It Just Kind Of Happened

19: IT COULD'VE BEEN AWKWARD

I am so sorry if I've been a shitty wattpader lately, but I'mm swamped with so much work and now I am a writer for the college newspapers (YEY) and I'm just crying... literally, I am so tired I cry like a baby. It does feel good, yes. I also cry because this story is getting to an end... ish. ;)

I hope you guys love this completely lovable chapter like I do! Comment/vote, I love to know what you guys think.

See you later, alienator. Xx

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HENRI

She had walked out on him. He saw it, thanks to that horrid glass door. He saw her face, contorting as she tried to think of what the hell was going on. He saw her body twist and her back face him. He saw her leave. Mackenzie Maine left and it was crushing him.

The office visit was a waste of time, too. Even though Dr. Ostron was trying his best to be lenient with his distraught client, he could see that Henri wasn't paying attention to him. And that was bad because if he chose to go forward with this operation, everything would change. So he decided to try another approach. Something that would change the palpable tension in the air for something more... intimate. He needed to build trust and only then Henri would actually consider this. He knew that as soon as the boy stepped into his office. And Henri knew that the doctor knew that. He wasn't oblivious to the friendly attempts of friendly chat that were being thrown at him. He wasn't oblivious to the smiles and fake laughs. He just pretended to be, for the sake of the doctor's sanity.

For some morbid reason, he felt good when the man clearly gave up on him. He felt victorious. With crossed arms and a frown, Henri observed the doctor sigh and bury his head in his hands. And that wasn't good. That wasn't victorious. That was... shitty. He felt shitty. So taking a deep breath, he slowly reached for his notebook and opened it in a rare blank page. He knew that the only sound in that room would be the sound of his pencil sliding through the paper. The sound of the doctor's breathing. His breathing. And the occasional mumbles he knew he sometimes did when he wrote.

After about fifteen minutes, the page was filled and he pushed it to Marcus Ostron.

I am sorry. That was how he started. For I am being a child in such an important situation. But you have to understand—or at least try to. I have been deaf since I was born. I have been in this calming silence since I left my mother's womb, if not earlier. This is how I was born, therefore this is me. This is all I know. Years passed and now that I accept myself—and I have to say that I did so with ease at an early age—my mother cries at my feet, literally, just for me to consider this appointment. I hate to see her cry because that means dad and Lila have to see it too, and I know it breaks them as much as it breaks me.

So there I was, waiting for my flight at the airport, searching for my gate, when I fell. And it's funny because I fell for her too, not much later. Yes, this happened so fast, but those five hours sitting on the dirty ground of that full airport felt like five days. In which every each day was something different. Before I knew it, there were four of us there—just sitting. The philosopher, the jokester, the writer—me—and her. 

Her eyes were tired and angry—apparently, my water had fallen on top of her computer. She was screaming. Lips moving hurriedly and confusion in her eyes afterward. The best part was when she realized I was deaf. Her eyes softened in such a way that I softened along. Her hands reached to me and helped me sit down properly; I looked like an idiot, I am sure.

Slowly and continuously we started to talk. Write. Draw. Stokes that were so light with such a heavy meaning. Different languages, same meaning. She was trying to communicate with me. Even though she clearly was uneducated on the sign language, the girl seemed very keen on talking without sound. She seemed to accept me pretty well. There was no pity and no "I'm am so sorry"—because it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. I just happened to be deaf. Just like my hair is kind of curly and my eyes are brown and I am deaf. It's something characteristic of my self.

You understand now? Why am I so reluctant with this appointment that opens this door for me? This door that will lead to practically being born again. Learning to be me again. Yes, it would be nice to listen sometimes, but the risks that come along with this are not worth it. Not for me. I am not a revolted kid with anger issues because he or she can't hear. I am Henri. And Henri is pretty content with who he is. Plus the financial expenses would be just too much for my family to handle. They have been in a dark place before, and I am not leading them there again. Not with Lila.

You probably don't understand. No one really does. I am not sure I do, but it is the way it is. I accepted myself a long time ago. But let me tell you, when someone does too, it feels amazing. It feels different. Good different. And I know that because my mom never made peace with the fact that I am eating impaired. She never really accepted it. My dad just forgets it sometimes. Lila is young, so she just goes with it. But she was different. It was a whole other situation with a whole other person. They all accepted me—just like I do.

So, please. Please understand that for what is probably the first time in your life, someone is saying no to the operation. I thank you, though. For being patient and for helping people who didn't take it so well like I did.

Henri got up and reached for his notebook, but before he could grab it Marcus wrote down something in the end of the written page.

They said their goodbyes and finally, Henri Walsh was free.

He didn't remember the scribble in his notebook until he opened it to write down the address to his taxi driver. Apparently, Marcus Ostron had taken care of that.

I hope I read you right. Or else this will be really awkward.

310 East 55th street <— Mackenzie's address.

Tell her I said hi.

Like hell he would.