Alterity

Chapter Twelve

"Your hands are still too stiff." Says Leo (in Sign, of course—Leo never speaks verbally). "Making your movements look robotic and hard to read."

"Sorry." I say.

"Try again. From the very basics—introduce yourself."

I take a breath and think it over for a moment, worried about messing up again and also anxious as hell that Leo is studying my face and hand movements to intently and with such attention to detail.

"Hello." I sign. "My name is Erik."

Leo shakes his head. "Stop. Signing super-fast is not important."

"I've seen you sign fast." I say.

Leo narrows his eyebrows. "I'm deaf, and ASL is my first language. You're just starting out."

I nod.

"Try again." He says. "Just relax, slow down and sign smoothly."

I take another deep breath and try and concentrate on less on getting through the signs and letters and more on the signs and letters themselves, and try again.

"Hello. My name is Erik."

Leo claps his hands together which makes me jump.

"Good!" He says. "Much better!"

The compliment accompanied by his dimpled smile leaves me grinning and blushing like crazy. I cover my mouth with my hand and turn my head away from him. I do have to say, I am surprised to say that my mom was actually right in what she'd said that day I'd first met Leo: While American Sign Language is indeed a visual language, each sign I'm learning is still a word or letter, and by viewing the signs as the words or letters that they represent, I am able to process everything I've been learning online and that Leo has been teaching me. Basically, I'm shocked to say that my autism has yet to get in the way. In fact, my memory for ASL is actually nearly-eidetic, like it always has been with something I'm obsessed with.

If you're unaware, it is very common for people on the autism spectrum to have specific and intense interests or obsessions. Be it airplanes, dinosaurs, construction, medicine or medical terminology, a specific historical event, and so on, our memories for what we are obsessed with are oftentimes, pretty much flawless. I, for instance, have a particular interest in dialogue, and can watch an episode of a tv show, read a book or see a movie just one time and quote it verbatim.

Leo points out several times during the course of our first lesson that he's surprised I am retaining the signs as well as I am, which is such a relief, considering I'd been worried that ASL was going to be off-the-table for me to even have a chance at, due to the specific nature of my disability. I like it when I'm wrong. Well, in this instance, at least.

Leo crossed his arms on the table in front of him and smiles at me.

"Ok." He says, and takes the whiteboard out of his backpack, uncapping his marker. So, since you've been practicing on your own for weeks and are now having lessons with me, I have a question for you: What were you hoping to say to me that first day you came up to me when I was eating lunch?

"The day I found out you were deaf, you mean?" I ask.

He nods.

"Oh, gotcha." I say. "I was going to tell you how cute I thought you were."

Leo's mouth drops open a little and his eyes dart around the room, before finding their way back to me.

"Really?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Oh, wow." He laughs. "You're very straightforward."

"Can't always help it." I shrug. "I didn't offend you, did I?"

Leo shakes his head. "No. No. It's nice of you to say that. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Leo laughs again. "You're pretty weird, you know that?"

"Oh, yes." I say. "I know." I glance at the clock and realize that we have less than twenty minutes before I'll need to leave TDS and catch a bus to the train station so I can get home. "Can we keep practicing?"

Leo stares at me for another moment, unblinking, then nods. "Sure."