Laura Anderson - Song of Summer

But I can’t tell that to Violet. She is a diner waitress. GCD is her life and she’s proud of it. And I guess that’s the way it’s always been with me, too. It just didn’t feel like I was enough for that sophisticated city crowd, with their stylish clothes and their own secret language.

My apron pocket buzzes a reminder. The picture mail from Trent. I pull it out from my pocket. “Can I get this?”

Violet arches one perfectly penciled eyebrow. “If you share with the class.”

For some reason she doesn’t mind me being on my phone as long as she gets to see whatever I’m doing. I think she’s more anti-secret than anti-technology.

I shrug. What could be so bad?

Violet situates herself over my shoulder and I pull up the picture. It’s Carter looking stony and Jolene looking startled. They’re sitting close together in a grassy patch dotted with little clover. It takes me half a minute to figure out where they are but I finally see—the overlook. Where we had our first date.

“He said you wouldn’t mind,” is the caption. “But I thought you should know.”

I shake my head and Violet whistles low under her breath. Whatever. Whatever, whatever, whatever. I don’t care.

“Mind your own business,” I text back to Trent and shove the phone in my pocket.

“I’m sure it’s not what it looks like,” Violet says as she communicates not-so-secret messages to Fannie with her eyes, “them sitting there together like that. He wouldn’t cheat on you, Robin. He just wouldn’t do it.”

I nod and cross my arms on the counter, slumping over them. “I know,” I say. “But sometimes I feel like maybe he should, you know? I mean, she’s kind of perfect for him.” A tear pricks the corner of my eye, so I look up at the dingy wallpaper, willing it away.

“Of course she’s not perfect for him! If she was perfect for him, then he would be dating her, wouldn’t he? And he’s not. So there must be something wrong.” Violet leans her face into mine and I can smell the menthol on her breath. “Now is not the time for pity parties, Robin Peters. Now is the time to believe in yourself and stand by your man.” She sings the last part, dispensing Tammy Wynette’s famous advice, and launches into humming the chorus of, “Stand by Your Man.”

By this time, Fannie has bustled around to the customer side of the counter. She blocks my view of the dingy wallpaper and speaks over Violet’s soundtrack. “Chin up, Robin girl. Don’t let her get under your skin. There will always be man-stealin’ hussies, but you are so pretty and smart and talented. He would be a fool to let you get away.”

“I have one talent,” I say. “One. And that one talent is something that he will never experience.”

“I beg to differ. You can carry a tray of eight full cups of coffee without spilling a drop,” Violet counters.

I give her a look. “That’s not a talent,” I say, but I’m smiling.

“You’re right,” she says, shaking her head and looking to the heavens. “It’s a God-given gift.”

Carter

Barry and I sit in the den, back to our ASL lessons. I teach him idioms as Denise and Jolene drive back home across the state, taking their easy conversation and bits of city life with them.

Barry waves a hand in front of my face. I look up at him. “Am I doing this right?” He signs a few words and I laugh.

“No! The words ‘Square’ and ‘Mind’ put together are an insult like ‘blockhead.’ The words ‘Mind’ and ‘Frozen’ put together mean you’re shocked- can’t think. You just said, ‘When I remember there are only about two weeks of summer left, I’m a blockhead.’” I laugh again and joins me.

“Okay,” he signs, and I notice something on his wrist—a knotted string bracelet. I turn his hand over and grin. “What’s this?”

He blushes to the roots of his reddish-blonde hair. “Jenni… ,” he signs. “She makes them. Macramé?”

“Very nice,” I sign, and he rolls his eyes.

My phone buzzes, but it’s Jolene, not Robin. “I had such a good time!”

I smile and text back, “Me too! Two weeks left…”

“Robin?” Barry signs.

I shake my head. “Jolene,” I reply.

He sits up straighter, a glint in his eye. “What’s happening with you two?” he signs.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he signs, and I laugh. Denise taught him that one two days ago.

“We dated,” I sign. “In ninth grade. A loooong time ago.”

“I knew it!” he signs. “Tell me more…”

I give Barry a good, hard look. I guess he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a best friend here. I sigh and pull out my little notebook.

