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I am a mute.

I have been a mute for over seventeen years; the result of no speech therapy as a child and an overwhelming sense of shyness.

People often mistake me to be deaf and shout at me what they wish to tell. I calmly sign or write back, "I am mute. I can hear you perfectly."

It's not often I find someone else who understands sign language... or at least to the extent I do. My neighbor knows quite a bit of sign language, but even she has trouble understanding my sometimes rapid "talking." My few friends back home know the alphabet but after moving to London, I write to them and the sign language is no longer needed.

It would be a lie to say I don't struggle. If I need help reaching an object on a shelf at the store, I will simply leave without it. If I eat out at a restaurant, I have to politely write on a paper to ask if someone will order for me. Usually, people oblige but there is the rare occasion when I'm just stared at until I walk away.

It is a hard life I lead, but I'm thankful to just be living, breathing the crisp London air every day. I have my lovely cat Oscar, to keep my company on the daily. He lies at my feet right now, purring contentedly in his sleep. I set a stack of finished essays on my nightstand, prepared to deliver them to Imperial College tomorrow, where I am currently a student at.

Since I don't speak, I write as my preferred profession. Currently, I'm going to turn in an article that contains my thoughts about the three Universities of Cambridge finally allowing women to attend. I sighed, pulling the blanket over myself, turning off the lamp beside me. I don't dread the next day, but I'm necessarily looking forward to it either.

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I left my apartment quickly, looking at my watch in disbelief. I only had twenty minutes before the professor who wanted my papers would leave for the day. Racing down the stairs, I ran out the door and down the street, praying that I wouldn't miss the tube. I simply could not afford both figuratively and literally, to take a cab to Imperial.

Holding my binder of notes tightly to my chest, I raced to the station six minutes from my flat, barely making it in time. Out of breath, I paid for my ticket and hopped aboard, sitting near the back where it was empty.

Being mute allowed me to look at people with a different view. I could observe without being interrupted by a conversation. Looking around, I saw a man sitting two rows in front of me, wearing some casual clothing, reading a newspaper. Obviously, he had either just gotten off of work or heading to the city for a night out.

Across from him was a young woman with a child sitting next to her. I smiled as they appeared to be wearing similarly styled outfits, clearly mother and daughter. I was caught off guard as the child saw me looking and waved. I gave her a small grin and waved back.

Behind the woman and child, were two young men. One had long, dark raven hair and a set of brown eyes almost the color of coffee, his front teeth rather large. And the other had shoulder-length blonde hair, and wore a pair of sunglasses. They spoke in hushed voices, although I could pick out some words.

"We're going to be late to open our stall!" The blonde-haired man whispered harshly.

"Roger, calm down, we'll get there on time," the raven-haired one replied back, obviously less worried than Roger.

I realized I had been staring for too long once the man named Roger caught me staring. I quickly averted my gaze, pretending to be interested in my folder.

"Roger, you get back here this instant! Do not leave me alone on this bloody tube!" The other man whisper yelled.

I felt Roger's sudden presence looming over me. I looked up to see him smiling charmingly at me. I swallowed nervously, not in the mood to be gawked at or mocked.

People Can You Hear Me? [A Brian May Story]Where stories live. Discover now