Sometimes, things weren’t always what they seemed.
“Tanner, trust me on this. That man is a monster. If you heard the things she told me this afternoon, the things he did to her…” Her eyes grew misty and she paused, trying to compose herself, “…you’d want to kill him yourself.”
Rolling over, I stared at the red numbers on my clock. One thirty a.m. Fragments of the conversation I’d had earlier with Tyler ran through my head like a mismatched train, engine in back and caboose at the front. Gia’s husband was dangerous. I’d nearly slept with another man’s wife. God, how was I supposed to believe this image of a monster when he was on the news, crying and pleading? But then, there was no denying G was terrified of him. The look of raw horror in her eyes when we found her at the mini-mart flashed in my mind. Her eyes had been wider than Snow White running from the huntsman. Mentally, I was exhausted but sleep still evaded me. I’d spent the last several hours tossing and turning. Finally, I got up and tossed off the covers over Archie, who was snoozing away. Lucky bastard.
Frustrated, I slipped into my sweatpants and shuffled out into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. As I turned back toward my bedroom, I saw Gia standing in the living room, eyeing the bookshelf. Jolting, I clutched my chest, not expecting her there. She’d never come out for dinner, so I figured she’d finally gotten some much needed rest.
Apparently, she couldn’t sleep either.
“Hey,” I signed to her.
She repeated my wave, then said something, but in the low light it was impossible to read her lips. Luckily, I kept nightlights throughout the house. Since I couldn’t hear, I needed to always be able to see, but even as I moved closer to her there wasn’t near enough lighting to make out any of her words.
I held up a hand, stopping her, then flipped on the lamp by the sofa and pointed to my eyes then lips. She made an ah ha look, like she understood. I sat down and waved to the cushion, offering for her to sit. Plucking a book off my shelf, she nodded, then joined me.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I came to borrow from your library. I needed a distraction.” I read her words.
Curious to see her pick, I made a gimme motion to the book and she handed it over. Seeing Voices by Oliver Sacks. I raised a brow, but she just shrugged as I handed it back.
“Is it any good?”
I gave her a so-so sign, tilting my hand side to side. The book was a bit dated, and some of the cultural issues were lacking. Very much from a neurological standpoint. But still, not a bad read to get some insight into the development of language and how important it is in shaping the brain.
“What happened?” she asked, lifting my hand, eyeing the bruises and butterfly stitches.
I frowned. I really didn’t want to tell her what happened. So instead, I just waved a hand hoping it conveyed the message not to worry about it.
We sat there, just staring at each other for a long beat. She signed something to me about going to bed now, but she messed it all up. It was fucking adorable.
I cocked my head to the side, snickering.
“I may have watched a few ASL videos online.” She bit her bottom lip. “Was it that bad?”
I chuckled, repeating the same so-so sign I’d just done. She got it backwards. She should have done the bed sign first, but most beginners didn’t grasp that. I repeated it back to her properly.
“Bed now I go?” Her lips moved as she repeated the sign now correctly.
I nodded.
“I’d like to be able to say something to you other than thank you and sorry.” She signed both words as she said them. “Although, considering the circumstances, those probably are the most appropriate.” She smiled, but the sadness was etched all over her face.
I held up one finger, darted to the kitchen, then came back with my pen and paper and wrote out my response so she’d better understand. I’d give her a little of the basics of ASL, only because she seemed intrigued and also because I had a feeling it would take her mind off the grief a little.
ASL and English don’t follow the same grammar rules. It’s not word for word translation. It has its own syntax, grammar, expressions. The subject actually comes first, so it would actually be signed as bed now I go. Also, we don’t have words like the, or, is, of, and...so we role shift. I wrote all that down and showed her the pad.
She shook her head after reading, as if her mind was blown. She motioned for the pad, then scrawled her response on the paper before handing it back to me. But when I’ve seen translators, or Closed Caption, or even with your sister, she added those words. Even you have said them when you spoke to me.
“Let me show you,” I said. “I like whiskey Coke.” I left out the ‘and’ signing whiskey to one side and Coke to the other side of my body, giving it the role shift to account for the pause.
“So, it translates to I like whiskey and coke?” she asked.
I nodded.
“What else do you like, other than whiskey?”
I signed that I liked titties and beer. I didn’t say the words though. I wanted to see if she could figure it out.
“Tanner!” she scolded me with a laugh, slapping my arm. I laughed like a son of a bitch and just lifted my palms as if to say well, it’s true.
Once our giggles died down, I began scrawling on the paper again.
I know it’s hard for people who speak English to understand. Translators have to be quick. It’s all part of being bilingual. I have to think really hard when I speak, so it doesn’t come out as broken English. I despise people thinking I’m mentally challenged, but sadly, they hear my voice and they assume that anyway. It’s why I don’t like to use my voice around strangers.
I handed it back, and she read. Her long chestnut waves fell over her dainty shoulder and in the light I couldn’t help but notice how stunning she was. My mind went back to how soft her skin felt under my rough, calloused fingers.
Finally, she looked up at me, clutching her chest. “But you did with me?” Her eyes grew misty and she blinked several times.
“I didn’t want you to be a stranger,” I answered honestly.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful with you.” Her brown eyes filled to the brim with tears, a few of them spilling over. “I only wanted to protect you.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “And protect this little one.” Her shoulders began to shake with sobs as more tears began to flow. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating over and over, rocking back and forth like a child who was terrified of getting a spanking.
A wave of righteous fury washed over me. How many times had she wept in front of her husband, saying that she was sorry for things she had no need to be sorry for? How many times had he beat her down, verbally and physically, leaving her broken and bruised?
Instinctively, I opened my arms and pulled her in, holding her tight, because I couldn’t just sit there and watch her cry without comforting her. I couldn’t let her think that any of this circumstance was her fault. Her body shook in my embrace as she released all her pain. I knew one thing, this woman would make one helluva mother. The things she’d given up to protect this child spoke volumes. She had nothing left to her name but a wallet full of cash, a shitty car, and a small go-to bag of clothes. She was willing to start all over from scratch to give this kid the best life possible.