Life Intended (9781476754178)

by Kristin Harmel

  “You know, folks, I don’t think I mentioned this last week, so I’m glad Diane brought it up,” Andrew says. “As it appears Diane already knows, hard of hearing is actually the correct term nowadays. Remember when we were younger, and people would say hearing impaired? Well, over time, that term fell out of use, because impaired has sort of a negative connotation, as if the person is damaged or lacking in some way. Most people with hearing loss these days prefer hard of hearing. So thanks, Diane, for bringing that up. Here’s how to say it: make the letter h and sort of hop it to the right.”

  He demonstrates by putting his right index and middle fingers together, pointing them toward us and making an arc toward the right, then he adds, “It’s also important, while we’re speaking about terms and political correctness, to know that there’s a difference between deaf with a lowercase d and Deaf with an uppercase D. The first one is broader and refers to the actual condition of not being able to hear. The second one refers to the Deaf community, a group of people with a shared culture and shared language, which is, of course, the language we’re learning here today.”

  We all nod and jot down notes, then he asks Vivian what she’d like to learn. She tells him she’d like to know how to sign Live long and prosper, and he shows us all the ASL way to say it, then suggests we use the Vulcan salute from Star Trek instead, which makes us all laugh.

  Then it’s my turn. “Kate, what phrase would you like to learn to say?” Andrew asks.

  I take a deep breath. “Can you teach me to say, I’m sorry I’ve been a little bit weird?” It’s what I’d like to say to Hannah if I ever see her again. The fact that I can’t communicate with her must seem strange, and I want her to know I feel badly about it.

  Andrew looks surprised, but he nods. He has me point to myself, rub my right hand over my heart with a closed fist, then point to myself again, flick my thumb lightly against my index finger twice, and finally position my hand in an almost clawlike position and move it right to left in front of my face while wiggling my middle finger, my ring finger and my index finger.

  “Good work,” he says after I successfully repeat the motions twice. “You’re a fast learner. Hang out after class, okay, Kate? You and I can do a quick review of last week, which I’m sure you’ll pick up quickly.”

  He closes by winking at Vivian and giving us the Vulcan salute, then he tells us he’ll see us next week. “Same time, same place. In the meantime, practice those letters and phrases,” he says. “Practice makes perfect, just like with any other language.”

  I say good-bye to Vivian, then Amy murmurs, “Lucky you getting to stay after with Andrew. Maybe I’ll skip next week to get some one-on-one time.” I laugh and wave as she heads out the basement door.

  Andrew is looking at his watch when I turn around, and for a second, I think he’s going to cancel on me because it’s getting late. But instead he says, “I’m starving. Mind if we grab a quick bite while we go over last week’s lesson?”

  I hesitate. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal out with a man who wasn’t Dan. Besides, I’m eager to get home, have a few too many drinks, and get into bed early in hopes that I’ll wake up again in the impossible world where Patrick still exists.

  “I don’t bite.” Andrew clearly sees me wavering, because he adds, “And there’s a few places on this block. We can be in and out in thirty minutes. I’m just afraid I might collapse if I don’t eat something. My treat.”

  I force a smile. I’m being ridiculous and I know it. “Yeah, of course. I’m actually pretty hungry too. But you don’t have to buy.”

  As I follow him up the stairs and into the church vestibule, I cast one more glance over my shoulder at the crucifix over the altar.

  “It’s never too late to come back, you know,” Andrew says.

  I turn to see him watching me. “What are you, a mind reader?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “No. Just a guy who’s a little adrift himself.”

  He heads out the front door of the church without another word.

  Nine

  We wind up at a diner a few doors down from the church.

  “I’m telling you,” Andrew says as he holds the door for me, “this place has the best greasy burger in Manhattan. Maybe in all of New York State.”

  A waitress shows us to a table, and after we’re seated, Andrew waves away the menu she offers him. “Oh, I already know what I want.”

  “And for your girlfriend?” the waitress asks.

  Andrew looks amused. “I think she needs a menu.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” I tell the waitress then immediately feel like a jerk. “But I hear the burger here is amazing,” I hurry to add. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “In that case,” Andrew says, “two burgers, medium, each with your special sauce and a fried egg on top. And two cherry Cokes.”

  “Cherry Coke?” I ask as the waitress walks away.

  “You can’t tell me it’s not the best drink in the universe when they put real cherry syrup in.”

  I find myself smiling. “Okay. Agreed. But a fried egg on the burger?”

  Andrew widens his eyes dramatically. “You’ve never had a burger with a fried egg on it? Well, Kate, prepare for your world to be rocked.”

  The waitress delivers two giant, red-tinged Cokes, and as we wait for our meals, Andrew hands me a small stack of papers filled with illustrations for ASL signs and begins a rapid-fire explanation of sign language.

  “As I told the other guys last week,” he says, “the grammar rules in American Sign Language can be a little different from standard grammar rules in English. What I mean by that is that sometimes, the direct object often leads the sentence off, whereas in English, the direct object normally follows the verb.”

  “I’m a little rusty on my grammar terms,” I admit.

