Only Uni

by Camy Tang

  Where would she fit in here? Why had she given in to Spenser’s insistent recommendation for the worship team? First rehearsal for her would be Friday night. Not that she actually had anywhere else to go on Friday, which was depressing in itself. She’d get up there on the stage and totally suck, and then she’d look even more stupid than she did now, with empty chairs on all sides of her. She might as well have those yellow Danger! signs plastered front and back.

  “Hi.” Griselle plopped into the seat next to her.

  “Hi!” Her relief made that come out a tad exuberant. She toned it down. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, great.” Griselle adjusted her cream turtleneck sweater.

  “Isn’t that stuff hot in the summertime?” Poor girl. But she honestly couldn’t see her exposing her cuss-word-laden shoulders to the congregation without causing at least one coronary.

  “I wear light cotton stuff. When I get enough money, I’ll have them removed.”

  “All of it?”

  “Actually, I’ll keep some, partly because it’s expensive to have them all removed.” She leaned in closer. “I kind of have a lot of them.”

  Trish was liking this chick more and more. “Cool.”

  Griselle smiled. “I volunteer at a Pregnancy Crisis Center, and the tattoos make me more approachable to the girls who come in, if you can believe that.”

  “I can.” Some of the girls probably had tattoos of their own.

  “Oh, I found out today you volunteered for the worship team.”

  “Well . . . I’ll try it. I guess I’ll have to give up Sunday school if I continue with it, huh?”

  Griselle nodded. “But God really provided. One of the pastor’s nieces moved back, and she used to work the fours and fives. She called me yesterday. Now you don’t have to worry about Sunday school at all.”

  Instead of relief, Trish felt kind of deflated. Unneeded. Like the church was just giving her things to do to keep her occupied. She mustered up a smile for Griselle. “That’s great.” The music started, saving her from having to think up other nice things to say about her replacement teacher.

  “I will worship with all of me . . . I want to be a fool for you . . . Can I be any less?”

  And she did worship with all of her, swaying and dancing in place, hands raised, offering as much of herself as she could. Who cared if people stared? Who cared if no one else joined her? She reached for more of Christ as she belted out the lyrics, feeling the words etch themselves on her heart.

  Maybe the congregation would be happier to have her up front making a fool of herself rather than in the seats?

  Stop thinking that way. She didn’t know why, but somehow she knew God wanted her to serve on the worship team, for some reason, in some way. Because really, if He hadn’t wanted her up there, He shouldn’t have told Spenser three times to suggest it.

  “Let me be Your hands and feet . . . Show me where . . . Show me who . . .”

  Deborah.

  The woman’s face flashed in front of her closed eyes and wouldn’t fade away. Scowling, alone, ignored. It didn’t seem right.

  Okay, that was weird. Did God want her to help Deborah somehow? She couldn’t make her a nicer person or restore her hearing . . .

  Wait a minute. Maybe she could.

  “I don’t understand.” Trish pounded on the counter of the Katsu Towers nurse’s station, which had taken her almost twenty minutes to find. She would have thought it would be more accessible, considering the people who lived there.

  The nurse’s face blushed an unpleasant purply-orange. “It’s policy — ”

  “But this is stupid.”

  The nurse frowned deeper, if that were possible. “I don’t make the policy — ”

  “Deborah hasn’t had a hearing test in years — you said so yourself. Why can’t I take her? No one can talk to her because she’s deafer than a stone.”

  “You’re not family — ”

  She flung her arms out. “Well, I wouldn’t want to belong to her family, if only her nephew ever visits, and that’s only once every six months.”

  The nurse pressed her lips together, obviously regretting telling Trish that piece of information. “Fine. Why don’t I have you talk to the director?”

  “Uh . . .” Nurses she could nag, but what would she say to the director of the facility? “Isn’t that awful high up for this little teensy problem?”

  The nurse smirked, then picked up her phone and dialed. After a brief exchange, she gave Trish a triumphant V-shaped smile. “You can head up to the seventh floor, room 702.”

