Deaf Daisy | #1 in #americansignlanguage

13 Conditional Daisy

         Last summer, Serena and I watched through a Buzzfeed list of movies with shocking twist endings. One of them was The Butterfly Effect. While the movie, in my opinion, did not age very well, it's named after a theory that branches off of Chaos Theory that claims that everything in the universe is connected and affected. For example, the delicate flapping of a butterfly's wings from one hemisphere could create the tiniest gust of wind that picks up speed and volume as it travels, resulting in a devastating tornado in another hemisphere. Another example is how a miniscule power outage in the middle of the night in a suburb of East Lansing, Michigan, results in me jabbing myself in the eye with a drug store mascara applicator brush as the blue Prius almost collides with a student.

At some point in the wee hours of Monday morning, the power blinks in my neighborhood. So, in typical Monday fashion, my alarm clock — the kind that vibrates the bed — doesn't go off at the scheduled time because the power outage reset it. Mummy wakes me up in a huff — she'd overslept, too — and I've got fifteen minutes to be out the door and into the blue Prius. This allows me time to wash my face, brush my teeth, clothe myself, grab a granola bar from the pantry, and go. Because of this, I take the twenty minute drive through traffic to school to do my hair and make-up. Because of this, I do not see the person standing in our claimed parking spot in the designated upperclassmen lot at school. Serena jerks to a stop and my forehead hits the pull-down mirror and my mascara jabs me in the eye. The Butterfly Effect.

I shriek aloud and Serena taps me on my knee, like, six times in a row. I push up the mirror and I see Cannon. He's wearing his signature outfit of a hoodie and ripped up black skinny jeans. He's holding a coffee in one hand, the other holding on to his backpack.

I don't think that's for me, Serena tells me.

I step out of the car with the plan to get him out of our spot so Serena can park. He's prepared. "I'll only move if you promise to talk to me," he mouths.

"I'm deaf," I tell him. "I can't talk."

"You don't have to talk. Just listen."

"Can't do that either."

Cannon starts and looks behind me. I assume Serena has honked. He looks to me, eyes pleading. "Okay," I sign and mouth, "just move, please."

We walk towards the foreign language and art building. He drops his backpack on the ground outside the entrance. If we get caught loitering here, we'll be made to go to the courtyard where students are made to wait for the morning bell. Cannon hands me the coffee. I take it. I guess this is an apology? I guess he's trying to get out of trouble with his brother. I guess I'm going to let him do that. Or maybe I won't. Depends on how good his speech is.

He starts. I practiced this last night. Please wait until I'm done. He pauses. I don't sign a thing, as he'd asked. You can nod if it's okay.

I nod. He mirrors it. I can tell that he is nervous. So am I.

Earlier this month, I made a choice based on what I thought would be good for you. That wasn't fair. I never asked what you wanted. Then I ignored you until you left me alone. You were the only person that I tolerated having around, and I screwed it up. You're a good person and a good student, and you've got a bright future ahead of you. I was afraid that hanging out with me would screw that up. I still am. His hands stop, but he doesn't drop them, so I know he isn't done. They vibrate there in the space as if he isn't sure if he should say what he wants to say next.

I nod.

I'm so... G. D. lonely. I know you probably don't want to forgive me. But if you're open to the idea, I'd like for things to go back to how they were. But I'm leaving that up to you. He puts his hands down. He's finished.