Page 52 of The Sign for Home

“Still alone?” he asked, his head turning toward the door.

“Yes,” I signed. “But remember we have to go to class in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, okay. Question. Long time ago, you become interpreter… Why? Molly became interpreter to teach Deaf people become JW. Why you? Parents Deaf?”

This is the most common question Deaf folks ask, but usually when they first meet you. Why he waited so long I had no idea.

“No,” I signed. “No one in my family was Deaf. To be honest, becoming an interpreter just happened by accident. I met this Deaf man in college who was teaching an ASL class. I took the class. We became bestfriends and hung out a lot. I was good at ASL, and I liked Deaf people, so one thing led to another and the next thing you know… I’ve been an interpreter ever since.”

Of course, my answer was only adjacent to the truth, but it wasn’t the time or place to get into all the gory details.

“You like Deaf better than hearing?” Arlo asked.

I laughed. “Um… often. Yes.”

“Why? Why you like Deaf better?”

Suddenly the formerly silent, opaque Arlo had turned into a DeafBlind talk-show host.

“You have a lot of questions. The Deaf people I’ve met have been a lot more honest and direct. Hearing people can be pretty phony, not saying what they mean, pretending to feel one way when they really feel another. Deaf people tell it like it is. It’s even inherent in ASL. No passive voice. Difficult to be vague without appearing to outright lie. I guess I just feel safer around Deaf people.”

“But Deaf always gossip!”

“Okay. Sure. I’m not saying Deaf people are perfect. They aren’t. Maybe it just feels safer hanging in a world that isn’t my own? An outsider being more comfortable with other outsiders.”

“Outsider?” he asked. “Means what?”

I explained the term, but then suddenly was overcome with a queasy feeling. I was stepping into an area of intimacy I had been trying to avoid. I patted Arlo’s hand in a way to say the conversation was over.

“Hey, I probably should go to the bathroom before it gets time for the class to start,” I signed. “We can talk another time, and maybe you can tell me more about you. It’s not fair if only one person talks.”

“Wait!” he signed, a look of desperation on his face. “I will tell you something before you go toilet. Before Molly arrives.”

He began to pummel the air with words.

“My mother died long time ago when I in Rose Garden School.Because cancer. Father left when I was born. Mama tell me because he bad, drunk man. Not like JW, not believe Jehovah God, but… then why not try see me? Confuse. Brother Birch knows truth but tell me nothing. Mama say Father not come back because JW shun him. He bad man. Sinner. Mama and Brother Birch, whole congregation, never talk to Father again. Disfellowshipped. Because Mama die, I must live with Brother Birch and his wife. Why? Brother Birch my mama’s uncle. I very lonely. Same as Molly. She lonely too. Now she lonelier. Why? Because she must be more careful with Brother Birch. That’s why she upset today.”

Arlo stopped, then reached in front of him to make sure I was still there, listening. A flush of humiliation reddened his face.

I reached into his hands, letting him know I hadn’t left. I knew there was something more Arlo wanted to tell me.

“I talk too much. Sorry. Go to toilet. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Go on.”

Arlo took a deep breath, weighing the right way of saying whatever he was about to tell me. He leaned in. I was prepared for him to answer all the questions that had been dogging me since we met. The mystery would finally be solved.

“Hey! Shh! Very secret, okay?”

“Yes. Promise.”

“I know something,” he began. He looked like whatever he was about to tell me was causing him great pain. “Shh. Secret. Shh. I know you G-A-Y.”

I didn’t know what to say. He had turned the spotlight back onto me, and I suddenly felt tricked. His minor revelation about his mother dying was just a ploy to get me to confess something. I felt naked in front of him and it angered me. It was not how I liked to feel in front of someone I worked with. I prided myself on my anonymity and professionalism. How had he come to the conclusion about my sexuality? Did I sign like I was gay? Was it because I indicated I was an outsider? No. The answer wasobvious: Molly, that puritanical, prudish JW snake, was trying to turn him against me. Whether she had succeeded or not was still in question.

“Look,” I signed. “That’s too personal of a question.”

Arlo pulled his hands away, sat up in his chair, and suddenly took on the look of the good social worker counseling a problem child.

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