Wanda hadn’t been there. It was a Tuesday night and she’d been asleep in her dorm at the Deaf school an hour away. She had not felt her brother leave this world, and there had been no way to contact her.
In the morning, a note summoned her to the headmaster’s office, where her mother and father were waiting. Her parents didn’t know sign language—an interpreter told her that her brother was dead. She was not given a chance to ask questions. She returned home for two weeks, watched grief swallow her parents whole.
Before Eric’s murder, Wanda’s relationship with her parents had been neutral, the way one might regard neighbors or second cousins—an exchange of pleasantries and a little extra interest around the holidays, but no real bond. How could there be—their language was inscrutable to her, and they’d never tried to learn hers. Now, though, Wanda could read one thing plainly on their faces: they would have preferred to lose her. She saw a lot of things more clearly after that.
And even though it didn’t quite make sense, Eric was the first person she thought of now, at the news of River Valley’s closure. Her big brother’s death was the lens through which Wanda understood all loss—cruel and inevitable and without any good reason. More than that, it underscored the ways in which Deaf school had saved her own life; she would have never survived that look in her parents’ eyes without it.
If anyone could understand this, it would be Feb. But she had a lot on her plate, her own grief included, and Wanda could not show her Eric without the risk of baring the rest of her soul, including the torch she still carried for February herself. Instead, Wanda spoke pragmatically of The End. She assumed this was why February had called her—she was a friend, yes, but also a woman of science, of facts. And science was another of Wanda’s unrequited loves. Attempts to eradicate the Deaf world came in waves, attacks dating back to the ancient mystics, but now their fate was firmly in the hands of doctors, researchers, engineers—cochlear implants and the latest string of therapies designed to delete them from the human genome before they technically even existed.
Still, as Wanda rehashed the centuries’ long march toward her people’s extinction, she hoped February might see what she was really saying: This is not your fault; this is the way it always has been; there is nothing any of us can do; I love you so much for trying.
the atmosphere in the dorm the night before Christmas break was charged, holiday giddiness undercut by a run of tension because of what going home meant for so many River Valley students. Kayla, Charlie, and the rest of the girls on the floor spent the evening in and out of the common room, where the dormkeepers had set up stations for them to make gifts to bring to their families—origami ornaments and construction paper cards. Even Kayla seemed eager for the semester’s end, but Charlie could not tap into the Christmas spirit. Another holiday to spend sitting at the table, bewildered and bored, trying to lipread her chewing mother. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to her to wish for something better.
What’s with you? said Kayla.
Just thinking about going home…and about Headmistress’s class today.
She’s not giving you a test on the half day, is she? That’d be fucked.
No. It’s just fucked up is all, that M-i-l-a-n stuff. A-G-B-e-l-l?
Oh, Deaf history. Is that what you guys are doing? I was wondering why Kevin was going on about Martha’s Vineyard the other day.
That’s not what you’re studying?
I mean, I learned about that stuff—
For a moment, Kayla cut herself off as if embarrassed, though Charlie could see it was on her behalf.
—when I was younger. We’re doing WWII now. But yeah, B-e-l-l was an asshole.
We learned about him in hearing school and no one ever mentioned any of this!
Kayla laughed.
You think that’s bad, you should hear about the Founding Fathers.
Right, yeah.
Charlie blushed, turned back to her duffel bag, where she was throwing clothes for the week in at random.
That’s why I want to be a teacher, Kayla said. Right all this bullshit directly with the next generation. Maybe even become headmistress.
What kind of headmistress would you be?
Probably like Waters—maybe a little tougher. She’s kind of a softie.
“Soft” was not the adjective that came to mind when Charlie thought of Headmistress Waters, who she found intimidating, even though she technically had gone easy on Charlie for the whole calling her a bitch thing.
And I’d build Black Deaf history into the curriculum—not just for one month. Maybe even a whole BASL course.
That’d be cool, said Charlie unsteadily.
Charlie hated how awkward she became when faced with any mention of race, or especially racism. It wasn’t that she didn’t know it was wrong. She just didn’t have the right words to say something meaningful. Then again, that was true of a lot of topics. In her time at River Valley, the fact that Charlie had learned to name her own oppressors—ableism, oralism—had been liberating. Now she had the words to describe the things she always knew to be true. But the more she learned, the more tangled it all became—the same struggles of race and class inside the gates as outside, and strands of power and subjugation all twisted up like the rubber band ball she’d made for her father last year for Christmas.
Can I ask you something?
Kayla nodded.
Do you think River Valley is just as racist as everywhere else?
Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?
I don’t know. I guess I just kind of hoped it would be…better.
Yeah…white Deaf people always think that. It’s because you feel safe here.
You don’t?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
Charlie looked down at her hands, deflated and unsure. She wanted to ask if she could help, but she had no idea how she might be able to change anything, not concretely.
I’m sorry, she said after a while.
You know, now that you know, you could stand to read a book on it. Or at least a Wikipedia article.
Charlie nodded.
Any suggestions?
Kayla gave her a pointed look like she was thinking about scolding her, but then walked over to her computer and pressed a few keys.
Emailed you.
That was fast.
I have it on standby. Call it my white people primer.
At this Charlie couldn’t help but smile.
Lesson two is next time do your own research. I’m not on a teacher’s salary yet.
Do you wanna go to Gallaudet, for teaching?
Yeah, but…Depends on the money.
Charlie nodded, even though she knew money would not be the thing that stopped her from going to college.
They’d be lucky to have you.
I know, said Kayla.
Kayla grabbed her jeans from her armoire and rolled them tight so she could stuff them into her already brimming backpack.
I have another bag if you want to borrow.
That’s all right. This is easier for the bus.
She pressed down on the bag with her knee to bring the two sides of the zipper closer together.
Charlie went to her desk and retrieved her notebook, still opened to the day’s history lesson. She closed the cover and threw the book in her duffel bag.
What do you think the world would be like? If those guys had gotten their way.
Who, B-e-l-l and them?