Page 2 of On the Bright Side
It’s different for him. His entire family is Deaf.
But for me, Brandview was home. Not back with my hearing family who don’t sign. I’m only myself here. How am I supposed to go from total ASL immersion to being probably the only Deaf kid at Amber High?
“Do you know anyone at your new school?” I was initially surprised when I found out that Cody would be mainstreamed next year, too. I figured his family might be able to send him away to another Deaf school somewhere, but not all of them are large enough to have their own competitive athletics programs the way Brandview did, so Cody ultimately chose to go to the public school back home in Powell Heights.
“Yeah, I toured and met the football team.” He checks something on his phone and chuckles but doesn’t tell me what it was. “Because I’ve got training with the guys before playing in the fall.”
“That’s nice.” Cody hadn’t told me he’d visited and gotten to know the team already. Did that happen when he went home over spring break? I hate the distance between us already. I’m jealous of his instant new friends and presumably busy summer schedule, since my spare time is occupied by solitary activities such as reading or knitting. “Bet playing there won’t be as fun.”
He shrugs. “It’ll be fine.”
We’ve been inseparable at Brandview. Wherever I go, he’s there. Anywhere he goes, I’m there. Ever since I turned the corner my first week here, when—lost, overwhelmed, and a touch homesick—I ran into Cody. He sized me up with an amused grin and signed for me to stop crying. I hadn’t been and was ready to protest, but as I fumbled to remember the basic ASL I’d learned during orientation, he stepped close and offered his hand. I took it without hesitation, forgetting my anger. Under his wing, I found my place at Brandview, even though I didn’t come from a Deaf family or arrive fluent in sign.
But last night, I noticed the first crack, a tear at the seams between us that now threatens to unravel further. It made sense that Cody wanted time alone to say goodbye to the guys so that they wouldn’t intrude on our final hour. However, he isn’t giving me much to work with. I guess he’s processing this last day differently than I am. I want to reminisce and cry over how much we’ll miss each other. Meanwhile, he seems content to sit still and let it all wash over us.
“We’ll still move back here, right?” I ask. “After graduation?”
I may be imagining it, but he pauses for a beat, then slowly signs, “Yeah, we have our plan.”
Once we’re done with high school, Cody and I are going to get a cheap place in the town of Brandview, deliver food for apps, and save money to open our Deaf-owned auto shop. That’s not entirely where I always envisioned myself, but it’s been our goal practicallysince we started dating. Always good with cars, he’ll do repairs while I run the office. We’ll be our own boss with no one else to answer to. It beats being stuck in some hearing-centric office somewhere, wasting away.
Sure, this area is a little small-town suffocating and religiously overbearing. But because of the institute, lots of graduates stick around. It’s a Deaf enclave…Will it still be once BSD is shut down? Where else are Cody and I supposed to craft our future? Maybe we could try a new city with a large Deaf population, like DC, Rochester, or LA?
For the next year, Cody will be with his family up by Cleveland, while I’ll be with mine outside Cincinnati near the Indiana border. Two hundred and sixty-two miles. A four-hour-and-thirteen-minute drive. Doable for summertime visits, but more difficult for weekends. Not to mention expensive.
I keep telling myself we’ll make it through. I know it.
What I’m not sure about is how I’ll survive an entire year back in the hearing world. And I’ve lived so much of my life without parental supervision that it’s going to be difficult to be trapped under the same roof as my family year-round.
At least it’s only temporary.
“When do you think you’ll be able to visit?” I ask, needing to get the logistics straight and to know it won’t be long before I see him again. “Or do you want me to drive up to you first?”
“Look.” Cody’s distracted and points to a truck that’s pulled up alongside the manor.
We watch as a small crew methodically removes and loads all the classroom furniture to take away. Are they going to sell it, or is it headed straight to a landfill? I’ve checked several times, but there hasn’t been any announcement about what they’re going to do withthe property yet. It’d be a shame if this beautiful building sat empty. Still, I’d rather that than it be torn down.
Whatever it turns into, maybe they’ll have some sort of plaque in the entryway commemorating how long this building served as a school and some of its historical attributes. Maybe they’ll leave the wall of class portraits of each graduating class, even though my own legacy here will never be framed.
Years from now, people looking at these artifacts won’t see the whole story.
They won’t understand how generations of Deaf students once made Brandview our own. And how easily those in charge were able to take it away from us.
I squeeze Cody’s hand. At least by holding on to him, I’ll be keeping part of this place with me when I leave.
Chapter Two
Jackson
The score isone to one. I kick the ball across the bright green field. With the goalposts ahead of me, I have a clear path to score, and then the championship is in the bag. I can already taste sweet victory. It’s all but a guarantee now that Amber High varsity soccer will win state.
Walnut West is struggling. Their defense is exhausted, and their goalie has been on his heels all game. Double overtime will do that, and so will penalty kicks, but those won’t be necessary when I make this shot. I dribble just inside the box, aligning and planting my left leg, ignoring the tingling sensation shooting up my calf. In a few short seconds, the ball will be in their goal, and the game will be ours. I swing my right foot back to make the kick.
Then I collapse.
“Shit!” someone shouts behind me, skidding to a stop to not topple over my crumpled body.
It’s like the ground gave way beneath me. There are loud gasps from the bleachers. I blink as my head spins, trying to piece together what happened. But it’s like there’s a gap in my memory. One moment I’m about to score, and the next I’m sprawled out on the grass.
