A Little Something Different (14 page)

“I do,” she says. “But it’s dumb. He’s just not that into me. When you’re into someone you don’t sit next to them for thirty minutes in the freezing cold and barely say a word to them. You don’t talk to them in class and then ignore them almost everywhere else.”

I nod. She has a point.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says. “I feel pathetic stalking him.”

As we’re collecting our stuff, the elevator behind us dings and wouldn’t you know, out pops Gabe.

Lea studies him for a moment and he waves. She takes a half step toward him and then slightly shakes her head.

She turns toward me and grabs my arm. “Let’s go.”

I’m quiet as we jog down the stairs and out of the building.

“What was that about?” I ask once we’re outside.

“I don’t know. I think I need to stop torturing myself with him.”

“He obviously wanted to talk to you.”

“Or maybe I would have done all the talking and he would have ignored me again. I don’t like this game anymore.”

I frown at her and then pull her toward the student center. “I think you need FroYo.”

Casey
(Gabe’s friend)

“You look like someone killed your dog,” I say to Gabe when he comes out of the library after his shift. We’re meeting up to get dinner. He generously offered me the use of his meal plan.

“I kind of feel like someone killed my dog,” he says, frowning as we head in the direction of the dining hall.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Lea was at the library with some other guy,” he says after what feels like a million years of silence.

“So?”

He shrugs. “So, she saw me and I waved and she turned away.”

“Ouch,” I say, instantly regretting it. I don’t want to fall down this spiral with Gabe. “Maybe you should just ask her about the guy the next time you see her.”

“I don’t know. They seemed close. I didn’t get a good look at him, but he like, touched her face and gave her a hug.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re dating or something. They could be friends.”

“I don’t know, this felt like more than friends.” He gives the dining hall worker his card and tells her he’s using a guest meal, so she swipes it twice.

He doesn’t say much as we get our dinner and locate a table and start eating.

“I was having a really good day,” he tells me as he stabs at his chicken turnover.

“What’s with the act of violence you’re committing on that puff pastry?” I ask. He grimaces in response but ignores my comment.

“I woke up today in a good mood. I was feeling like I could do this. Like life isn’t perfect and it even kind of sucks sometimes, obviously, but things could suck a lot worse. And I’m making money. I have friends, and I’m doing better in my classes this semester. I really like my job in the dorm even. Helping the first-years with their own stuff is really helping me.”

I feel like texting Sam while Gabe is talking to let him know that Gabe is
talking
, saying meaningful things. I don’t know what to say back though. I’m sort of terrible at emotional stuff.

“I don’t mean to dump this all on you. I guess I finally could see something happening with Lea and me, and then there she was hanging out at the library, getting cuddly with some other guy.”

“It sucks. If I could change it I totally would.”

“Yeah, I know. I appreciate that. I just keep coming back to the fact that if something ever happens with her, I’m going to have to tell her all this sort of pathetic stuff about me.”

“It’s not pathetic.”

He sighs. “I know. I guess I feel pathetic about it, and I don’t want her to think I’m pathetic.… It’s really complicated in my brain. I can’t imagine telling her about what happened.”

“Maybe you should try to start telling people? Other people? About what happened? Maybe that would desensitize you.”

He gives me a questioning look.

“I’m taking abnormal psych this semester to meet girls.”

“Then I should obviously take your advice.”

“I’m just saying desensitization is a valid form of therapy.”

He throws a pea at me.

MARCH

Squirrel!

“Hey,” the boy says. “Are you the same squirrel I was talking to the other day? I wonder if you remember me. Do squirrels have memories?”

He tosses some breadcrumbs from his sandwich. I haven’t had an acorn in weeks so his crumbs taste really good. I’ve had other food, but nothing as tasty as breadcrumbs.

“I was thinking about telling my professor something about me.” He leans his elbows on his knees and then jerks back. “I keep forgetting about my elbow. Usually it just aches a little, but I had to get the pins out of it, so I can’t really lean on it right now.”

I stare at him.

“The thing is, it shouldn’t be a big deal. I hate that I’ve made it this big deal in my head. People are in car accidents all the time.”

I run up onto the bench to sit next to him.

“But I guess people don’t always lose so much in them.”

I twist my head to look at him and he leaves a few more crumbs on the bench.

“Or they lose a lot more than I did.”

He stands up.

“All right, time to go talk to Inga. I think I’m ready.”

He turns back to look at me.

“You really are a very good listener.”

Pam
(Inga’s wife)

As I walk through the door that night, Inga immediately drags me into the living room, sits me on the couch, and hands me a glass of wine.

“I had a breakthrough with Gabe today,” she says, her voice excited.

“You do realize that you’re not actually his therapist,” I say.

She gives me a withering look.

“Just checking.”

The withering intensifies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this invested in anyone.”

“They’re such nice kids,” she says.

I nod and take a sip of my wine.

“Anyway, I just can’t wait to tell you what happened. I almost called you at work.”

I sit up straight, ready to listen.

“Anyway, he came to see me today at office hours,” she says, her enthusiasm so tangible that it’s catching. “And he asked me if I thought he was doing a good job in the class.”

“And of course you think he is.”

“Yes. He said his major is currently undeclared because of something that happened last year.”

“What happened?” It’s in this moment that I realize I’m almost as invested as she is.

“He was in a bad car accident. Apparently he lost his hearing in one ear and shattered his elbow.”

I put my hand up to my mouth. “That’s terrible!”

“It is. And the worst part is that he’ll never play baseball again.”

“He used to play baseball?”

“Yeah, he had a scholarship and everything.”

I shake my head sadly. There’s an injustice there that I can’t quite put my finger on.

“He says he’s getting help though; he’s seeing a therapist because he’s been having trouble coming to terms with some of the aftereffects, particularly the fact that his hearing loss is permanent.”