“No writing during lessons!” Barry signs, copying the phrase he’s seen so many times.

“Trust me, you don’t want to try to figure this out in ASL,” I sign.

He reaches for the notebook. I hand it over. “So tell me about Jolene,” he writes, and hands the pen back to me.

I laugh.

He kicks his feet out on the table, hands folded behind his head, and waits as I write. “When Jolene and I were dating, I was obsessed with music culture—music videos, concerts, T-shirts, you name it. I couldn’t really hear it, even with my hearing aids—just indistinct thumps and noise, but I liked the adrenaline and the spectacle of it all. Around that time, we both got permission from our parents to get cochlear implants. We went into surgery just two days apart. Everything seemed great. She healed up and was switched on six weeks later. Her life has never been the same since.”

Barry’s starting to look bored, so I show him what I’ve written. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You have a CI?” he signs.

I shake my head and take up the pen again.

“The wound wouldn’t close,” I write. “It wouldn’t heal. My body didn’t want it. So the doctors removed my CI on the same day Jolene was switched on. ‘We’ll try again in a few years,’ they said. But I decided to be happy without it. I tossed my hearing aids. I’m not going to try again. I like my life the way it is.”

I show him again, then show him the scar over my right ear. He takes the pen up. “Good for you, man,” he writes.

I give him a look. “You could have signed that,” I sign.

“Not fair!” he signs. He learned that one from Trina. “You get to write!”

I laugh. “Would you rather I signed the whole story?”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

My phone buzzes. It’s Robin. “Want to hang out tonight?”

“Love to, but I’m in a lesson with Barry,” I answer. “Won’t be done until seven or so, and I can only stay until sunset. Can’t ride the bike after dark.”

She answers with a frowny face.

“Don’t worry—I’ll see you tomorrow,” I text. “At your church concert, right?”

She answers with a smiley face and I turn back to Barry, but he’s left the room. Probably to get a snack or something.

After a second, my phone buzzes again. “Maybe… You want to spend the night tonight? Go with us to church tomorrow?”

The surprise must show on my face because Barry taps me on my shoulder, bag of chips in hand.

“What’s up?” he signs.

“Robin asked me to spend the night!” I sign.

“Nice!”

“Really?” I text back, palms sweating. Unreal. But I might feel kind of weird going to church the next day.

“Of course my parents would never let us stay together. Our basement couch is pretty comfy,” she texts me.

Right.

I look up at Barry and sigh. “Parents home. Basement couch.”

“Sorry,” he signs, nodding his commiseration.

We finish out our lesson over dinner, which is really the best place to learn—in the middle of a conversation—and I pack my stuff.

I head downstairs. “Staying the night at Robin’s tonight,” I sign.

“Be smart,” Mom signs, a mask of nonjudgment covering whatever her true feelings are. It’s an enviable skill.

“Of course,” I sign. I give her a hug. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she says, and squeezes me one more time for good measure. “Be careful, honey.”

I head out the door into the sunshine that dapples the sidewalks, streaming through the leaves up above. Uncovering the bike, I secure the extra helmet before kicking it into gear. It’s a beautiful day as I wind my way through the hills and the roads that my bike knows so well. By now, the back road miles far outnumber the city miles.

I pull into Robin’s driveway and she comes out to meet me. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that says, “I can’t. I have to practice.” Her cheeks are pink and she’s smiling at me like she hasn’t seen me in ages.

“Hi,” I sign.

“Hi,” she signs back.

I take my helmet off and give her a one-handed hug from the bike. She surprises me with a full-on kiss, and I let the moment linger.

“Let’s ride,” she signs when she pulls away. I smile and shrug, putting my helmet back on. She takes my bag in the house and skips back out, wearing a jacket and pulling her hair up into a ponytail. I hand over the helmet and she buckles it under her chin. She uses my shoulders to vault onto the back of my bike and we take off, gliding over hills and under trees and through the sun. I find Route 5 and we cruise along the coastline of Lake Erie, ending at Barcelona Harbor.

I park down by the marina and she hops off. We unbuckle our helmets and her eyes shine up at me. Again, she kisses me before I have a chance to dismount the bike.