Page 73 of Give Me a Sign
I pull into the parking lot, conscientiously using my turn signal since there’s a police car in the corner. Its lights are off, so it’s probably empty, but I make the turn slowly just in case.
“How is it ten thirty already?” I turn off the car and shove my keys into my backpack.
“Let’s hurry and get back to camp,” Isaac signs.
Leaving Gray Wolf with just Isaac was fun, but now that we’re at this middle-of-nowhere Super Mart, I’m realizing how much I’d rather be sitting together around a warm campfire. Plus, the unspoken truth is that neither of us can afford to be caught after curfew again.
Outside the car, I’m struck by how quiet it is. Sure, I’ve been off camp grounds without my hearing aids already—at the bar and for snack runs—but those were with several people and felt like an extension of camp, where things are still loud and accessible.
But here we are, late at night in a store parking lot. Maybe I should put my hearing aids in, since they’re still in my backpack. Judging by the few cars around us, there are other shoppers in there. Going without the devices that I’m so used to wearing to function in society, I feel like I’m naked in public. Isaac must sense my hesitation. He grabs my hand as we walk inside.
Super Mart is such a depressing place, with its fluorescent lighting and warehouse scent. There are more people walking around here than the nearly empty parking lot suggested. We go left, walking along the registers to get to the food section on the opposite side of the store, dodging a few customers with carts who don’t make room for us.
We move swiftly. “I’ll find the cookies,” I sign.
Isaac nods, turning into the next aisle, on the hunt for his Fruit Roll-Ups.
Meanwhile, there are way too many kinds of Oreos for me to choose from. Five shelves of them, to be exact. I’m debating trying something other than the classic Double Stuf when I sense someone else standing near me. I turn and see a man moving suspiciously slowly. There’s no strolling around at this hour. It’s the time of day for quick in-and-out purchases. But instead, he walks up to me.
I snatch the bag of Oreos directly in front of me, without confirming what kind they are, and walk to the end of the aisle, but the man takes a few more steps and blocks me. “Do you————?” he says.
I can’t tell what else he’s saying. Every polite societal instinct in me wants to lean forward, shake my head, apologize, and ask him to repeat. But I don’t owe this strange man any of my time. He takes another step, backing me into the shelf. I shake my head.
He mutters something else. When I shake my head again, he gets louder but not any clearer, until I recognize the familiar phrase on his lips. “What, are you deaf or something?”
“Enough, I can’t hear you,” I sign.
At first, he leans back, startled. I briefly consider how Mackenzie told me she fakes being deaf to get creepy guys to leave her alone—but then the man in front of me curls up his lips into a narrow, unsettling grin, stepping even closer. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
I push past the man and run to the end of the row, where I find Isaac rounding the corner. Isaac immediately takes stock of the situation and stands still, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed,looking as intimidating as he possibly can while holding four boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups.
Isaac wraps his arm around me, and the man backs off and scurries out of the aisle.
“Are you okay?” Isaac searches the emotions on my face.
“Let’s go.” I look down at the Oreos in my hands and discover they’re Birthday Cake. “Oh wait, ew.”
Isaac nods in agreement, holding my hand as we walk back to the Oreos. “My favorite is M-i-n-t,” he says, as I’m already reaching for that very flavor.
“Same!” I’m relieved to be far away from that drunk man and back at Isaac’s side.
We hustle to get out of the store and back to camp. Unfortunately, three of the four self-checkout lanes are closed, and there’s a line for the only available one, with none other than that creepy guy at the end of it.
“This one.” I point to the regular lane, where an old woman behind the counter hands a customer their receipt. There’s no line.
Isaac winces and tenses up, bobbling his head indecisively. But when he notices the drunk guy in the self-checkout line, he leads the way to the cashier.
After putting our snacks down on the belt, I unzip my backpack to find my wallet, but Isaac nods that he’ll get it. The lady quickly bags the items on the circle platform beside her and spins it around for us to grab our stuff on our way out.
Isaac goes to stick his card in the chip reader, but half of the machine is covered in duct tape, and a sign indicates to swipe instead. I wrap my hands around his left arm, leaning into him as a way of saying thanks. I love the smell of campfire smoke onhis clothes. If we hurry, maybe we can get back in time to cuddle around the flames.
After Isaac puts his card away, I notice that the lady behind the register is saying something. Isaac looks at me, but I don’t catch what she says, either. He reaches for his phone, probably to use the Live Transcribe app. But she must’ve been asking if we needed the receipt, so I go ahead and respond, “No, thanks.”
Outside the store, I pause to dig out my keys while Isaac takes a few steps with our bags, looking for the car. I’m about to hold his hand when I realize someone behind me is yelling.
I cringe. Is it that guy?
But it isn’t. It’s some other man, dressed in all black, who runs past me and straight at Isaac. “Hey!” I shout at the man while lunging forward to alert Isaac—but the man beats me to it.
