𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 (𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚡𝙱)

Track 61 | 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗰

➣➣➣

Silence.

Everywhere.

And yet, I still understand every word of what my professor is teaching. He moves his hands around in specific, coordinated shapes, communicating and translating the lesson to the scarcely-filled, but modest classroom. We deaf students aren't provided with a big enough lecture hall, as the disabled and hearing-impaired make up a minority of the student body.

"Final is next Friday," the professor signs. I interpret it effortlessly, his every gesture and signal rendering as clear, distinguishable language in my head. "Please don't procrastinate until the last minute. Have a good weekend everyone."

And class is over.

Sydney—my classmate and friend—and I sit up from our swivel chairs. I pick up my laptop and water bottle from the table, shoving them into my messenger bag, Sydney does the same with her belongings. I sling the bag over my shoulder by the strap and we make our way towards the door, waving goodbye and signing a quick 'thank you' to our teacher. The other four students in the room do the same. He nods contently, sending us off.

"See you," I sign to Sydney as we part ways while leaving the building. 

The hot, smoke-infused air of New York City clogs my lungs the moment I step out onto the concrete. It's not even summer yet, and I'm already one degree away from having a heat stroke. 

Banners displaying the patriotic logo of my school drape across various buildings above me. I rent a city bicycle at the sidewalk and pedal into the adjacent biking lane, circumventing the busy traffic upon the tarmac.

Luckily enough, I can't hear the clamor. All I see is chaos, up and down the streets, and yet, the sweet silence blocks it all out. Even so, I can't deny that some days I long to hear the noise of beeping cars and shouting pedestrians once more, if only for a second.

I stand at the corner of Washington Square, staring at my phone. I receive a text from Takashi— "almost there." Soon enough, I notice a bulky UPS truck rounding the bend at a bustling intersection, approaching my side of the sidewalk. It takes a while to navigate through the jam, but he finally parks right in front of me. The passenger door swings open. Inside is my coworker Takashi, reaching over from the driver's seat. He gives me a thumbs-up, and I return the gesture. I climb up into the large vehicle, and we pull away into the mess of New York.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" 

Takashi's lips are easy to read, especially when he's in the midst of a fit of road rage. I've never heard his voice before, but by the way he puts his entire body into his yelling, I'm sure his scream is wonderful. 

"Jesus. New York," he says, shaking his head. I exhale sharply through my nostrils as a quiet replacement for a laugh, though I'm not fully aware of how much louder it is.

I root through my messenger bag for my work uniform, retrieving the dull UPS vest from the bottom of the satchel. I lazily pull it over me as Takashi arrives at our first stop.

In the back of the truck, Takashi and I survey the various mountains of cardboard, plastic, and paper before us; stacks and stacks of unopened packages—a full load, all to be delivered in one evening. We immediately get to work. The faster we get this done, the faster we can beat the rush hour and go home.

With my DIAD device handy, I scan the boxes and sort through the mess, loading specific packages onto a platform cart. From there, I roll the cart down the ramp and off the truck. I begin to make my way down the block, delivering one package after another onto each corresponding doorstep. Takashi does the same on the neighboring block across the street.