sign {h.s.}

chapitre trois

MUCH TO MY shock, Harry is already in the room when I wake up the next morning.

Last night, Lola and I communicated mostly through texting. Every once in a while there would be something that I could effectively gesture, and I took every opportunity to do so. After all, I am not so naïve as to think that she is the one that should be accommodating me. Once, when I asked her if she wanted tea, I was able to finger spell the world for her. She politely declined, but a genuine smile was written across her face as she recognized the candid effort I was putting in to try and accommodate her.

Of course, there are things that didn't come up in our conversation last night. For example: we did not discuss Harry's presence in our room. While he wasn't there at the time, I could still feel his lingering presence. To be fair, I don't exactly mind him being there. He is easy on the eyes and it's not like like he is going through my things. He is exclusively there to make her life easier. All things considered, his presence doesn't really concern me at all. Yet, I can't help the lingering thoughts that seem to surround him.

Mysterious is one way to describe his presence. He's a first for me. I'm well aware that my intention isn't to know him better, or know him at all. His personality is oddly not conveyed when he speaks to me, mostly because he is speaking for someone else. It's a unique experience, communicating with him as a vessel. Actually, it's unlike anything I've ever done at all. There's an odd sensation of shame that I do associate with that feeling. Proudly I like to comment on Massachusetts' superior public education system in comparison to the rest of the country, though their blatant failings in terms of cultivating an understanding of ASL is becoming increasingly apparent. Or, maybe I just wouldn't like to accept the blame myself. Regardless, his presence is one that I've found myself very willing to accept in my life—let alone my room.

Still, I don't know how I feel about him being the first thing I see in the morning.

It takes him no time at all to notice that I've woken up. "Bonjour chérie," he comments absentmindedly, barely looking up from his phone after the initial glance in which he realized that I was awake. My eyes scan the room in a dazed sort of confusion, looking for the familiar sight of my roommate, though, turning up empty. [French: Hello, darling.]

"Excuse me?" I mumble tiredly, rubbing at my eyes as I try to wake myself up. Though physically awake, my mind is still lingering in the in between state of sleep and alertness. The lids of my eyes are heavy and my brain still is clouded with the foggy haze of my dreams.

Somewhat easily, I can identify that he hadn't spoken to me in English. The lilt of his words, the easy accent adopted that strays so far from the British one that I've come to identify as uniquely his—pulling influences from all over the world, like the small Americanisms in his voice—but the language itself takes a moment to place. Decidedly French, I can identify, once my eyes open more fully.

"Come stai questa mattina?" Again, he shifts languages. The same carelessness is implied and fleetingly I can't help but wonder whether he had even noticed that he had done it in the first place. [Italian: How are you this morning?]

With the shift of the language, I am again pressed to realize that I don't know what he is saying to me. My brows furrow deeply, "I'm sorry?"

He looks up at me, a bored expression on his face. Or maybe he's annoyed. His jaw is set as he looks at me, studying me intently before he begins speaking. "Do you speak any language other than your own?" There is a harsh and caustic burn to his words. This early in the morning, I flinch with the punch that they pack. Last night, he'd been so kind; so eager to teach me about the small -isms of ASL in order to facilitate my communication with Lola. This morning, it appears as though that man is nonexistent. The seamless transition between the two personalities is a bit off-putting, but realistically I know that this is not about me. So long as he can do his job for Lola, it doesn't really impact me in any way how he acts towards me.