Work with a partner to design what Eyeth means to you:
What Deaf-friendly architecture, technology, or other design elements would you include?
How would you manage accessibility for a hearing visitor on Eyeth?
february had run out of dusk by the time she finished stuffing the last of the day’s paperwork into her briefcase—a pipe had burst in the lower boys’ dorm and the afternoon had gotten away from her. She hoped she would still beat Mel home. She didn’t want to do anything that might disturb the new peace they’d established.
Besides the pipe, though, the day had been a good one. She was finally getting back into the swing of teaching （and no longer bungling basic Smartboard commands）， and her students had done a good job of imagining Eyeth as a world of clear sight lines: glass buildings with balconies, automatic doors, and wide hallways where two pairs of signing people could pass each other without having to break conversation to squeeze by. Hearing visitors, they’d decided, would be issued glasses that would caption ambient sign in English for them, but for in-depth interaction, they’d have to request an interpreter. Earplugs should also be available for visitors. On Eyeth, they’d said, they would yell when they felt like it, and no one would be embarrassed by their accents or tell them to pipe down. February had laughed at this declaration, and smiled again when she thought of it now. River Valley was already loud, and she tried to imagine what it might be like if none of her students had to spend their nights and weekends tiptoeing around their parents.
February heard her cellphone ring, but it was muffled, and she realized with dismay the sound was coming from the bottom of her freshly packed case. She cursed and thrust an arm into it but no dice. She had to remove most of the papers to free her phone, only to find a number she didn’t recognize. Normally she didn’t answer unknown callers, but now, having worked so hard to dig the phone out, she figured she might as well.
Hello? she said.
February, said a man on the other end.
The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Yes?
It’s Edwin Swall. Sorry, did I call your cell?
You did, sir.
I meant to call the office and leave a message.
No problem, sir.
Anyway, listen, I want us to get something on the calendar.
Yes, sir. Regarding?
Swall cleared his throat.
Some restructuring for next year. Budgetary, et cetera.
Of course, sir.
What’s better for you? Tomorrow, or next week?
February glanced at her wall calendar. Monday was clearer, but she didn’t want to wait the weekend to find out what was happening. She had heard the word “restructuring” a few times in her career, and it never meant anything good.
I’m free at lunch tomorrow, she said.
Perfect, I’ll meet you at the Panera on Oakley. Twelve thirty.
Great, she said.
But there was nothing great about it, not the suddenness of the meeting, nor its vaguely menacing subject matter, and definitely not Panera—that was a real pet peeve of hers. She tried not to let her mind spiral as she walked home in the dark.
You okay? Mel said.
February had gotten home before her, but not by enough to scrub the worry from her face.
Yeah, I’m fine. Just a weird conversation with Swall. He wants to have lunch tomorrow.
Swall, the superintendent?
That’s the one.
Did he say why?
Nope.
Well, free lunch at least.
I wouldn’t bet on it, February thought.
Speaking of, feel like a pizza? I had those pork chops I wanted to do, but I’m beat.
Sure. You call it in, I’ll pick it up, said February, and went to check on her mother.
* * *
—
February? Are you with me?
February blinked, hard.
Of course, sir, she said.
February was finding it difficult to pay attention to anything besides the lumpy drip of New England clam chowder at the center of the superintendent’s tie.
You do agree to keep this in confidence? Swall said. It really is of utmost importance.
So far Swall had only made vague intimations of “districtwide shifts,” and she was finding it hard to track his through line. She didn’t think she could repeat any of what he was saying even if she tried.
Of course, she said.
Good, because I really think you’re owed the information early. Due to the nature of your living situation.
What? she said, finally drawing her eyes up from the stain.
Though he’d never done anything to suggest it, February found herself fearful that Swall was about to say something homophobic.
My situation?
Well, you live there, he said.
Where?
On campus.
Technically we’re off campus, sir.
Yes, but.
Dr. Swall sighed, leaned in close over his soup. He was going to have to retire that tie.
Look, February. You know I admire your work with those kids. I need you to understand this is not personal.
Sir?
Effective July 1, the district will no longer be able to support River Valley.
February felt what little she’d managed to consume of the baguette turn leaden in her stomach.
I don’t understand.
To be honest, the district will be taking a big hit just to finish out the academic year, but we want to prioritize continuity.
February slammed her mug down, coffee sloshing over the sides as Swall hurried to steady their table.
Are you firing me in a Panera right now?
What? Swall looked around, as if to confirm that they were, in fact, still there. He leaned in. I’m not firing you, he whispered. And I’m gonna need you to lower your voice.
What about the kids?
I’m telling you this as a courtesy because of your housing situation. But all further details about the transition will really have to wait until the administrative conference.
You can’t do this. There has to be another way.
You know River Valley is by far the most expensive school in the district. The dorms alone— We could convert to a day school.
—all the rehabilitative programming…the teacher-student ratio is smaller than even some of the other special needs classrooms.
You think it’s going to be cheaper to mainstream them? The number of interpreters you’ll need is going to blow my teachers’ salaries out of the water.
We’ll be able to return some of the students to their home districts to help defray those costs.
Sure, just ship them back to Kentucky and pretend like it’s not your responsibility.
Frankly, February, the out-of-state students aren’t my responsibility.
Oh my god, February growled. And you call yourself an educator?
I’m trying to do what’s best for the entire district here.
You have a responsibility to your most vulnerable students. What about the DeafBlind kids? The ones with other disabilities? This is going to be a disaster.
Again, this really needs to wait until the conference— February gave Swall a look so dark it halted him midthought. She held his gaze. If he wanted out of the stare, he was the one who’d have to look away. Eventually he did, feigning a cough.
I can’t believe you’re doing this, she said.
That’s not fair. My hands are tied here.
You’re right. It’s not fair at all.
February, I’m really sorry.
It’s Dr. Waters, she said.
She stood and pushed her chair in, hard. It thwacked against the table, sending another slosh of soup at his tie. Leaving Swall to bus her dirty bowl, she stomped out of the restaurant, across the strip mall parking lot, and back to her car, where she turned the radio up and sobbed.