The Witness

12

"Promise me that you'll never do that again," Josh barely could contain his laughter, earning us a handful of angry glares from passersby. Of course, the library was meant to be a sacred place of quiet studying. My lessons were growing increasingly more chatty, ironic when the study topic was sign language. "Jess, you just told me to...well, loosely you wound up saying 'bullshit'."

"I did?" I groaned and flipped back through my picture cards. These new verbs were not my strong suit, but our professor had been clear that they would be on our final exam. "Damn it!"

"Don't worry," Josh settled back into his helpful tutor mode. "We'll have you ready for Thursday's quiz."

For an hour, we did fairly well at focusing on my academic success. Whenever I struggled, Josh found a clever memory trick - usually a silly song - that I could use to remember the flow of finger movements for my increasing vocabulary. Whenever he had a book return, I'd focus on repetition until my form was near flawless.

"I know it's difficult to learn at first," Josh offered after another successful rendition of signing 'I'm going to cook dinner'. "We all struggled at first when we found out that George was deaf."

"I can't imagine how you all must have felt," I sympathized, not realizing until afterwards what my words were. Pity. Disabling. Our professor's harsh response to any of these types of musings caused me to correct myself quickly. "I'm sorry! He's clearly not a burden or broken or anything. I - "

"Slow down, speed racer," Josh chuckled, clearly appreciating my attempt to slough of years of ingrained ignorance around the Deaf community. "Honestly, I was three when he was born and four when he was diagnosed. I don't remember the beginning parts. Lucky me!"

"Lucky?" I subconsciously closed my textbook, ending my practice session for the moment. "What do you mean?"

"I only know what my parents told me about the time surrounding George's diagnosis," Josh cautioned, his hands fluidly scanning a stack of recently-returned books as he talked. I saw his brow furrow and the dimple on his right cheek disappear momentarily before he continued on with his recount. "Finding out about Georgie was hard on my parents."

I realized that this conversation was rapidly crossing the boundary of casual friendship. What Josh was disclosing to me was deeply personal, something that Jess would never be able to reciprocate. "Josh, you don't have to - "

"It's alright," Josh flashed a devilish smile, which quickly abated me. Before I could change the subject to something more lighthearted, he pressed on. "My mom tried to be optimistic. She signed up for a community college night class to start learning ASL. Between work and class, we'd have dinner at home and she'd read kids books about what it meant to have a deaf sibling with me. On the weekends, she did homework and played with Georgie until they both passed out."

"Wow," I breathed in awe of this woman. If she did such a great job, then I assumed that the other half of the parental equation was the source of the tension in this retelling. "And your dad?"

"He was in complete denial," Josh snorted as he lugged a set of books to fill a return cart. "When the doctor told my parents that George was deaf, Dad screamed at the poor guy. After that, he dragged George around for a bunch of 'second opinions'...I think that George was diagnosed four times, each at a different pediatrician, before my dad accepted reality. By then, Mom had already passed her first ASL midterm."

"The worst part, though, was after the doctor roulette was over," Josh murmured, not making eye contact with me. "I was five when he started drinking after work...and by the time I was six, his morning coffee had that smell to it, too. Mom kicked him out after I started asking questions."

I stood, floored by what one diagnosis had done to Josh's family. In the back of my mind, I wanted to shake some sense into the man. Denial wasn't a good enough reason to never see family again.

I wished with all my heart that I would get to see my family again!

"The story has a happy ending," Josh promised, noticing the agony in my eyes. "My first real memories at home didn't have my dad in them, which sucked. But he apparently took the separation as a sign to stop moping. He went to see a therapist and stopped drinking so much. I don't know how he did it, but he found a way to start learning sign language on his own."

"I don't remember when it was exactly, only that it was close to Christmastime...." Josh started down another avenue of his story, clearly happy to be getting to the brighter parts. "Ah well, he showed up one night out of the blue. Dad rang the doorbell and stood in the freezing Iowa snow until Mom got the door. When she did, he started signing. Even though his fingers were locked up from the cold, he managed to sign that he was sorry and he missed his family. After that, Dad started being in my memories again. And the best part is that George doesn't have any memories of him being gone. Just the good stuff."

"I...." I started, unsure of how to respond. Josh was much more than a tutor and happenstance friend. He was complicated and yet so good, even after such a confusing childhood. And he was helping me with school just because he was nice. "I don't know what to say."

Lucky for me, my phone alarm signaled that I needed to start walking to my Italian class. I smiled sheepishly and began to pack away my study supplies, a momentary reprieve from my awkwardness, until I was forced to find some way to adequately say goodbye following such an intimate sharing session.

"I wish I could stay longer," I mumbled honestly, realizing that this afternoon in the library was one of the best memories I'd made in the Program. "Thank you. For tutoring me and for...you know...."

"Spilling my guts?" Josh offered in what I assumed was an attempt to make me feel less awkward. "Anytime! But since I  gave you an exclusive peek into my childhood, I think you owe me one traumatizing life share session."

My trauma? He'd never be able to know my trauma.

"Oh do I now?" I giggled, taking the opportunity to take a steo back toward the exit. "I don't know, you'd probably find my life pretty boring."

As if.

"Well, I wouldn't mind hearing about it anyway," Josh almost whispered, his sincere tone almost too serious for a casual goodbye between school friends. His eyes widened as excitement overtook his expression. "I know! Why don't you come to Thirsty Thursday with us this week?"

"Thirsty Thursday?" I repeated, unsure of who this 'us' entailed.

"Yeah. The same group from the race party goes to a Mexican restaurant and has a big dinner one Thursday out of the month," Josh sounded like a kid in a toy store. "Plus one or two other people, if their schedules work out. You'd like it, I think. I'll trade you a devastating personal story for a Thirsty Thursday appearance."

His eyes were huge. Did it matter that much to him whether I went to dinner?

I started down my usual path of 'no' - a common choice for me these days. John wouldn't appreciate having to babysit me at a restaurant after a full day on campus. I could already hear his groans in my earpiece and mild warnings not to go.

John's voice triggered a mini-memory of this morning's unwanted news. Friday was my meeting with Ivy, my assured extension of this unwanted beach lifestyle. John was the harbinger of bad news, the thinly veiled metronome guiding the cadence of my entire Program life.

So what if I wanted to have a little fun for a change?

"That sounds nice," I smiled sweetly, unsure of whether I was happier to see Josh smile in victory or hear John sigh in defeat. "Text me the details, okay? I've got to run."

As I left for class, I reveled in my successes of the day. John attempted to lecture me the entire walk across campus, but my mind was firmly stuck on one topic: planning out my Thursday outfit. Somewhere between receiving John's notes on being 'irresponsible' and his empty threats to remove me from school, I stopped in my tracks. A long-forgotten sensation registered in my mind, something I hadn't felt since New York.

Were those butterflies in my stomach?