair. Stuck in hospital many years. Can’t walk. No school. No work.”

Huh? Hospital many years? No school? No work?Larry talks about S as if she is alive. Is he misunderstanding who you are talking about?

“You not pay attention!” you shout, enraged by his ignorance. “I talking about S! My S! Indian girl from Queens, New York. My sweetheart, S! You stupid!”

“What?! Don’t call me stupid! I know S!”

“Spell name… how?!”

And Larry spells out the letters of S’s full name. It is the first time you have seen the actual spelling of S’s name in years.

“First name spell, S-H-R-I, last name M-U-K-H-E-R-J-E-E. Pea brain! I know who Shri is!”

That was it! There is no misunderstanding. That was her name, now you recalled the letters, the shape: Shri Mukherjee. Full name: Shridevi Mukherjee!

Your hands stab the awful truth into Larry’s ignorant hands.

“Shri dead! Killed herself! Jumped from building! Dead!”

“What?” Larry says. You can feel the confusion in his hands. “You crazy! Shri not dead! Shri only hurt self… very bad hurt. Broke spine. Can’t walk. Then, after accident, family stick Shri in nursing home somewhere back in New York City. Not good life. Very lonely there.”

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