  Oh, man. She wasn’t equipped for dealing with these upper-management types.

  But Venus was! She whipped out her cell phone and dialed as she headed into the elevator.

  “What do you need?” Venus asked.

  “Hello to you, too.”

  “I’m a little busy, Trish.”

  “Well then, why did you bother to answer?”

  “Because it was you. Again, what do you need?”

  Trish explained while waiting for the elevator doors to open.

  “So what do you need me for?” A rapid taptaptaptap sounded in the phone — Venus rapping her pen against her desk.

  “What do I say to convince him? I’m terrible with these official things.” She entered the elevator and pushed the button for the seventh floor.

  “Just be logical.”

  “Excuse me? You do realize you’re talking to Trish, here?”

  Venus sighed, but it held a hint of amusement, so that was a good sign. “Tell the director that Deborah’s hearing can cause legal problems for the facility if she’s endangered in any way because she couldn’t hear something or someone. Like in a fire, or if there’s an accident with the wheelchair races in the hallway.”

  “Muah! You’re awesome. Anything else?”

  “Since you’re an official volunteer for the facility, it’s perfectly acceptable for you to run the residents to doctors’ appointments.”

  “Oh, okay. Great.”

  “But Trish, isn’t Deborah the crabby one?”

  “So?”

  “Are you sure she wants to get her hearing tested?”

  “Of course she would.” Trish exited the elevator on the seventh floor. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  The meeting with the director went swimmingly.

  The meeting with Deborah, not so much.

  Maybe because her hearing was so far gone, the old woman refused to talk to Trish and kept glaring and frowning. Trish thought she even growled once, but she wasn’t sure. Deborah snatched her hands away when Trish tried to get her up to walk her out.

  “DOCTOR!” Her voice was starting to go hoarse from shouting. “I’M GOING TO TAKE YOU TO THE DOCTOR!”

  Deborah finally raised her sparking eyes to Trish’s mouth as she said that last sentence. Then comprehension dawned and her mouth formed an O. She nodded and stood.

  Trish heaved a sigh and got Deborah to the SUV without incident. She’d made an appointment for today with the primary care doctor listed in Deborah’s chart, which hung conveniently on the door to her room.

  However, in the doctor’s office, the nurse said she needed Deborah’s actual insurance card.

  “Why? Hasn’t she been here before?”

  “It was years ago, and we need a new card.”

  Trish called the nursing home and had to wait while the nurse — the irate one she had argued with earlier, unfortunately — looked for Deborah’s insurance information and faxed it to the office. The nurse had to get the insurance company on the line to verify Deborah was still covered.

  Then the nurse said she needed a credit card.

  “What? Doesn’t she have some kind of Medicare or Medicaid or whatever old people have that pays for everything?”

  The nurse gave her a look that said, Come back when you have a clue what you’re talking about.

  “How were her past doctor’s visits paid for?”

  The nurse looked
at the file. “Her nephew gave his credit card.”

  “Is it on file?”

  “Yeeeess . . .” The nurse tensed, not liking where this was going.

  “Well, if I get him to approve the charges, then it’s fine, right?”

  She visibly relaxed in her seat behind the counter. “Oh. Yes, if he approves the charges.”

  “Fine, do you have his phone number?”

  The nurse’s eyes shifted away. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that . . .”

  “If I cancel this appointment, I’m sure he won’t be happy to be charged the cancellation fee.” Trish stabbed a finger at the sign on the counter stating a forty-dollar charge if any appointments were cancelled less than twenty-four hours ahead of time.

  The nurse bit her lip, then rattled off the phone number from Deborah’s file.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, my name is Trish Sakai. I’m a volunteer at Katsu Towers and I’m with your aunt Deborah.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. I’m here at the doctor’s office for a hearing test, but I need you to approve charges to your credit card for the appointment.”

  “Why does she need a hearing test?”