“Poor kid.”

“The good news is that the school gave him a position in one of the freshman dorms so he wouldn’t have to pay for housing. So that’s something at least.”

“It can’t be easy to deal with.”

“I know, but it also explains a lot.”

“It does. So he was wondering if I thought it would be worth it for him to major in English. We went through the whole thing about job opportunities and what he wants from life. Before the accident he was majoring in physical education because he figured he’d love to be a baseball coach. But now that’s not in the cards for him.”

“Must have been some accident if he can’t play baseball anymore.”

“I know. It just makes me so sad.”

“Did he decide anything?”

“Well, it’s funny. Because after we talked a little more, he started to think that maybe he’d like to be a counselor of some kind. He was telling me about the kids he works with in the dorms and how he really does enjoy it. It was nice to see him so animated about it.”

“Sounds like a good day.”

“It really was.”

Casey
(Gabe’s friend)

“Hey!” I say, catching sight of Gabe coming out of a random office building the Monday after spring break. I jog to catch up with him.

“Hey!” I repeat, well aware that he didn’t hear me, so I touch his arm.

“Oh, hey,” he says, smiling.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Um, well, that’s my therapist’s office,” he says, pointing vaguely.

“Oh.” I feel like I don’t know what else to say. “How’s that going?”

He thinks for a minute. “It’s going really well.”

“Cool.”

“What are you doing down here?” he asks.

“I needed a new parking permit, but there’s not any good parking near the parking authority so I had to walk down and now I’m walking back.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Lack of parking at the parking authority. Sometimes this place is the worst.”

“What are you doing right now?”

He flashes a gold Starbucks card.

“Aunt Kate strikes again?”

“The woman loves sending me Starbucks gift cards. I don’t even enjoy their coffee that much. I don’t like coffee that much period. But I suppose it’s starting to grow on me. I’ve also become kind of addicted to some of their pastries.”

“Let’s go,” I say. It’s a short walk and we’re entering the coffee house in no time.

“Hey,” Gabe says to the girl behind the counter as we step up to order.
CHARLOTTE
, her name tag reads. “Long time no see.”

The girl rolls her eyes, but smiles. “I broke my foot when I slipped on some ice.”

“Last year I was in a car accident and I shattered my elbow and lost all hearing in my left ear.”

She blinks at him. “So it’s a competition?”

Gabe laughs and I stand there stunned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. I have to wonder if his therapist medicates him during their sessions. Or maybe he gets hypnotized and she forgot to snap him out of it. We collect our drinks and move toward an available table.

“I talked to my therapist about trying the desensitizing thing,” he tells me before I can ask the obvious question.

“You know, I got that idea.”

He chews his lip and thinks it over. “Okay. So, here’s the deal,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, about my hearing. The doctor said maybe it would get better. Not like magically better, but you know, I’m young and it might improve. My other ear would start making up the difference or something. And I thought maybe I would get really good at lip reading but that has yet to happen. Instead I spend a lot of time looking at people’s mouths and getting nowhere.”

I nod. “It would be cool if all your other senses would get better. Like Daredevil. How’s your sense of smell, Gabe-o?”

“Daredevil’s blind, you asshat.”

“Still, it could happen.”

“That’s what I kept telling myself. Except now it’s been over a year and it’s really affecting my everyday life. It’s making school harder and talking to people harder. I’ve never been good at talking to people to begin with, but when you can’t hear them it’s impossible.”

“What do your parents think?”

He sighs. “I talked to them about it last time I was home. I think they were relieved that I finally admitted that things weren’t great.”

“So now what happens?”

“We made an appointment with an audiologist for over spring break. I don’t know exactly how the timeline works, but it’s a start.”

I nod. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“It costs a lot of money. So I feel guilty about that. Especially because they already took out a second mortgage to pay all of my hospital bills or whatever.”

“Don’t they have insurance?” I ask.

“Of course, but it turns out all that stuff costs a lot of money even with insurance.”

I want to make sure I look as interested as I feel so that he keeps talking.

“So, how much does a hearing aid cost?” I ask.

“Like a thousand bucks, maybe more, depending on what I need. But I’m not sure a regular hearing aid would even really help me. There’s this other kind of hearing aid where it transmits sound from your deaf side to the not-deaf side.”

“You’ve been doing your research.”

“Yeah, well, I work at a library now. I feel like I need to hone my skills.”

“This all sounds suspiciously like good news.”

“It is good news. It’s pretty cool. There are these other wireless ones and teeny-tiny ones that you can barely see. But it’s hard because I have to come to terms with this idea. This idea of needing a hearing aid.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not. But it is. It’s like I am a Deaf person. I have something wrong with me and people can see it and I can’t hide it.”

“And this is why you haven’t wanted to talk about it,” I say, light finally dawning in my idiotic brain.

“Yeah. I want stuff to be normal. But the more I try to make it normal, the worse I feel. And I have all this guilt, because I lived and I’m really fine. No one died. I’m not in a wheelchair, and I’m not blind. I’m a little bit deaf and I can’t play baseball anymore. In the scheme of things, that’s nothing.”

“It’s still a lot to deal with,” I say.

“Thanks for saying that. Sometimes I think it is, and sometimes I feel like I’m being a baby about it. But it’s good to hear someone else say it.”

“Okay. So.” I start ticking these issues off on my fingers. “We have the denial, the money, the guilt. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s basically it.”

“You do realize, aside from a variety of other benefits, that if you have a hearing aid it will mean people can also see why you might not be responding. They wouldn’t assume that you’re ignoring them all the time.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“You should totally think about it like that,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “And thank your aunt Kate for this rocking caramel macchiato next time you talk to her.”

“Indeed I will.”

“Well then, I declare this meeting of Gabe and Casey over.”