Give Me a Sign

by Anna Sortino

People give too much power to labels. It can feel exclusionary, whether intentional or not.

what if I struggle in the Deaf world as much as I do in the hearing one?

A guy about my age is standing there in a blue baseball cap and a Cubs T-shirt that fits him perfectly. He looks like he belongs in the team’s dugout, although his hat has a cursive L on the front that I don’t recognize. A small tuft of hair curls at his forehead. He has a warm-brown complexion and kind, dark eyes that are set on me. He’s standing with his hands loosely clasped together, ready to sign, with a woven bracelet around his wrist, perhaps from last summer.

“Camp sign name Spider,” Isaac adds, signing with one wrist crossed over the other to resemble the eight-legged creature. “Like—” He makes a web-slinging gesture, a clear reference to Spider-Man.

I’m still smiling ridiculously. “I thought no one here would remember me,” I say. He watches my lips, grinning. “Nah.”

I must be watching too obviously, because he turns my way and locks eyes with me. He smiles, and I quickly look away.

There’s so much energy, emotion, and personality that goes into ASL, and it clearly translates to their approach to this job. The way they move around, eager to take up space. It’s not just vocabulary and grammar that I need to learn, but also how to set my expressions and movements free.

He wraps an arm around my waist to keep me above water.

“Later,”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “Perfect now.” He smiles, wiping the condensation from his skin.

He doesn’t let go and nods for the campers to join with their paddles, Blake and Savannah taking the benches in front of me.

I carefully climb the stairs, where Isaac greets me with his towel. He holds it out, wrapping it around me, enclosing me for a moment in a hug. He starts to pull back, but I’m not ready to move quite yet and rest my head against his chest, realizing too late that maybe this wasn’t meant to be a prolonged embrace. But Isaac immediately squeezes his arms around me tighter.

He sees my head tilt and spells out, “D-e-p-e-n-d, depend.” “Right.” I smile, grateful that he could tell exactly which word I needed clarification for. “Thank you.”

The person standing in the middle has to pick someone who is seated and say, “Honey, if you love me, please smile,” and then that person has to get through a response of “Honey, I love you, but I just can’t smile” without actually smiling in the slightest, to avoid going in the center.

I’m a champ at this game. So far when we’ve played to fill time between other activities, no one has managed to get me to the middle of the circle. Ethan announced that right now we only have time for one more round, so I’m in the clear. That is until, for the first time, Isaac is the one who steps toward me.

“Honey . . . if you—” “Noooo . . . ”

real

“We don’t really know,” he signs, gesturing from me to himself.

“Hard of hearing,” I correct her, though I also dislike this preferred terminology. It feels so medical and outdated, more suited for the elderly than for someone as young as I am. There’s also a misconception among hearing people that these terms mean my hearing loss isn’t significant and that simply shouting could do the trick, which is far from accurate.

This woman knows nothing about me yet feels perfectly fine making and voicing this assumption. She thinks I’m intelligent because I talk clearly?

The fact of the matter is, I have a significant hearing loss. One that impacts my life, no matter how well adjusted I’ve worked to be. It’s not on par with someone who has lost a few decibels to loud music. By telling me I seem “normal,” they’re not only shrugging off my disability but telling me I don’t fit their lowered expectations of people with disabilities. I find no pride in that.

Why did I have to tell him I like him?

“Do you”—I say and sign one-handed—“want me to?” No hearing boy would stare at your lips this much unless they were about to kiss you. But Isaac is just watching what I’m saying. “Yes.” He nods nervously. “Yes, I want you to sit with us.” I smile. That’s a good sign. “Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

But whenever I get lost, Isaac seems to intuitively know.

Even though we barely know each other, I feel like I’ve known him forever.

Lilah: Okay, favorite color? Isaac: Green. And yours is purple. He looks up and points to my hearing aids, purple hair tie, and several of the bracelets on my wrist. My hand shakes as I sign, “See, you do know me . . . ”

Isaac: My Dominican team, los Tigres del Licey. I go to games when I visit my grandparents.

Lilah: Very cool. You know Spanish? Isaac: Trilingual, what up

“Lots of bugs.” “Perfect for you, Bug.” He smiles, using my sign name.

I sign as he reaches down to brush some dirt off the backs of my calves. I . . . have not been shaving my legs while at camp, but he doesn’t seem bothered. “There, all good,” he signs. “Thank you.”

