Page 96 of Give Me a Sign
“No, no. That’ll be a w-a-s-t-e of money.”
“Not a waste,” he signs, waving for me again. “Come on.”
I reluctantly open the gate and join him. He picks up a bat from the back and hands it to me, helping me find my stance at the plate.
“Ready?”
“I guess.”
The first ball lobs toward me. I’m grateful he set the machine on slow. I make contact, sending the baseball dribbling down the cage. I take a few more swings, getting a few hits, while also entirely missing a couple other times. I step out of the box back toward Isaac.
Another ball flies at the plate, bouncing once and landing with a thud against the backdrop. “No, no,” Isaac signs. “I’ll help you.”
He carefully turns me back toward the plate, standing behind me so I don’t step too far into the path. His arms wrap around me as I lift the bat, and he places his hands over mine. Though we’ve been entwined for much of the last few weeks, my skin still tingles at his touch.
When the next pitch comes, he pulls the bat back and gives the ball a soft tap, swinging our arms forward and sending it soaring through the cage. He does the same for the next few baseballs until the machine powers down, signaling the end of my turn.
His arm is still around me, so I turn to hug him. I lean away, signing, “Okay, your turn. Go ahead and show off.”
Isaac grins wide. He cranks the machine up to a faster setting. “Safer to wait outside.”
I step out of the cage and watch. He’s cautious, not wanting to risk additional injury this summer, but sends every single baseball soaring with a loud clang. A small line of sweat forms on the side of his face, but he wipes it away with the back of his arm without missing a single hit. His jaw is set, serious while he concentrates, but his body is loose, making it look effortless.
Isaac finishes the set and joins me. He pushes back a small curl of hair that had fallen to his last remaining bandage on his forehead. “I see why you have to do college baseball camp next summer.”
He shrugs, but I can tell he’s pleased I’m impressed.
We get some sodas to drink, and by the time we leave, it’s no longer scalding hot, since the sun has begun to set behind the buildings. We make it through security, show our tickets, and walk into the crowded concourse. Isaac interlaces his fingers with mine, so we sign one-handed. “Where are our seats?”
“This way.”
Isaac and I weave through the crowd, reaching a gate that leads into the field where the stage is set up. We wait in a short line to show our tickets again. I check my phone and see recent messages in my group text with Kelsey and Riley.
Kelsey: Lilah, are you back home yet? Or still at camp?
Lilah:Actually, downtown at a concert right now with the staff for an end of summer celebration! I’ll be home later tomorrow.
Riley:Didn’t know deaf people went to concerts...?
Followed by a second message a few seconds later.
Riley:Sorry, that’s not rude, right?
I chuckle and hold up the message to show Isaac. “They want to know why deaf people would want to go to a concert.”
Isaac shakes his head, also finding this amusing. “Because we like music?”
“Right.”
The rest of the counselors are on the other side of the baseball diamond at the opposite gate. Isaac waves across the field to them. “We’ll meet you up front,” he signs at a distance.
He stands close to me again. The scratches on his cheek have faded, but I remember exactly where they all were. I reach up and gently brush my fingers over the area around it. “Does it still hurt?” I sign one-handed.
He shrugs. “It’s fine.” He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes and guides my hand to his forehead. He lowers his arm and signs, “Remember when you hit me there?”
Tug-of-war. The first few weeks of camp feel like a lifetime ago. “It’s not purple anymore, I promise!”
He raises his eyebrows and bites his lip. “Kiss it and make it better?”