  “Uh . . . because her hearing is completely gone?” What a moron. He’d have known that if he’d visited her more often.

  “How much is it going to cost?”

  “Does it matter?” Her voice was starting to climb an octave. She took a deep breath. “Your aunt couldn’t hear a fire alarm. Or a plane about to crash on her head. Or a mugger following her on a deserted street.” Not that Deborah would be out at night, but still.

  “She’s perfectly safe at that facility.”

  “The facility said she could be a legal liability because she couldn’t hear a nurse’s instructions. And did I mention she can’t hear a fire alarm?”

  Trish could almost hear him pouting. “Fine. But don’t go buying the most expensive hearing aid — ”

  “I won’t. Here’s the nurse.” She handed the phone to her.

  After some nodding and murmurs, the nurse closed Trish’s phone. “He said he wants to approve any hearing aid you get her.”

  “That’s fine. He’s paying the bill, after all.”

  They only had to wait a few minutes before a nurse took Deborah and Trish in back. But when the nurse led her to the room where she’d get her hearing tested, Deborah took one look at the equipment and started backpedaling.

  “What’s wrong?” Trish tried to pull her into the room, but Deborah snatched her arm away and dug her feet in. She shook her head angrily, then crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Oh, great. This is wonderful. Do you know what I’ve had to go through to get this test for you? Don’t you want to hear again? People would talk to you.” Trish flung her arms around in frustration. “God told me to serve you — well, I can’t say He actually spoke but it was pretty clear because it was in the middle of a great worship set and I felt really close to Him — and you’re not making this easy for me to help you.”

  Deborah stuck her hands on her hips and her chin in the air.

  The nurse tactfully interjected. “Why don’t I leave you two in an examination room for a few minutes?”

  Once ensconced in the room, Trish seated Deborah and herself. What good was this? It wasn’t as if Deborah could hear her. Maybe she could write it down? She picked through her purse and unearthed a few old gas receipts. She wrote “hearing test” on one of them and held it in front of the old woman.

  Deborah grabbed the paper and brought it to within three inches of her face.

  Oh, man. She needed an eye test, too.

  “No.”

  Trish started. That wasn’t her. That was . . .

  “No.” Deborah’s voice rasped with disuse and sounded a few hundred decibels louder than normal people — even normal old people. She held the gas receipt back to Trish. “No hearing test.”

  “Why not?” She grabbed another receipt and wrote the question down.

  “I like not being able to hear.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t want to have to listen to them talk, talk, talk. I see them talk, talk, talk, all day.” Deborah sighed. She looked tired just thinking about those women talking to her.

  All that hassle, and Trish needn’t have bothered. No hearing test, although the deaf old woman obviously needed it. Trish looked at the floor. She heaved herself to her feet and stuck a thumb toward the door. “Well, let’s go, then.”

  But Deborah snapped out and grabbed her wrist. “No, I don’t want to go yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I came with you because you were going to take me to the doctor.”

  Trish gestured to her ears. “You said you didn’t want — ”

  “I don’t want a hearing aid. I want glasses.”

  Oh, right.

  Deborah smiled then, for the first time since Trish had met her. “I want to be able to read the subtitles to that show they’re always watching.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Trish hoped she wouldn’t pass out.

  She’d never been behind a mic before. She also had never been in front of an audience before, if she didn’t count those times she made a fool of herself at karaoke.

  She fidgeted as Spenser adjusted her mic stand in relation to the monitors edging the stage. Thankfully the stage was only a foot or two off the ground, since her fear of heights probably would have reared up to make her day even worse. Of course, the first row of pews was within a few feet of the stage, so if she got dizzy and fell, it would only be into the arms of whoever sat there. Probably some grumpy old man. Or if she was lucky, it would be Blondie and her posse . . .

  “Relax.” Olivia stood next to her, tuning her electric guitar. “You did fine at rehearsal on Friday night.”