  “That’s okay. So here’s an example. In English you’d say, ‘I love the burger.’ In ASL, you could structure your sentence that way, but it would also be common to sign ‘Burger, I love’ or ‘Burger, love I.’ ”

  “Kind of like Yoda,” I say.

  “Ah, the woman knows her Star Wars! Charming.” He laughs. “Yes, a bit like Yoda.”

  He demonstrates by cupping his hands and sort of clapping them together twice horizontally, with his right hand on top the first time, and his left hand on top the second time, almost like forming a patty. “That’s hamburger,” he tells me. “And this is I love.” He crosses his arms across his chest then points to himself.

  He goes on to tell me that making eye contact in ASL is very important, and that it’s considered rude not to do so. “A lot of people think that ASL is just about using your hands,” he adds. “But it’s not. It’s all about facial expressions, movements with your mouth, things like that. In fact, facial expressions are just as important as what you do with your hands and where you place your signs. Think about having a conversation out loud with me. You’d convey how you’re feeling with the tone of your voice, right? In ASL, you don’t have the advantage of tone, so you have to rely on visual cues. But like I said to the others, we’ll learn more of that as the class goes on.”

  He’s just in the middle of explaining the five key components to signing—hand shape, location of the sign, palm orientation, movement, and facial expression—when our waitress arrives with our burgers. “What do you say we take a break to scarf these down?” he asks.

  I look down at my greasy burger, which is on a pretzel bun, piled high with an egg, lettuce, onions, and pickles, and slathered in sauce that’s drizzling out from the sides. “Looks healthy.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Everyone knows that Wednesday calories don’t count.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before taking a huge bite of his burger and moaning dramatically.

  I laugh and take a bite of my burger too. I see exactly what he means. It’s incredible. “My husband
would have loved this,” I mumble without thinking about it.

  I see Andrew glance at my ring finger. “You’ll have to bring him here sometime.”

  My cheeks flush red, because I was talking about Patrick, not Dan, who has sworn off red meat. “Oh, no, I’m not married” is what I finally say, which I know makes no sense considering that it was me who just brought up my husband.

  Andrew cocks his head to the side and waits.

  “What I mean is, I’m engaged. Not married. So he’s not my husband.”

  “But he likes burgers,” Andrew says helpfully, like he’s coaxing a story out of a difficult child.

  “No,” I say, my cheeks still burning. I know I should explain what I meant, that I was referring to the husband I lost a dozen years ago. But I hardly know Andrew and I already feel ridiculous enough, so I force a laugh and say, “Sorry. Long day.”

  He smiles, although I can still see lingering concern in his eyes. “I know the feeling. But trust me, these burgers make everything better. They’re magic.”

  I smile back and take another big bite, marveling at how juicy and perfect it is and trying not to think about fat grams and calories, which Dan would surely be pointing out. I’m so fixated on not thinking about how unhealthy the burger is that I don’t register how quickly it’s disappearing until I’ve almost finished. I look up to see Andrew, his plate empty, looking amused.

  “Told you you’d love it,” he says.

  “I can’t believe I ate so much!” I exclaim, looking down at my hands as if they were wholly responsible for my lapse in nutritional judgment. “How embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing?” he repeats. “No way. Believe me when I say that only chauvinistic pigs are turned off by a woman who can eat. Personally, I think it’s awesome.”

  My cheeks burning, I start to set the remainder of my burger down, but he leans forward and says quickly, “No more ASL until you finish that, young lady.”

  “Well, you drive a hard bargain,” I say, then it occurs to me that I sound like I’m flirting. I quickly wipe the smile from my face and clear my throat. “So, um, what made you decide to go into teaching sign language? Is this your full-time job?”

  “You first,” he says. “What brought you to ASL class?”

  I take another bite of my burger to buy time, since I can’t exactly say I’m learning sign language so that I can communicate with my fake daughter in my fake dream world with my hamburger-loving dead husband. So instead, I swallow and tell him, “I’m a music therapist.” I hesitate and say, “And, um, I’ve been hearing about advances in music therapy for deaf kids, so I thought it might be worth looking into.”

  Andrew’s face lights up. “Really? That’s awesome!” He pauses. “Okay, I’m going to sound like an idiot. I’ve heard of music therapy, of course, but I’ve never known a music therapist before. How does it work, exactly?”

  “Lots of different ways.” I glance up to see him watching me intently, so I go on. “It’s hard to sum up, and actually, even in the music therapy community, there are a lot of definitions of what music therapy is, and a lot of applications to what we do.” I pause and remind myself that Andrew likely doesn’t care about the academic debate over the meaning of music therapy. I try to boil it down. “In music therapy, we basically use music to promote the physical and emotional health of a client—whatever that means in that particular client’s context. So for example, a music therapist might use music to help a child overcome a speech disability. But along the way, once he grows to trust you, there might be something about a song lyric that triggers something in him. Maybe he confides a secret or says something offhand that helps you to understand where he’s coming from better.”

