“No one needs one,” she signs, with the emphasis on the word “needs.” She pulls back her stick to inspect her marshmallow.
“Take a video of Max when he tries it on!” Mackenzie chimes in. “Have you seen those ‘baby hears for the first time’ videos?”
“I hate those,” Natasha says and signs, wanting to make sure we follow her crystal clear. She takes a deep breath. “A cochlear implant doesn’t fix everything. It’s a surgical procedure after which I had to train my brain how to hear the world. My hearing isn’t magically restored the same as a hearing person’s.”
Mackenzie slumps forward, letting her marshmallow burn. “When you put it that way,” she says and signs. “I should have assumed as much, honestly. If you dislike it so much, why did you get it?” I’m glad Mackenzie’s here to ask the tough questions for me.
Natasha takes a deep breath. “A few years back, I got really fed up with the world. My entire family is Deaf—mother, father, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Everyone. Some could use hearing aids, but they don’t often wear them and communicate only with sign. Very proud to be Deaf, as they should be.”
She pauses and looks at me. “Right,” I sign, not wanting to interrupt her story.
“But I was so frustrated everywhere I went,” Natasha says. “How I was so dependent on interpreters. How people treat us differently. And when my dad had to go to the hospital . . . that was the last straw for me.”
Isaac returns from assembling his own s’more. “Talking about your implant?” he asks Natasha. I take his appearance as an excuse to step over to the supplies and quickly put together my s’more as well.
Natasha resumes. “I wanted greater independence and at the time thought this was the way to get it. But when I decided to do it, my family got mad—my dad, especially. He said I’d no longer be Deaf enough. Always going on about ‘we can do anything but hear.’ To him, my wanting something to help me hear was a betrayal.”
“But you’re still Deaf,” I say and sign. I know I’m constantly worried about not feeling “Deaf enough,” but I don’t understand how it’s possible that Natasha does as well.
“You’re still Deaf,” Isaac signs at the same time.
“I know,” Natasha continues. “And even with the cochlear, I need interpreters. Sure, I can ‘hear better’ now, but still not well enough to go without my other resources. And recovery was difficult after the surgery. I was worried it had failed. Sometimes these implants don’t work. It could still potentially fail. But I recovered from the procedure, and my dad got nicer about my decision, although still very ‘I told you so.’ I’ve gotten used to hearing a bit more of the world around me, but I don’t wear the processor all the time, preferring the quiet. But until this world gets a lot more deaf-friendly, I guess I’m glad I have it as an option.”
I know exactly what she means. “So does that mean you’re glad you got it?”
She scrunches up her mouth. “To be honest, if I could go back and do it all over again, I don’t think I would get it.”
“Really?” Mackenzie asks.
Natasha shrugs. “I’ve got it now, so I might as well use it when I want.” She looks at me. “I don’t know. What does your brother think?”
“I’m not sure,” I say and sign. “I need to talk to him about it.”
Natasha agrees, signing emphatically. “So many kids are implanted super young, without consent.”
Isaac turns. “Your brother?”
“His left ear could use a cochlear implant now,” I sign.
“Teach him ASL,” Isaac signs. “Like we did with baseball.”
“I’m still learning myself,” I sign.
As much as I’d love for my family to be fluent in ASL, the possibility of that seems a long way away. It’s difficult to imagine sign language as part of my real world, rather than just existing at camp.
“S’mores!” Ethan joins our huddle at the campfire, finished with his paperwork early this evening.
“Not turning in early?” Mackenzie asks.
“Nah,” Ethan says and signs, grabbing a marshmallow and a seat by the fire. “How could I miss this celebration?”
“Do you think I should tell my brother he shouldn’t get the cochlear?” I ask Natasha.
While she ponders, Ethan chimes in. “For Max? Why not? My twin has one and loves it.”
“Really?” I didn’t know he had siblings, let alone a twin.
“Yeah, she got it when she was pretty young,” he says and signs one-handed. “I’ve got the two hearing aids, but she’s got one cochlear. Her other ear has full hearing.”
Ethan stands to make his s’more, so I wait for him to sit again. Natasha is curious as well.
“But doesn’t your family sign?” Natasha asks.
“Oh, no.” Ethan shakes his head as he takes a big bite. “Only me. I went to Deaf school all my life, but my sister wanted to be mainstreamed.”
“Interesting,” I say and sign. “My brother hasn’t picked up much ASL yet. I’m trying to teach him as I learn.”
“And I’ll help you,” Isaac offers once more. He slides closer to me on the bench.
“Hey, you’re wearing your hearing aids again,” Natasha says and signs, pointing to my ears.
“Yeah.” I turn slightly toward Isaac but look at the ground in front of his feet.
“You are,” Isaac echoes the observation. “I love the purple.”
I shake my head while Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re only now noticing?” Natasha asks. “How is that possible?”
She’s about to chastise him further, but Jaden shows up and sits next to her. Bobby and Simone are heading our way, too. I snuggle next to Isaac and share another smile with Natasha across the circle. It’s an “entire staff around the fire” kind of night. I’ve missed these.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The sun hasn’t begun to set yet, but we’re preparing a Friday night campfire down by the lake, complete with ASL story time, most likely Jaden’s retelling of the Deaf King Kong joke. Gary is sitting on the golf cart going through some paperwork and waves me over.
“How’ve you been, Lilah?”
“It’s been a wild summer. But things are good.” Nervously, I stretch out my arms, watching as the cart’s headlights cast a long shadow behind me.
“Glad to hear it. So I’ve been crunching the numbers after our new fundraising success. Any idea what your plans are for next year?”
“Well, not yet.”
“Would you be interested in being a senior counselor?”
“Yes!” I blurt out. “I mean, if I’m allowed. I’m not sure I was exactly the most stellar junior counselor this camp has ever seen. And I’m still working on my ASL.”
“Are you kidding? You’ve done great. Helping put together this fundraising video, for one. That’s some brilliant leadership. We’re not going to let you go that easily. You’ve done great with the campers, especially helping those who also aren’t fluent in sign. I have complete confidence that with a few more summers working here, you’ll be fluent. It’d be impossible not to be. Heck, even Bobby and the lifeguards know a bunch of signs now. Meanwhile, I’ve managed to get by using the staff as interpreters.” He pauses to scratch his beard. “Now, don’t think I’ve forgotten about a certain curfew incident.”