A Silent Love

Chapter 8 : If that doesn't scream loner, I don't know what does.

Olivia's POV

After having the best night - and best food - that I've had in a while, my mom and I head out of Luigi's and walk under the city lights. We decided not to head home just yet and to continue walking around, not ready to end such a fantastic night. 

We walk side by side, our elbows interlinked as we made our way through the surprisingly large crowd. It was almost midnight, but after all, this is the city that never sleeps. 

I guess everyone's motto here is sleep is for the weak.

I'd rather just sleep for a week. 

My mom tapped my shoulder softly and I turned my attention back to her instead of my wandering thoughts. Do you want to go in that store really quick?  She signed, diverting her attention between the people bustling around us and my face, trying hard not to trip over a small child weaving through our legs. 

I looked up ahead and saw my favorite jewelry store before slowly shaking my head. She knows how much I love that store, but I refused. We don't have the money to go in there especially because we ate out tonight. No thanks. Can we just walk around for a bit? I love seeing the city lights at night. I signed smaller than usual because people were giving me weird looks when I almost smacked a guy in the face when I pointed up to the lights. 

She noticed my embarrassed expression and just nodded in response before grabbing my arm and tugging me slightly towards her so I wouldn't run face first into a building. 

I smiled sheepishly at her and she smirked at me, trying to hide her smile. 

We walked for about an hour, window shopping and people watching. Occasionally, we would stop and sit on a bench that wasn't completely crowded with people or smeared with pigeon poop and make up backstories for people walking by. 

Okay, okay, my mother started. She narrowed her eyes slightly at an older man with a large backpack, almost the size of him, overflowing with clothing and books. He was struggling to walk through the crowds, managing to hit almost everyone with his excessively large pack, earning him a couple of wary glances and shouted curses. 

His wife tried to throw all of his old clothes and belongings out, claiming that she needed the space in the extra bedroom for a yoga space, my mom dove into her story. Outraged, the man tried to argue for the belongings, telling her how the shirt that read, "I may be eighty, but my mind is still tarp as a shack," had tremendous value. He bought it from a thrift store. The SAME thrift store, Justin Bieber donated his sneakers when he was six years old. Therefore, that shirt may have possibly been in the same room as Justin Bieber. However, she told him that he was being ridiculous, but reasoned with him, saying that if he could fit all of that pointless junk in a single bag, he could keep it. So, he found that humongous pack in, wait for it, the JUSTIN BIEBER THRIFT STORE! So now he is heading home to his wife so he can gloat, she signed frantically, looking extremely proud of herself while I just stared at her open-mouthed. 

That was incredibly detailed. I was just going to say maybe he got booted from his apartment, but that works too... I guess. I chuckled slightly at my mom's wild mind and she shakes her head slightly. 

Getting kicked out of his apartment? That's the best you've got? So basic. I scoff as my mom blatantly judges my lack of imagination. 

Whatever, I yawn slightly, waving off her insult. 

You tired? She asks, gesturing to my slumped posture and half closed eyes. 

I made a little space between my fingers, but then expanded it to a large space, using both of my arms and extending them out as far as I could. Yeah, that seemed more reasonable. 

She rolls her eyes and stands up, helping me as we start to walk back to our apartment. I lean slightly on her, afraid that if I try to walk by myself, I will pass out and get trampled to death by these impatient New Yorkers. 

Like honestly, it's 2 in the morning... where are you rushing to?

After a while of making our way back to our home, we pass by a music store and a guitar accented with lights catches my eye. The strings seem to glow in the small spotlight illuminating it and I can imagine a certain pair of hands strumming them lightly. 

My mind wanders to the guy in the subway - after looking in a yearbook, I discover his name is Mason - and think about the many times I have run into him, literally, in the past few days. 

Although I've only spoken two or three words to him, he is probably the only person I have talked to at my school since I arrived. 

If that doesn't scream loner, I don't know what does. 

But the very fact that he approached me, wanting to make sure I was okay, made me feel a foreign emotion. 

I wanted to get to know him. Maybe we could be... friends.

Immediately after the idea entered my mind, I brushed it off.  

Who am I kidding? I can't be friends with him, let alone anyone. Who wants to hang out with the lonely deaf girl? 

Even if they wanted to be friends with me for some unknown reason, it's not like they could talk to me unless they learned how to sign or I read their lips, but despite what you may see in Switched At Birth, lip reading is very hard and, although I've tried it in class, I can barely understand like a third of the things the person is saying. 

So basically, that crosses out any chance of me having friends. 

I shove away the dream world where Mason and I are laughing and talking like normal people and he plays his guitar for me and I enjoy the music, being able to hear it. 

Every doctor and therapist I went to told me to not be ashamed of my deafness, but to embrace it. I have been embracing it for years now, so I don't understand exactly why those thoughts entered my mind, completely erasing any proudness that I have for my culture. 

I shake my head and focus back on reality, only to realize that we were at our apartment building already. 

Wow, I was really out of it wasn't I? 

And it's that boy's fault. 

--

As I struggled to fall asleep that night, I played back the encounters I've had with Mason. 

Him almost knocking me out of my chair to get my attention so I wouldn't get in trouble and then him somehow diverting everyone's judging eyes away from me. 

Him chasing me down after class and successfully knocking all of his books down. 

Running into him in the subway, successfully knocking down all of his belongings - he seriously needs to learn how to zip up his backpack - and then him rambling to me, although I couldn't hear him and then sprinting out of there awkwardly. 

Although I knew it was pointless to think about us being friends or even acquaintances, I had a strange feeling inside of me that he wouldn't give up so easily.