I Don't Hear Silence

Chapter One

1.         The first day of the school year started like any teenage TV show. Music blared through the halls as students walked; meeting friends they knew for years. Every corridor was filled with bodies, crowded together like a mismatched puzzle, each piece overlaying in an unjustified format. Mouths moved rabidly, so much that I imagined foam dripping from their lips. The laughter and shouts rang out above it all, threats hidden by the quaking tones. To me, all I heard was silence. It was a peaceful silence that I loved, and that I knew. People watched me, some glancing mockingly with their eyes, starring over their friends shoulders. Some only smirked, walking away as if they knew I didn’t belong, no matter what they were told. Some only starred, cowering in fear, too afraid to go near the boy with ‘deaf-syndrome’ or ‘deaf-itis’. They only starred, so I stared back.

                My feet slapped silently against the marble flooring of the school, walking past the hushed breaths and the hazing laughter. I walked in silence, my eyes never faltering to read lips as I went. They didn’t want me infecting their school . . . but as I saw it, it was there loss. I was deaf, not an infectious disease.

                I began to walk faster, my pace quickening with every lost word. It was jumbled, all of it. The looks, the glares, the shouts. I looked around for a friend, someone that would save me from the torment that is high school. But there was no one. I stood alone, trapped in an uncharismatic sea of noise. A sea that would never whisper in my ears.

                A sudden hand grabbed my shoulder. It wasn’t wrenching or forced, but a light touch to grasp my attention. I slowly turned, my eyes shifting towards the Principle that stood at least two feet taller than me. He was bald with square-lensed glasses that scrunched up his wrinkled features. He smiled at me, gesturing me to follow him. Before I replied, I glanced around once more. Eyes starred back at me, the sudden vibration in the air, lost. With a fake smile, I followed in his wake.

                When we arrived at his office, he pulled snuggly at his coat lapel, his large, brown frock coat pulled taut around his shoulders. Rumors had been spread that Principle Jenkings wore old close. Now I know they weren’t rumors and ‘old’ was an understatement. A beige tie fit loosely down the opening of his coat, though the design had worn off. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for me to sit as he took a seat at his large, oak desk.

                I slumped down in a leather seat, placed before his desk, looking around the room. Dropping my black backpack beside my feat, I sighed.

                Snapping his fingers only a short distance from my face, he snatched my attention rather rudely. “I know of your condition, Mister Hartford,” he said, leaning over, his eyes widened, voice extended. “I wasn’t sure if you were informed that your mother signed you an interpreter.”

                At that, a woman stepped into the room, signing a hello, and nodding her head. She was tall and slender, with short dark hair. Her eyes were a light brown, her smile as fake as all the others. I almost laughed when I noticed her apparel, as if she were trying to fit in with the teenagers: A too tight t-shirt, skin tight jeans, and bright green tennis shoes.   

                “It’s nice to meat you,” I spoke. Turning back to Principle Jenkings, I said, “Look, I don’t need an interpreter. I am like everyone else, which means you do not need to speak dumb to me like I am a child. I give you my respect, now I need you to show me some as well. I am not handicapped and I am not an alien.”

                “With all due respect, Laiden, this is not a safe place for anyone under your circumstances. A public high school is no place for a deaf student.” A stern look plagued his features. “But I showed my respect in cooperating to let you stay. Now, I will not here that tone from you again, is that correct?” he mouthed, my eyes reading his lips as he spoke. When no reply came, he shouted, “Is that correct?!”

                The interpreter beside me jumped in slight fear. “Yes, sir.”

                “Good, now get to class. You start AP History in ten minutes,” he ordered, turning from my view. Reluctantly I looked towards the interpreter for help, but she was already signing, "Go to class."

                I strode from the room, glancing over my shoulder to see the woman walking in step behind me. ‘Shadows’ that’s what I always called them. They followed in silence, only signing when they thought it the most appropriate time. Always checking to see how I was doing, bringing my anger to the darkest peak. Shadows. It described them entirely.