Alterity

Chapter Four

I spend the remainder of the day looking out windows, lost in thought. I also do a lot of staring at the classroom Sign Language interpreters, as if I could somehow pick some of it up. Really, I'm just mortified about how I handled the situation with Leo. What was I supposed to do though? What do you say to someone that can't hear you if you don't know Sign Language? I thought deaf people could read lips or something but maybe he can't, I don't know.

            What eats at me the most isn't so much that I made a fool of myself in front of the hottest guy on earth, but that I made such a lousy first impression. In my last class of the day, I notice that there just so happens to be an American Sign Language alphabet chart hanging on the wall, so I be sure and grab a seat as close to it as possible. I run through each letter again and again throughout the hour and not surprisingly, have only one memorized by the time the class—and school—gets out. I look up the ASL alphabet again on my phone during the bus ride home and suddenly, I'm struck by a devastating thought: I probably can't even learn Sign Language because of my processing difficulties with visual information. A small lump forms in my throat—the kind you get from frustration, not crying—and I put my phone back into my pocket.

            By the time dinner rolls around, my frustration has turned to disappointment and I just sit at the table, pushing my food around with my fork, sulking like a child.

            "Erik, what's the problem?" Says Mom. She points her butter knife at me. "Eat. You're skinny enough as it is."

            Aiden, my eight-year-old little brother, reaches across the table and grabs a handful of my food in his fingers.

            "Aiden!" Mom shouts. "Not ok! Give back!"

            Aiden quickly stuffs the food into his mouth and covers his ears with his hands, groaning. He has autism too, by the way. Unlike me, however, Aiden is significantly low-functioning. Functioning is a somewhat pejorative term used in regard to neurodivergent people, referring to one's ability to 'function' in daily life and society independently. Someone labeled high-functioning—such as myself—is able to live a relatively normal life, needing minimal-to-no help. A neurodivergent person considered 'low-functioning' will need a great deal of help going through their lives and generally, are unable to be entirely independent.

Aiden, for instance, is completely non-verbal, wears a pull-up and needs to be closely monitored to be sure he is being safe. He struggles with mild pica, a compulsive eating disorder where a person has the compulsive urge to eat things that are inedible. He will often try to swallow rocks or small objects if you turn your back. Aiden is the most important person on earth to me and I love him more than anything. He is, without a doubt, my whole world.

"So now that you have less food to play with, you wanna tell us why you're so mopey tonight?" Dad asks, sipping his beer.

"I met this cool guy today."

"You made a friend already?" Mom beams. "That's terrific, Erik!"

"Mom, please." I groan. "He's not my friend, I haven't even talked to him. I mean, I tried but . . . it didn't go so well."

"How's that? You say something weird or off-putting?" Asks Dad.

"No, he's Deaf!" I say.

"Oh, damn." He takes another sip of beer. "Well, I guess it wouldn't have mattered if you had anyway, huh?"

"Dave. Really." Says Mom, annoyed. "So, he uses Sign Language, then?"

"Yeah."

"Well, why don't you try learning?" Says Dad.

"I can't. It's like, all visuals." I say.

"I mean, not really." Says Mom. "Yes, it's a visual language but they're all connected to words, right? You know, your case manager, Mrs. Sig, is fluent in Sign Language—pretty sure she even used to teach it or interpret it. And she's an autism specialist, so, she might be the perfect person to ask about how you might go about learning."

"Really?" I say.

"Mhmm!" Mom smiles. "Who knows? Maybe she'd even help you out!"

"We're not paying for lessons," says Dad.

"Dave."

"I'm not asking you to," I say, "I'll ask Mrs. Sig if there are any good websites or something tomorrow."

"And ask her about the visual processing stuff," Mom adds. "It's literally her specialty!"

"Ok," I smile. "Think I will."