Chapter 1: Sniff 1 SNIFF Sniff. The air of your room. The odor of sheets and blankets, hot summer dust, old technology equipment, an Old Spice deodorant stick worn to a nub. The stinging smell of detergent from the washing machine outside your door burns the lining of your nostrils. You are sitting alone at your desk in your T-shirt and shorts. The undersides of your thighs are sweaty and stick to the fiberglass chair. The tips of your fingers rub themselves against the cool plastic keys on the keyboard. You tilt your head down close to it. Sniff . Plastic-and-dripped-coffee smell. Maybe the sticky crumbs of old peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches? You lift the back of your wrist to your nose. Sniff . Soap, hair, and skin. You look toward the computer screen, your face just inches away. Making love to the screen , your trainer from the Abilities Institute called it. The white screen has been inverted to black because it's easier on your eyes--or eye, rather, as there's only one that has any usable vision left. The giant white cursor, magnified with your ZoomText software, winks at you over and over again, calling you to write, demanding you take control of your sinful mind. You begin to type three-inch-tall white letters that march across the screen one at a time... T... O... M... R... S... To Mrs. Clara Shuster, MSW I have getted your email. Please telling potential MALE interpreter (10 a.m.) and female interpreter (11 a.m.) with TOP TACTILE ASL SKILLS I will meet them and YOU tomorrow on ABILITIES INSTITUTE FOR THE DISABLED, 114 Skidmore Street, Poughkeepsie, NY, at SECOND floor conference room. After meeting BOTH MALE AND FEMALE ASL interpreters I will then DECIDING which will team with my OLD LONG TIME INTERPRETER MOLLY CLINCH. You stop typing. Molly has been your interpreter and Support Service Provider, or SSP, since you were thirteen years old. Other than Brother Birch, Molly is the most important person in your life who is still alive. She was there when all the worst, unspeakable, sinful things happened. Your fingers find their place back on the keyboard. Tell INTERPRETERS bring jacket or sweater for interview, because Second floor of ABILITIES INSTITUTE on 114 Skidmore Street can getting COLD like refrigerator. (FROWNING) Cold, I guess, make Mrs. Clara Shuster SMARTER and WORK HARDER. HA HA. This is JOKE. (BIG SMILE) Writing English is hard. Brother Birch says when hearing people read your writing they think you're a small child. (You aren't.) Or that you have developmental disabilities. (You don't.) English is just not your first language. American Sign Language is. Writing in a language that you've literally never heard is like battling monsters with your hands tied behind your back. No matter how much you try to butt them with your head, they keep knocking you down. The worst are the confusing Preposition Monsters and the giant Verb-Tense Rodents, sharp-toothed beasts who time and again... have eat you? Have eat-ed you? Has ate you? Have will eaten you? This is why Brother Birch is letting you take a class at the community college this summer to make you a better writer, which will help you to write sermons and preach the word of God. Hallelujah. Gold star . And maybe you will also be able to meet new people, including girls, and that will help you to stop having sinful thoughts about the person you are never supposed to think about ever again. Red star . You return to typing the email to Mrs. Clara Shuster. When male and female interpreters comes to Abilities Institute they will recognize ME since I will be ONLY 23-year-old MAN with a WHITE cane and DOG who does NOT look up when Interpreters CALLS OUT NAME. Again JOKE. (Big Smile) DARK HUMOR. I am not RUDE MAN. Of course I DEAFBLIND. HA HA HA. Please tell all interpreters I DO NOT LIKE SWEATY HANDS or bad breath or too much perfume which stings my nose. Before, when you were small, everyone at the Kingdom Hall was taller than you, so your head would come up to their chest and shoulders. They always smelled like armpit. Now you smell the tops of their heads, which smell like hair cream, shampoo, or dust. You like short people better than tall people. Mama was short. Molly is short. Your old friends from the Rose Garden School, Big Head Lawrence and Martin, were short. Martin also had lots of fat on his body. (You also like fat people.) The person-who-you-are-not-allowed-to-remember was also short, but thin, with black eyes, thick black hair, and smelled like... Quiet! Quiet, stupid brain! Quiet! Red star. Down at the Kingdom Hall hearing members will do very basic Tactile Sign Language with you, so if they ever meet another DeafBlind man they will know how to talk to him about Jehovah God. Some of the girls take a very long time to spell their names and mix up the letters. Sometimes they let their hands linger longer in yours than is proper, and you'll let your own hand wander up to their wrists. And that's when things get different inside you. Sometimes, if they have nice hands--soft, smooth, expressive, not sweaty--you ask them to fingerspell their names a second time even though you understood the first time. You'll pull their hands in a little closer, so you can feel the warmth of their bodies. You'll inhale their perfume, powder, skin, breath. Then sometimes you daydream about asking the girls to put their fingers inside their soft place, the way you-know-who did, and let you smell them. Red star. You pray again to Jehovah God: Please, Jehovah God, let me stop having sinful thoughts every five minutes. Please let me take Brother Birch's kind and loving advice to "Not be like Lot's Wife and look back at the past"--especially about you-know-who--and please let me be a spiritually strong man and servant to you and your son, Jesus Christ. You take a deep breath and finish writing the letter to Mrs. Clara Shuster: Let BOTH interpreters with HIGH SKILLS know my old GUIDE DOG is name "SNAP"... (SNAP FINGERS is name). She is old secondhand guide dog. She do not BITE a lot. But tell interpreters with HIGH SKILLS NOT to BANG BANG on table to show they am HERE. SNAP does not like it and BARK ANGRY. GASP. GULP. Embarrass! Better way, gently TAP on my shoulder, and hold, do not move so don't LOSE YOU. After that I will interview potential INTERPRETERS and then pick one to work with me and Molly this summer. Okay? Thank you for all helping me so much. I am very exciting going to WRITING CLASS at Dutchess Community College. I promise work very hard and get good grades so Brother Birch, Jehovah God, and you WILL HAVE be proud with me. Blessings and Hugs, Your friend Arlo Dilly Excerpted from The Sign for Home: A Novel by Blair Fell All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
