We get some sodas to drink, and by the time we leave, it’s no longer scalding hot, since the sun has begun to set behind the buildings. We make it through security, show our tickets, and walk into the crowded concourse. Isaac interlaces his fingers with mine, so we sign one-handed. “Where are our seats?”
“This way.”
Isaac and I weave through the crowd, reaching a gate that leads into the field where the stage is set up. We wait in a short line to show our tickets again. I check my phone and see recent messages in my group text with Kelsey and Riley.
Kelsey: Lilah, are you back home yet? Or still at camp?
Lilah: Actually, downtown at a concert right now with the staff for an end of summer celebration! I’ll be home later tomorrow.
Riley: Didn’t know deaf people went to concerts . . . ?
Followed by a second message a few seconds later.
Riley: Sorry, that’s not rude, right?
I chuckle and hold up the message to show Isaac. “They want to know why deaf people would want to go to a concert.”
Isaac shakes his head, also finding this amusing. “Because we like music?”
“Right.”
The rest of the counselors are on the other side of the baseball diamond at the opposite gate. Isaac waves across the field to them. “We’ll meet you up front,” he signs at a distance.
He stands close to me again. The scratches on his cheek have faded, but I remember exactly where they all were. I reach up and gently brush my fingers over the area around it. “Does it still hurt?” I sign one-handed.
He shrugs. “It’s fine.” He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes and guides my hand to his forehead. He lowers his arm and signs, “Remember when you hit me there?”
Tug-of-war. The first few weeks of camp feel like a lifetime ago. “It’s not purple anymore, I promise!”
He raises his eyebrows and bites his lip. “Kiss it and make it better?”
I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my hand around the side of his head to draw him closer. I peck his forehead, his cheek, and his lips.
“Much better,” he signs.
“Good.”
We’re let onto the field a few minutes later, guided to the row of gates at the very front, practically at the stage.
“Excited?” Isaac asks.
“Yes! I’ve never—” I’m not sure how to sign the rest, so I gesture dramatically to the stage. “Been this close!”
We’re at the front of the fenced area, right behind where the sign language interpreter will be. There’s no interpreter for the opening band playing right now, but we’re so near the stage that it’s still fun to watch even if I can’t understand a single word.
The other counselors join us. We stand around, chatting and watching the opener. There’s a buzz in my pocket, and I open my phone to an Instagram notification from Kelsey. It’s a photo of her and Riley hanging out at a backyard firepit, surrounded by a bunch of our classmates, and I’m tagged in the caption because they’re “missing me” at this party.
Isaac notices me holding the image open a few seconds longer than I mean to. He turns with his back to the stage and gestures for us to take a selfie. I reverse the camera and smile. Isaac leans in toward me and I snap a couple of shots. I hesitate over what to caption it, so I show the picture to Isaac for his thoughts.
“Maybe ‘Deaf pride,’ ” he signs. I type it out all lowercase, but he nudges me. “You can do ——， Deaf,” he signs, holding his thumb and index against an outstretched finger on his other hand.
I’m unsure I understand what he’s signing, so I give him my phone and he makes the change, capitalizing the D in “Deaf.”
“Can I use that?” I stare at the word. Then I let slip the question that’s been in the back of my mind all summer. “Am I deaf enough?”
Do I need his affirmation? Have I been searching for approval to claim the word “Deaf” or even “deaf” as my own, worried I didn’t meet some specific criteria—not having a profound loss, not being fluent in sign language, not facing some of the same obstacles in life because I speak?
Isaac looks at me and nods encouragingly. “There are different levels of deafness: m-i-l-d, m-o-d-e-r-a-t-e, s-e-v-e-r-e, and p-r-o-f-o-u-n-d.” He shakes out his hand a little bit after all that fingerspelling. I smile.
“It’s your choice. People think different things. Some prefer capital D, Deaf,” he signs, demonstrating by holding up an index finger and bringing the other hand to it in the same shape as the uppercase letter. “Or just deaf, or hard of hearing.” He shrugs. “But whatever way, all deaf, all belong.”
“That’s nice to know. It’s just, sometimes, it feels like not everyone thinks that way.”
“People think different things. It matters what you think. Your ——， your choice. I-d-e-n-t-i-t-y,” he signs, to make sure I understood the letter I tapped against his open palm.
Because that’s just it—I’ve been deaf since birth, as simple as that. And the older I get, the more my hearing loss will become a joke to some people, the way the elderly are ridiculed for needing hearing aids. I need to take pride in my identity, in whatever way I choose to share it with the world.
“Belong.” I smile at Isaac, linking two F-shape hands together to repeat one of the signs he used earlier. “I like this sign.”
He grins and retrieves his own phone. “Let’s take another picture.” He presses a kiss to my cheek and captures the moment.
Meanwhile, my phone commands my attention, with plenty of likes and comments on my picture rolling in. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really posted anything all summer. My friends’ replies all basically sum up to “How are you so close to the stage?!” and “Who’s the guy you’re with?!”
Finally, it’s time for the main show. The sun has gone down, the opener has finished their set, and the interpreter has taken her place in front of us. Our entire group cheers and waves in ASL applause. “Thank you!” Natasha signs to the interpreter.
“She’s a C-D-I,” Isaac quickly explains to me. “Deaf interpreter.”
“Oh,” I say. “Like, she’s Deaf?”
He nods and quickly looks around, pointing out the hearing interpreter off to the side, relaying information to the certified Deaf interpreter on stage. “More style. Better ASL.”
Lights flash along with the heavy vibration of the music, signaling the band’s arrival on stage. We’re right next to a gigantic speaker that forcefully shakes the ground beneath our feet.
The stage is high in front of us, so I find myself craning my neck to watch the performance. Toward the end of the show, there are some people to our right who have climbed onto each other’s shoulders to get a better view. Simone shouts something to Bobby, who helps her hop onto his shoulders.
Isaac taps me. “You too?”
I nod eagerly. He hunches over and offers a hand to help me up. He slowly stands upright, lifting me high into the air. He’s steady, without wobbling in the slightest, wrapping his hands around my shins to hold me tight. This is the best possible way to experience a concert.