Page 86 of Give Me a Sign
He nods solemnly.
My eyes water again. “At me?”
Now it’s his turn to stare at his feet. He barely lets his finger drift in my direction when he signs, “At you. At myself. At everyone.” He keeps his head bowed but lifts his eyes to look at me. “My mom was really sad.”
I’m embarrassed about how upset I’ve been with him. He’s been dealing with some real shit the past few days. Still, he cut me out. All I needed was a single message letting me know that he was okay. “I was sad, too.”
He scrunches up his face, and the bandage on his forehead creases. I don’t like seeing him like this.
“It’s my—”I take a deep breath, frustrated that my sign language is still too shaky for this conversation. “F-a-u-l-t.” I spell it out slowly and purposefully, not wanting to repeat it if my hands shake too much.
But Isaac waves his hand. “No. Not yours. Not mine, either.”
“Okay.” I still don’t know what he wants. I can’t tell if he knows, either. “Should I go?”
His eyes are wide and confused. “Go?”
“You said you need space?”
He shakes his head and pulls out his phone. He frowns at his message and types again.
Isaac:When I get mad I need space to calm down but I’m not mad anymore. I came back because I want to spend the rest of the summer here. With you. But I understand if you’re still mad at me.
He hits Send, but I’m sitting close enough to read over his shoulder. I lead him back to the bench, where we sit side by side. “But I’m not mad at you,” I sign. “Never was.”
He smiles and sits back against the table, so I scooch next to him, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek, careful to avoid the scratches.
“Did your mom help?” I ask.
He nods and leans in close to me, but I hold out my hands to sign some more.
“It was wrong. We should share the story o-n-l-i-n-e,” I sign. “Or something,” I say, shrugging. I don’t know how to take action in this situation.
“Online? No. Never,” he signs. “People like to watch me. One time someone took a video of me and my mom signing. When I go places, they watch like I’m an animal at the zoo. I don’t need people knowing about this. I’m not their sad story. And I’m not their————.” I tilt my head, so he spells out the word. “I-n-s-p-i-r-a-t-i-o-n.”
“I understand.” And I really do. Who knows how the internet would react? They’d probably find a way to place the blame on us. Often, when people are inspired by disabilities, what they’re really thinking isWow, I’m so glad that’s not my life.
“And we have the fundraising video. People would find that andmy social media and everything about me, all because of the worst night of my life. I don’t want that.”
I reach over to hug Isaac. This time, he’s the one to pull away.
“I almost forgot. I got you this.” He reaches into his left pocket, pulls out a bag of strawberry cheesecake jelly beans, and hands it to me. “Not easy to find.”
“My favorite! You remembered.” I turn to my backpack, grabbing the green bracelet I made during rainy day activities. “I made you another one.” I shrug, glad I have something to offer in return. I’d offer a million of them if I could.
He immediately holds out his wrist for me. “Your official welcome back,” I say as I tie the string.
“Perfect.” He smiles, pointing to the bag of jelly beans in my lap. “Can I try one?”
“You didn’t eat one yet?”
He shakes his head and opens his mouth.
I roll my eyes, laughing. I place a few jelly beans in his hand and lean forward to kiss his lips. “I’m glad you came back.”
He nods and brings the candy to his mouth. “Okay.” He shrugs.
“Okay? Only okay?”
