Page 3 of Give Me a Sign
Even though I remember summer camp being a welcoming place for kids from all backgrounds, it can be hard to reconcile that with what I’ve seen on the internet—people arguing over speech, sign, culture, devices, and more. Sometimes it can seemlike all I truly know is that I’mnothearing. I could spend days scrolling through conflicting takes of people within the community debating semantics as I settle deeper and deeper into impostor syndrome. People give too much power to labels. It can feel exclusionary, whether intentional or not.
“How about something”—Kelsey says—“like, uh...”
“What?” I ask again, my mouth jumping to the word before my brain can piece together that she said “like, uh” and not “Li-lah.” I shake my head in response to the blank stares from my friends. “Never mind. You two pick. As long as it’s something fun.”
“Okay, let’s do the superhero one,” Riley says.
My burger is cold, but I take a few final bites. Kelsey always sits up front in Riley’s car, so I climb into the back and stare out the window the entire way, since it’s impossible to hear them over the noise of the vehicle and the radio.
At the Regal, Kelsey and Riley buy their tickets. When it’s my turn, I step forward and say, “The same one they got.”
The guy at the booth nods. I reach for my wallet once the price lights up on the register and slide the cash beneath the glass. He gives me the change and says something I don’t catch. But my friends have stepped toward the door and are scrolling through their phones.
“What was that?” I ask him.
He repeats what he’d said, but I can’t hear it or read it on his lips since he’s behind a computer screen.
“I’m sorry, what?” I point to my ear and then the glass. I try to get my friends’ attention.
Kelsey steps forward. “What’s up?”
“Can you tell me what he’s saying?” I ask, gesturing back to the window.
But the worker rolls his eyes, pulling the ticket from the printer and handing it to me. He dismissively waves me away as he tosses the receipt in the trash.
“Never mind,” I tell Kelsey as we head inside the building. Of course it was about the receipt. I should have just defaulted to “no, thanks” and moved things along for everyone.
At the snack counter, Kelsey gets a slushie and Riley asks for Junior Mints. I don’t want to spend more money, but I’m starving and will need popcorn to get me through the next three hours of explosions and indecipherable dialogue. There’s no way I’m renting a pair of those sticky and hideous captioning glasses that theaters offer as an excuse to not put captions on-screen. They’re the last thing I want on my face when I’m out with my friends. The machine doesn’t work most of the time anyway.
While waiting for me to get my food, Kelsey and Riley run into some other kids from our school, so they once again aren’t with me to repeat anything the cashier says.
“One medium popcorn, please.” I hand over the money to the girl behind the counter, who then asks me something.
“No, thanks.” I smile. I don’t need the receipt, so I’m not going through that whole ordeal again.
She turns around to fill the container, and then hands it back to me along with the receipt. I walk away and grab a handful. Crap. What I’d said no to was the butter.
I join my friends, too irritated to bother figuring out what everyone’s discussing, especially since there seem to be two separate conversations happening across the circle.
I nudge Riley. “Hey, should we get to our seats?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, turning to get Kelsey. “Let’s go. I don’t want to miss the trailers.”
Riley and Kelsey lead the way to our seats and sit side by side, leaving me at the end of the row. “Do you mind if I sit in the middle?” Still standing, I offer up my snack. “I can share.”
“That’s okay,” Kelsey says, staying in her spot between Riley and me. “I’m so full.”
The lights dim and the first trailer starts. “Ah yes!” Riley points to the screen, saying something excitedly toward Kelsey and me.
I plunk down and stuff my face with popcorn.
A few times during the movie, I nudge Kelsey and ask, “What’d they say?” But she either repeats it staring straight at the screen or whispers it directly into my ear. Neither works, because I can’t hear her when she’s facing forward or read her lips when they’re beside my ear.
Ah well, whatever. The superhero is saving the day; that much is obvious.
“You’ve been quiet,” Kelsey tells me once we emerge from the theater back into the daylight. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I say, attempting to shrug off the listening fatigue. I’m exhausted and ready for a nap. “Do you guys want to do something next week?”
