Give Me a Sign(7)

“Lilah!” he shouts, his arms outstretched as I park and climb out of my car, beaming from ear to ear.

“Hey, Ethan!”

“You’ve grown, like, a whole foot since I last saw you, and that’s not saying much because you’re still so short.” Ethan tackles me with a hug. I smile, having almost forgotten how Deaf people tend to make a lot of visual comments about appearance.

It’s such a relief to see a familiar face at a familiar place. Ethan’s been at camp forever, climbing the ranks. He looks older, too, and absolutely in his element here. He’s Latino, short and stocky, and wearing bright-yellow socks with gigantic smiley faces patterned all the way up to his knees. His T-shirt spells out “Deaf Pride” in ASL lettering, and his dark-brown hair is long and shaggy, falling over his two silver hearing aids.

“It’s great to be back,” I say. “Anyone else I’ll know back this year?”

“Hmm, did you ever meet Natasha? We’ve got several former campers on staff.”

“Maybe?” I shrug, glancing at a pale freckled girl who just walked over to stand beside Ethan. She is wearing a long-sleeved black shirt despite the heat. I can’t place why she looks vaguely familiar.

“Oh, this is Mackenzie,” Ethan introduces her. “She’s one of our new counselors this year.”

“You’re L-i—h, right?” she signs.

“Yes.” I nod. I only caught a jumble of letters that started with an L and ended with an H, but I assume she spelled my name.

“She’s an interpreting major,” Ethan adds, answering the question he knows is on my mind. “So, do you still use the ASL you learned here?”

“I maybe remember some,” I sign to his delight, since he’s the one who taught me much of what I know from way back when. This is a strong start . . . but I also practiced this sentence over and over in my head on the drive here.

“Perfect.”

We both grab my stuff from the car and head into the campsite.

“Wasn’t there a welcome archway?” I point toward the path that leads to the entrance. There used to be a tall wooden board with a giant gray wolf—a friendly-looking painting that peered down at everyone passing through.

“It had to come down last year,” Ethan says sadly. “After that big storm.”

Without the sign, now it looks like the campgrounds have a secret magical entrance, where tall evergreen trees surround a rickety wooden footbridge that crosses a small creek. Even the temperature changes as we go over the water, though I’ve probably got the shade and cool breeze to thank for that. The dirt path before us stretches on until it divides into two at the clearing, forming a circle that hugs the entire perimeter of Gray Wolf’s fields and open space, splintering off toward the cabins, the dining hall, the dance barn, the pool, and the lake. It’s all the same—but changed. This place has fallen into some disrepair, but the charm is still there.

I wipe sweat from my forehead, glad I don’t have to lug my things for much longer. Mackenzie walks alongside us. She waves to get my attention.

“Where do you go to school?” she signs, extremely slowly, over-mouthing the words with her lips. “A deaf school?”

“Mainstreamed,” I tell Mackenzie, not able to sign back because I’m carrying stuff. “You can just talk to me right now. Dramatically mouthing kind of butchers the ability to lipread. And I don’t always use sign, so you don’t need to.” That might be rude of me to say, but she could benefit from the explanation. “When talking to just me, at least,” I clarify.

“I see,” she says and signs, finally using her voice. After a pause, she again speaks slowly to keep pace with her hands. I turn back to watch her lips. “But it’s best to always sign anyway, so other people around can see and join in the conversation if they want. Like how other hearing people could join us talking.”

I frown. “I’m not hearing.”

Mackenzie doesn’t address this and keeps walking behind Ethan.

“I thought most everyone here would sign. But so many people speak.” She momentarily occupies her hands fixing her red braids.

I’m sure one of her professors sold her on this summer gig as a great way to practice sign. She’s being showy with her ASL, which she probably only just started learning. Granted, that’s more classes than I, with a hearing loss, have ever had the opportunity to take.

“Well, we new people have to stick together,” she says and signs.

I take a deep breath to stop myself from correcting her again and telling her I’m not “new” here. I need to practice, but Mackenzie isn’t my ideal partner.

Ethan can sense my frustration and gives me a knowing smile as he comes to my rescue. “Lilah was a camper here for many years. And hopefully will be back now for a few more.”

“That’d be great,” I say, wondering about his use of the word “hopefully.” Is becoming a senior counselor after being in the junior role not a guarantee? Maybe that’s when there’s an actual interview or something.

“Well,” Mackenzie says and signs. “Since you’re a junior counselor, I hope you’ll be assigned to help my group. We can learn together. It’s such a beautiful language. And it’s so special to be able to help deaf people.”