“Of course—everything that is new has the potential to be terrifying. But with change, we adapt. Like disabled people have done for, you know, all of human history. Modify, adjust, transform, innovate.” She pauses. “Do you need me to keep going?”
“Create a more accessible world so that we can thrive,” I say in agreement, understanding her point.
“We wouldn’t know our limitations if people didn’t keep telling us.”
One of Natasha’s campers approaches, peering at the pile of string in front of Phoebe. “Can I look for a color?” she says and signs. I nod. After she takes her pick, the girl looks back up at me. “Oh, we match!”
We do? She’s not looking at my bracelets, and I can’t find a single piece of apparel we’re wearing in common. That is, until she lifts a finger and points to my ear.
“You have purple, too!” I say, realizing what she means.
“It’s my favorite color.” She holds up her wrist full of friendship bracelets, all varying shades of purple.
“It’s a cool color.”
Out in the real world, I always notice whenever someone else has hearing aids. Usually it’s someone old, with a tiny in-the-ear device or a hidden mold with very thin tubing running up the ear. But it never escapes my glance. Especially when it’s someone young like me. That’s usually easier because we get a wider variety of colors to choose from.
I’m always tempted to walk up to strangers and be like, “Hey, I’ve got those, too!” But what if they don’t have the same reaction? What if they want to keep their hearing aids hidden and are upset that I see through their disguise?
Camp Gray Wolf needs to stay alive. It’s here that we can find our community—a place where we can be ourselves, unapologetically.
* * *
I take my time getting to the campfire tonight. I’m not eager for my Friday on-duty shift without Isaac. It’s been a few days with him gone, but time feels like it’s moving in slow motion. In the bathhouse, Simone and her girls are brushing their teeth. Natasha walks right past me toward the showers. I’ve been avoiding her, which is easy because I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me, too.
Back at the cabin, I change into my pajamas and linger on Isaac’s sweatshirt, still sitting in my bunk. Will I get to give this back to him? Would he be mad if I kept it?
I put on my raincoat in case it pours again and grab my beach towel so I can sit on the damp benches around the firepit. For a few minutes, I’m sitting there all alone. I can’t stay in the staff cabin since it’s still housing campers after the storm. I stare at my phone that still has no new messages. Nothing from Isaac.
I’m startled when someone walks out of the darkness to stand beside me. Mackenzie gives a small wave before spreading her beach towel on the nearby bench. Simone and Bobby arrive as well.
“Want to play a game? I’m pretty sure I brought UNO,” Simone says after sitting by my side. “Or borrow a book? I’ve got some non-Braille ones.”
“No.” I can’t really stomach entertainment right now. “But thank you for joining me.”
She leans against my shoulder, and we sit together in comfortable silence.
Yet time crawls. A minute, or maybe an hour later, I jump when my phone buzzes.
It’s just a message from my mom, and I don’t feel like replying. The only person I really want to be texting with right now is Isaac. So I do.
Lilah: Hey I know you don’t feel like talking but I just wanted to make sure you know I’m here when you’re ready
I nearly jump out of my seat when the three little dots dance at the bottom of my screen. I hold my breath as Isaac types a response. But he stops writing and the ellipsis disappears.
I wait a few minutes, hoping he might still send a reply—but nothing.
* * *
Saturday evening, I get a message from Oliver asking me to hang out, so I wander down to the lake. He’s lounging in one of the beach chairs, staring up at the stars, when I take the seat beside him.
“Ben’s doing some artwork on his laptop, so I’m all yours for the night,” Oliver says. “How can I distract you?”
I look at the sky, watching clouds drift in front of the moon. “I don’t know. I don’t really feel up for much of anything.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“Well, I’m starved, so you can sneak some bites off my plate.”
“Bites of what?” I ask, wondering if I missed something he said.
But Oliver jumps up, grabs his bag, and starts walking up the path. I jog after him, curious. I can’t sit here lost in my thoughts right now.
“Where are you going?” I ask when I’ve caught up to him. “I really don’t want to leave camp.”
“Leave camp? Nope, we’re doing something even better.”
We turn at the edge of the path, and Oliver walks straight up to the dining hall’s side door.
“Are we allowed to be in here right now?” I ask, staring through the dark entryway.
“Nope, we’re breaking in.” Then he finds a key on his lanyard and unlocks the door. “We got a spare as lifeguards, since we don’t always eat at your normal mealtimes.”
It’s eerie being in this building after dark. Oliver flips on only one of the lights in the kitchen, leaving the rest of the building haunted by shadows. Our footsteps echo across the empty space, since all the tables and chairs are folded and put away each night during cleaning.
Oliver peers into a small pantry. “I’m going to make you my famous macaroni cheese.”
“You mean mac and cheese.”
“Nope, unnecessary word.” He fills a large pot with a tiny bit of water, enough for a meal just for the two of us. He leans against the counter. “You’re keeping those in now?” He points toward my ears.
“Yeah.” I lift myself up to sit on the counter. “Doesn’t that make it easier for you? You don’t have to put up with me saying ‘what’ a million times.”
“I never actually minded that.”
“Really? A lot of people do.”
“I just want you to feel comfortable doing whatever you want,” he says, still making sure to face me as he talks.
“Thanks, Oliver.”
He dumps the dry noodles into the pot, searching in the big industrial-size fridge for some cream, butter, and cheese.
“Otherwise you’re doing all right?” he asks, turning to make sure I still have a clear view of his face when he speaks.
“Yeah, I guess I just felt like I made so much progress figuring myself out this summer, and it all got erased in a single night.”
“No, don’t think of it that way.”
“It’s hard not to,” I admit.
“There’s still plenty of summer left,” he says. “And a whole life ahead of you. You can keep finding yourself again and again. The important part of all of that is just being true to what your heart tells you.”
“Dang, that’s poetic.”
“I have been reading a lot of Ben’s poetry collections lately.” He leans back to stir the boiling water.
I consider what he said. Up until this summer, wearing my hearing aids was nonnegotiable. I diligently put them in every morning without question. I never would’ve thought I’d go without them for most of the last month. But I can do that. I have that choice—and so many choices ahead of me. A multitude of ways I can explore my identity and decide how to exist in this world.