“Um,” I say. “Maybe a half-up, half-down situation?” “Sure,” Mackenzie agrees. “That’ll be easy enough.” Jaden’s and Isaac’s groups are the last to show up. The boys run inside, hoping to influence Bobby’s music selection. Isaac stops on the way up the stairs, watching Mackenzie playing stylist on me. He takes a step back down. “It looks pretty.” “Thanks.”

Isaac spins me around and twirls me back toward him. Simone holds out green and purple glow sticks for us. He grabs my hand again, pulling me close and dipping me backward, my hair hanging down over my shoulders.

He lets his hand linger at my neck for a moment before bringing it back to his chest to sign with a small shrug, “Just different.”

He has me so confused. Would it be too much for him to admit if he likes me or not?

She’s trying to use it as a deterrent, when in reality a disability doesn’t save you from harassment. Rather, it often makes deaf people more of a target for harm or abuse.

But now it’s clear that those nights when I hung out at the lake, Ben wasn’t the third wheel—I was.

“Whoops, sorry, love. Didn’t mean to anger your boyfriend.” “My what?” I turn around and find Isaac, the only other sober one here, standing still in the parking lot. Is he waiting for me? He’s fidgeting with his hands, not meeting my eyes.

He’s watching my lips, and this time I’m not saying anything.

I raise my eyebrows in question—is he going to do it or not? I stand on my toes, tantalizingly close to him, until he finally closes the distance between us.

I raise my hand to sign as I mouth the words, “You still have to say it.” He arches an eyebrow and gives a slow nod. “Yes, I like you, too.” “Really . . . ? Are you sure?” I tease him. “Hmmmm . . .” There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “And you still like me?” I shrug. “Maybe you should k-i-s-s me again.” He taps his fingers against his chin, feigning deep thought. “Let me think.” He wraps his arms around me. But something is nagging me, so I ask. “Wait, what’s the sign?” “Kiss,” he demonstrates, using both hands. He presses his fingers against his thumbs and brings his hands together so that his fingertips touch, representative of two people coming together. He pulls me close. “Your signing was pretty good . . . ” “Right!” A big smile crosses my face. “That was good? Signing fast, too. I guess we need to fight more.” He shakes his head, reaching out for my arms and drawing me toward him once more, for a long, slow kiss this time.

“Kiss?” I ask, playing coy. “T-i-e.” He grins and leans forward to kiss me.

The guy I kissed in the rain a week ago for the first time. The guy I finally got some more alone time with during our on-duty shift last night. The guy who is also swimming over here right now.

Of course, he takes off his hoodie and tosses it to me. I catch it, but when I start to shake my head and hold it back toward him, he insists. “I’m fine. I’m not cold.” I put it on without further hesitation, ignoring a glance from Natasha. Has he told his friends about us? I mean, we were pretty obvious last night around the campfire. “Thank you. Now I’m only a little cold . . . and a little tired . . . and a little hungry—so thank you.” I hold up the Fruit Roll-Up in gratitude. Isaac raises his eyebrows. “Hungry, or . . . ” He keeps his hand at his chest, suggestively recalling my signing mistake from our first day of camp, but not daring to repeat the motion with so many campers around. I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He drops his jaw in mock astonishment. “Lilah, there are children here.” But he bites his lip and smiles.

watch Isaac’s hands signing in the moonlight. “You have to wear your glasses to drive,” he says with a smile. “Right, I almost forgot.”

Going without the devices that I’m so used to wearing to function in society, I feel like I’m naked in public. Isaac must sense my hesitation. He grabs my hand as we walk inside.

Isaac wraps his arm around me, and the man backs off and scurries out of the aisle.

Isaac goes to stick his card in the chip reader, but half of the machine is covered in duct tape, and a sign indicates to swipe instead. I wrap my hands around his left arm, leaning into him as a way of saying thanks. I love the smell of campfire smoke on his clothes. If we hurry, maybe we can get back in time to cuddle around the flames.

It’s only as the man stumbles back, raising a hand to his bleeding nose, that I realize there’s a patch on his chest. On his uniform. Oh no. He’s a security guard.

“It’s almost midnight,” Mackenzie says and signs. “They might be a while, and you need to get some sleep.” “I won’t be able to sleep. I need to wait for Isaac.”

Camp Gray Wolf needs to stay alive. It’s here that we can find our community—a place where we can be ourselves, unapologetically.

“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.