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He shakes his head. “No. My parents wouldn’t allow it. They told me I could do whatever I want when I turned eighteen and could pay for it myself.”
“Why didn’t they want you to have one?” I lean back against the arm of the couch and get comfortable.
“Both my parents are deaf. My grandparents are deaf. It’s part of who we are. It would be like changing the color of my skin or the color of my eyes, to them. I wouldn’t be who I am anymore.”
“Did you agree with them?”
“Not immediately. But with time, I grew more comfortable.”
“Do you think about getting one now?”
“Never.”
“Really?”
He shakes his head. “Never.” He winces. “I think that’s why they would prefer for me to date a deaf girl, since we would come from similar cultures.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
“Well, today we had sex, so I’d say yes.” His cheeks flush. “Unless you don’t want to date.” He pretends to look offended. “Did you just use me for a booty call?” But I can tell that there’s a little part of him that wants a serious answer.
“I didn’t use you for a booty call,” I confirm.
He snaps his fingers and says, “Damn. I was going to brag to all the guys.”
He says nothing else for a moment, so I say, “I think we’re all more than the color of our skin or the color of our eyes. More than our hearing status. More than our culture. Do you think it would be easier if you made a family with someone who is deaf?”
“Maybe.” He rocks his head side to side. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you want a family? Kids?”
He nods. “I do. And I know you do.”
“I do.” I smile. “I always have.”
“What would you do if you couldn’t play music anymore?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“What do you play?”
“Piano. Keyboard. Whatever.” I brush his question out of the air. I feel funny talking about music since he can’t relate to it. “Do you like music?”
“I don’t dislike it.” He shrugs.
“Were you ever jealous because Mick could hear?”
He chuckles. “No. But he was jealous that he wasn’t deaf.”
“Why?”
“He wanted assistive devices and speech therapy and all the special OT that I got as a kid. He grew up in a deaf household. He never felt like he quite fit in. Not to mention that he became the automatic interpreter for all of us when we needed to talk to a hearing person. I can still remember the time when my dad made Mick call the electric company about a bill. He stood there and signed everything Mick was supposed to say, and Mick told him the responses. Dad got angrier and angrier, and Dad started to curse. So Mick relayed it. It’s what you do when you translate. But then the person on the other end of the line got angry and hung up on him. Dad was livid.”
“Not with Mick?”
“With the world, for not making it easier for us to communicate.” He grabs my toe and yanks it playfully. “Sometimes it startles me that it’s so easy to communicate with you.”
“I feel the same way. Had I not met you over a tattoo, I might not have talked to you at all. I might have been afraid.”
