sign {h.s.}

capitulo dos

"OF COURSE THAT'S okay!" I assure her, the voice coming out of my lips sounding strangely not like my own. It's filled with a sugary sweetness and an over-enunciation that is exaggerated in all the wrong ways. Harry, seeing this, offers me one, curt shake of his head as his lips maintain a straight line. Disapproval radiates from him, and I can't help but wonder whether I've already squandered my chances of having a good relationship with my roommate.

My mother, the saint, is the first one to break the tension. She walks over in front of Lola, offering her a smile. "I'm Cassidy's mother," she says, pausing to wait as Harry signs the words to Lola. His fans move with a fast confidence, hardly needing more than a second to immediately begin repeating what my mother had said. "It's so nice to meet you." She maintains the same pattern of speaking and waiting for Harry. As soon as he does, my mother moves in to take Lola into her arms, giving her a big hug.

"Nice... to meet... you... too," the words come out of Lola sounding broken and forced.

Harry notices the same thing and immediately jumps in. For Lola's convenience, he simultaneously speaks and signs to explain to us: "Lola is verbal, but she's not entirely comfortable with speaking. In my experience, she'll warm up to speaking with you the closer you are. Closer as in relationship, not proximity. But, don't expect that from her. It is not her job to make hearing people comfortable with her disability. She also tends to, I don't know," he pauses for a second, carefully thinking over his words before continuing, "mutter, I think is the word I'm looking for, while she's signing. I don't think she realizes that she does it." Lola gives Harry a nod, agreeing with him.

Finally, I notice Harry's accent. Initially, the shock of the situation overwhelmed me. It overwhelmed my senses. Though Harry was there, he was not my focus. Lola was my focus, her shy stature as she shied back from the spotlight. Only now have I begun to wrap my brain around this—this new way of living. Upon such a level of acceptance, my mind finally turned to the other figure in the room. From the first time that he opened his mouth, I hadn't noticed his way of speaking. I hadn't noticed that his accent isn't American in the slightest.

"Harry, right?" My father asks, leaning forward to shake his hand and bending down to give Lola a hug. Harry nod his head in response to my father's question, leaning back against Lola's bed, appearing to be entirely relaxed. It's obvious to me that this is a space that he is comfortable in. "How long have you been an interpreter for?"

As though it is second nature for him, Harry translates the question for Lola. "Depends what language," he's speaking for himself, now, though he continues to interpret the words for Lola—ensuring that she is a part of this conversation. The words coming out of his mouth are slightly cocky; heightened only by the smug smirk that pulls across Harry's bearded face. The look on him is utterly attractive, and I wonder how I've been staring at him for all this time without noticing how absolutely beautiful this man is. I'd never seen someone signing before, at least not in front of me, and I don't know if I am more focused on the language, or the man using it. "My dad's side of the family is Italian. Pure Italian, you know," he pauses as he considers something. He looks directly at Lola and appears to ask her a question.

"Oh," she mutters and then shows him a sign.

In a way, this almost humanizes him to me. Cocky as he may be, there are still flaws trickling beneath the surface. Fluent as he may be in American Sign Language, it's obvious that he is no better than the rest of us. He, too, seems to forget signs from time to time.

"Pure Italian." Harry repeats, appearing to have just been taught the sign. "Sorry," he says, directing his apology at us. He lets out a long sigh, his eyes focusing on me before he continues. It's a small gesture on his part, but I can tell that he is considering whether or not to indulge in us this information completely. Still, when he opens his mouth and begins talking, I don't miss the way that though he is signing to someone else, his eyes are so completely on me. "I speak several languages. Eleven, actually. Italian is my first language, thanks to my father's insistence that I learned it. A lot of family politics were involved in that. English came next, obviously, as I speak to you.