  She’d done better than she’d ever expected. Since she couldn’t play an instrument with much proficiency but enjoyed singing, they’d put her on second mic. She’d warned the rest of the team — probably fifty times — that she didn’t sing well, but when they set up the sound and started rehearsal, it hadn’t sounded bad at all. She could barely hear herself, actually.

  She shuffled the papers on her music stand in front of her, but she knew all the songs already. The lyrics were only there for moral support.

  “Okay, gang. Let’s pray.” Ed set his acoustic guitar in the stand and the team gathered around him in a circle on the side of the stage.

  Ed started, and they each prayed in turn. Trish’s heartbeat ramped up from a cool samba to pounding hip-hop. She hated praying out loud in front of people, and she was perfectly atrocious at it. The rest of the team offered up prayers for the pastor, for the congregation as they gathered for service, for the music and how God could use it for His glory. Eloquent prayers. Prayers God wouldn’t cringe to hear.

  Finally it was her turn. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. But something in her nose saved her by making her sneeze — a loud, rousing A-choo! that hopefully didn’t mist the others too much.

  She took a deep breath, tried to ignore the shaking of her hands. “Dear Lord . . . uh . . . help me not mess up. Amen.”

  She thought she heard Olivia stifle a giggle. Well, at least Trish was entertaining. She was done, that’s all she cared about.

  They took their places and Ed greeted the congregation to give them a few minutes to get to their seats. Personally, Trish would have yelled, “Sit down, people!” but she supposed that wouldn’t be very polite. Ed opened up the worship service with a prayer.

  She stood there behind her mic, staring down at the floor because she couldn’t look out at the congregation. She didn’t even listen to the prayer, just kept herself aware of the cadence of his voice. Her hands had frozen. She could barely open her fingers. At the same time, ants crawled up and down her legs and she couldn’t make her feet stop shuffling. Finally Olivia took a discreet step sideways and pressed her shoe over Trish’s tapping toe. She only r
emoved it when Ed was closing up the prayer.

  “ . . . Amen.” Ed opened with a full chord from his 12-string acoustic guitar.

  Oh my gosh, they’d started! She had to look up, because obviously the mic couldn’t pick her up if she didn’t look up and put her mouth in front of it. But did she want to be heard? She didn’t want to look up.

  Then Ed started singing, and the words filtered through her racing thoughts. “I leave my baggage at the door . . . I surrender it all . . .This is a time to worship you alone.”

  Suddenly she opened her mouth and put her chin up, although she closed her eyes. She supposed people would think she was into the worship, which she was, versus scared to look out, which was also true. But then the words came to her and she forgot everything else.

  “I surrender it all . . . You alone deserve this part of me . . . You alone deserve all praise . . .”

  Hey, this wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t messed up any words in that song. She had a hard time hearing herself, though — must be the combination of the other instruments and the congregation singing too. She wondered if next time she could ask Spenser to up her volume in the monitors.

  The song flowed into the next, and again Trish gave herself into worship. She didn’t feel brave enough to raise her hands, but the words flowed out of her as an offering to lay before His throne. She forgot — almost — where she was, and instead focused on praising Him.

  “Help us to live in you . . . Until the day you make all things new . . .”

  She found the courage to open her eyes.

  Her heart crashed in her chest. People stared at the words projected on the large screen above and behind the worship team, but their faces were so dead. Some sang. Some didn’t even bother to open their mouths to try. Several people had pinched looks on their faces as if they were simply tolerating this noise until the pastor would come up to speak.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t look at them — she could barely keep singing. Their expressions shoved concrete blocks into her heart, pulling it deeper into a cold ocean of despair. Why did the worship team play up here, when the congregation could care less? Why sing?

  Wait, what was she saying, Why sing? Just because she stood up here in front didn’t mean it was any different from other Sundays. She had no problems singing on any other Sunday (or Wednesday night Singles Group, she added spitefully) no matter what anyone else was or wasn’t doing around her.