  Andrew nods. “So what you do is kind of like what the doctor does in the movie The King’s Speech?”

  “Not exactly. That was speech therapy. Using music, the way the doctor did in the movie, is actually a very common technique in that field,” I say. “Music therapy is more about establishing a relationship with a client using music and then working within that relationship to promote whatever it is the client needs. Music can open a lot of doors, once you’ve built that bridge.”

  I stop abruptly, feeling a bit foolish, but Andrew is smiling and nodding vigorously. “Yeah!” he says. “I know exactly what you mean. There are more ways to communicate than just saying words out loud. So do you have any deaf patients now?”

  I shake my head and dodge his gaze as I finish the last bite of my burger. “Not yet. So how about you?” I ask. “How’d you get into teaching this class?”

  “I’m actually a supervisor for an agency called St. Anne’s Services,” he says. “Have you heard of it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you know about ACS, right? The Administration for Children’s Services?”

  “The foster system?”

  “Right. But some kids with special needs get referred out to various other agencies, like St. Anne’s or New Alternatives for Children. We have programs in place to help meet the needs of both mentally and physically challenged kids. I specialize in working with the deaf and hard-of-hearing kids who come to St. Anne’s.”

  “So you just teach the class on the side?”

  He nods. “Seemed like something fun to do. This is only my second time teaching it. How am I doing so far?”

  “You’re a natural,” I tell him honestly. “Did you grow up knowing sign language?”

  His smile falters for a split second. “My little brother was born hard of hearing,” he says. “When he started learning ASL, my parents taught it to me too. I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t know it.” He pauses, his expression softening. “It was kind of like this secret language we knew that no one else was in on.”

  “Cool.”

  He winks. “I told you, I’m incredibly awesome. But enough about me. How did you get into music therapy?”

  “Long story.” I don’t want to talk about Patrick. “Let’s just say that someone I love reminded me how important it was to pursue the thing I was most passionate about.”

  He nods. “I’ve always said that life’s too short not to follow your dreams.”

  I swallow hard. “That’s exactly what he used to say.”

  “Sounds like a pretty great dude.”

  I smile sadly. “He was.”

  “So,” Andrew says after an awkward pause. He clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” I eat a few fries and push my plate away. I’m starting to feel queasy, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of the huge burger or because being reminded of Patrick is making me sad.

  “Look, I’m going to be blunt here, and feel free to say no. But I have a few hard-of-hearing and deaf kids at St. Anne’s I’d love to try something new with. Real sweet kids. I can’t offer to pay you right away—I’ve maxed out the budget this year on cochlear implants for two of our kids—but if you’re interested in working with the deaf population, maybe this could be a good place to get your feet wet.”

  “Um,” I reply, trying to figure out how to decline politely.

  “Actually, okay, let me backtrack here,” Andrew adds. “Am I being crazy? It’s just that I’m always trying to come up with new ways to reach them, you know? And here you are. But maybe they’re not the right fit for the kind of work you do.”

  I hesitate. “I think it depends on the kids and what kind of help they need,” I finally say. “Although music therapy can be used in a lot of different contexts.”

  He smiles. “Ah, like a secret superpower.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Okay. I’ve clearly been spending too much time with children if I’m making you out to be a comic book hero with, like, a power pan flute.”

  I laugh. “Sadly, I have no idea how to play a pan flute.”

  “You’re crushing my dreams, Kate. I s
uppose you’re going to tell me you don’t wear a cape, either?”

  “Only on special occasions,” I deadpan, and he laughs. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “So do you want to tell me about these kids? What were you thinking I could do with them?”

  “Well, two of the three have received cochlear implants in the last few years, so they’re still developing their comfort levels with speaking and processing speech. Of course cochlear implants impact the way in which people hear music, but from what I understand, it can still be really enjoyable. Do you think maybe music therapy could help a bit with their speech and with coming out of their shells? Or am I totally off base?”

  I pause. “You know what? Yeah, I think I could help them, and I’d be happy to try,” I hear myself say. “Why not?”

  “Really? Kate, seriously, you have no idea what kind of a difference you could make. There’s one girl in particular who I just can’t get to open up; maybe you can reach her.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Geez, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll have to have you fill out some paperwork, but I can expedite all that, I think. I’m just really happy to get you involved.”

  “My pleasure,” I tell him, and I’m a little surprised to realize that I mean it.

  The waitress sweeps by to deliver the check, which Andrew insists on picking up. “Least I can do, Kate,” he says. “I’ll buy you greasy burgers every week if you help give my kids a better shot.”

  As I jot down my contact information for him, it occurs to me that maybe that’s what the weird visions of Patrick and Hannah were about: a reminder that I still have something to offer, even though I’ve slipped into a comfort zone of going through the motions. It’s the first explanation that’s made me feel better instead of twisting my insides into a tangled mess.

  Ten

  I’m already in bed when Dan gets home that night, so the first chance I get to tell him about Andrew and my promise to help a few kids from St. Anne’s is the next evening after work. I call him from the train on the way out to see Joan, whom I’ve been visiting once a month since Patrick died.