Page 83 of Give Me a Sign
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“Well, I’m starved, so you can sneak some bites off my plate.”
“Bites of what?” I ask, wondering if I missed something he said.
But Oliver jumps up, grabs his bag, and starts walking up the path. I jog after him, curious. I can’t sit here lost in my thoughts right now.
“Where are you going?” I ask when I’ve caught up to him. “I really don’t want to leave camp.”
“Leave camp? Nope, we’re doing something even better.”
We turn at the edge of the path, and Oliver walks straight up to the dining hall’s side door.
“Are we allowed to be in here right now?” I ask, staring through the dark entryway.
“Nope, we’re breaking in.” Then he finds a key on his lanyard and unlocks the door. “We got a spare as lifeguards, since we don’t always eat at your normal mealtimes.”
It’s eerie being in this building after dark. Oliver flips on only one of the lights in the kitchen, leaving the rest of the building haunted by shadows. Our footsteps echo across the empty space, since all the tables and chairs are folded and put away each night during cleaning.
Oliver peers into a small pantry. “I’m going to make you my famous macaroni cheese.”
“You mean macandcheese.”
“Nope, unnecessary word.” He fills a large pot with a tiny bit of water, enough for a meal just for the two of us. He leans against the counter. “You’re keeping those in now?” He points toward my ears.
“Yeah.” I lift myself up to sit on the counter. “Doesn’t that make it easier for you? You don’t have to put up with me saying ‘what’ a million times.”
“I never actually minded that.”
“Really? A lot of people do.”
“I just want you to feel comfortable doing whatever you want,” he says, still making sure to face me as he talks.
“Thanks, Oliver.”
He dumps the dry noodles into the pot, searching in the big industrial-size fridge for some cream, butter, and cheese.
“Otherwise you’re doing all right?” he asks, turning to make sure I still have a clear view of his face when he speaks.
“Yeah, I guess I just felt like I made so much progress figuring myself out this summer, and it all got erased in a single night.”
“No, don’t think of it that way.”
“It’s hard not to,” I admit.
“There’s still plenty of summer left,” he says. “And a whole life ahead of you. You can keep finding yourself again and again. The important part of all of that is just being true to what your heart tells you.”
“Dang, that’s poetic.”
“I have been reading a lot of Ben’s poetry collections lately.” He leans back to stir the boiling water.
I consider what he said. Up until this summer, wearing my hearing aids was nonnegotiable. I diligently put them in every morning without question. I never would’ve thought I’d go without them for most of the last month. But I can do that. I have that choice—and so many choices ahead of me. A multitude of ways I can explore my identity and decide how to exist in this world.
Oliver drains the noodles and assembles the ingredients. “All right, hop down, grab us a couple bowls, and get ready for the best meal of your life.”
We take our cheesy snack and sit outside on the dining hall porch, staring out at the slumbering campgrounds waiting to come to life again the next morning. I bask in the cool evening breeze, finding peace in this moment, especially as I take a bite of the delicious meal.
