Page 11 of The Sign for Home

“Roses?” you asked, sniffing the night air. “Can’t smell!”

“There are no rose gardens here. It’s just a name.”

“You my interpreter?” you asked in your hodgepodge of basic ASL and homemade signs you used with your mother.

“I’m called an intervenor. It’s like a teacher and an interpreter all in one,” she signed.

“I want go home!”

Many of Molly’s signs were unfamiliar, but you could already tell she was more accomplished than any of your previous interpreters. She told you that the Rose Garden School would be your new home, and that you would sleep in a dorm called Magnolia House, which was also named for a flower, and no, there were no magnolias anywhere near Magnolia House.

“I want see Mama!”

“Try to stop crying,” Molly signed. Her hands were chilly but not unkind. “You’ll see her at winter break and in the summers. But you need to be an example when the other children arrive. Jehovah God is depending on you!”

For the first two weeks Molly and Costas, the orientation and mobility instructor, were the only people with whom you interacted. Costas showed you how to find your way around the school, teaching you things like running your cane along the side of the pavement—“shorelining”—and then to turn right when the grass starts in order to find the cafeteria.

“Make sure you don’t only tap your cane in front of you,” Costas signed. “Sweep it back and forth like this. Remember the cane is there both to alert you to obstacles and also to signal to others that you have vision problems.”

At the start of the second week, the school was officially open, and Molly guided you to a giant hall that was very bright and painted orange and yellow. You felt the breeze and bump of hundreds of children’s bodies. The floor rumbled like an earthquake of feet.

“This is the cafeteria,” Molly signed, seating you at a big long table. “Don’t move. I’ll be back with your lunch in a few minutes.”

You sat there waiting, frightened and excited. But no matter how you strained to see the other students with the vision in your left eye, their faces flew by like the rapidly flipping pages of a book. If you looked farther off, you could catch glimpses of Deaf children releasing thousands of words into the air with their hands. They all seemed to know one another. A wave of homesickness crashed over you and you squeezed your eyes closed so you wouldn’t cry.

A moment later someone’s hot breath huffed onto your cheek.

“Molly?” You reached out your hand, but whoever it was jumped out of the way too quickly for you to see.

Sniff.

An unfamiliar spicy-sweet smell filled your nose.

“Who?” you asked, turning toward the scent. “Stop playing!”

A breeze of a hand waved at the other side of your head. You snapped your head toward it, but just as quickly it disappeared. Then a purposeful blast of air blew into your hair. This time you swung your arm, but the sneaky child disappeared into the chaos of the cafeteria.

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, after setting a food tray in front of you. “Why did you try to hit me?”

You explained to Molly about the mysterious child blowing on you, but she dismissed it as unimportant and told you to eat. Your fingers found a glass of milk, an apple, two slices of bread with something in the middle.

Sniff.

The “hamburger” had an unfamiliar smell.

When you chomped down, your mouth was suddenly awash with brand-new textures and tastes: creamy eggy mayonnaise, soft sweet bread, and a slippery, savory, meat-like substance. You waved the bread and meat into Molly’s face.

“Wow!” you exclaimed. “Thishamburgerdelicious! Newhamburger, name what?!”

“That isn’t ahamburger,” Molly signed. “It’s called a S-A-N-D-W-I-C-H. Sandwich.”

SignSANDWICH: One hand folds over the other hand like it’s the bread making a meat sandwich. Then you raise the hand sandwich to the mouth.

Your face flushed warm from embarrassment.

“Okay. Okay. Right.Sandwich.I forget.”

But you didn’t forget. You didn’t know the sign forsandwich. Your mama would use the signhamburgerfor all foods formed with two pieces of bread. It didn’t matter whether thehamburgerwas made with peanut butter and jelly, a fried chicken patty, or the especially delicious sloppy joehamburger, which she would sign “bad boy hamburger.”

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