Deaf, not Dumb
or
Wachadoonarestadaday?
A story by XXscribbler
A word from the author:
Something different this time - this story requires extra attention and involvement by the reader. It deals with the encounter of a man with a woman who has been profoundly deaf since age one, and who is a recent recipient of implanted artificial inner-ear devices. She has had, and still has, great difficulty in producing accurate English sounds. I present her speech in phonetic spelling. If at all possible, readers should read what she says aloud and slowly, thinking carefully about what words she is trying to articulate. At leaset do it aloud in your head. This requires looking for the breaks between words -- she has great difficulty not just with sounds, but with putting into her speech the little pauses and breaks that aid in conveying meaning. An example -- the title, "Wachadoonarestadaday?" carefully pronounced, becomes "(wacha) whatcha (dooin) doing (daresta) the rest of (daday) the day?" Sorry to make you all work so hard -- it was fun writing this one.
There was only one empty stationary bike in the long row. Tyler adjusted the seat, settled in to begin his hour. The woman immediately adjacent left he recognized -- slender, attractive in a severe and distant way, taller than he, probably in her late twenties, perhaps thirty. He'd gotten an overall impression of slight standoffishness -- but with a subtle, hard-to-explain twist that made it okay, not personal.
Short blond hair nicely coiffed, the best suntan he'd seen since leaving San Diego decades ago... her coloring was absolutely smooth and even. A lean, serious, slightly hatchet-shaped face, cheeks carrying the inconspicuous remains of teenage acne. Darting, active dark brown eyes, the pupils hard to see.
She always wore the same outfit -- tight black tank-top, snug blue shorts. Pretty legs -- skinnier than his taste but nice nonetheless. Almost boy-butted, nearly boob-less, and in great shape.
He and she were often at the gym simultaneously, usually in the early morning. She normally worked out on one of the line of elliptical machines in front of the bikes. There, she would grind slowly for an hour, fixated on the ceiling TV, while he studied her bottom and legs - but the ellipticals were all occupied today, hence her choice of the bike.
They'd never formally met: their only interaction was an occasional smile or nod in passing, a quick acknowledgement that they recognized one another. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen her interacting with another person except once with a trainer. They'd been close by, and he couldn't help overhearing. There was something quite strange about her speech -- the sounds were not very well articulated. Blurry and often ill-formed, slightly sing-song, the words tended to all run together in long bunches rather than appearing as separate sound-bits. Many of her phonemes, the individual sounds of speech, were strangely emphasized, sometimes chopped, sometimes elongated with extended vowels. Consonants often interchanged. It was rather as if she'd been born profoundly deaf and learned to speak in spite of it. But that wouldn't wash -- he'd seen her react to noises, and she wore earbuds attached to an arm-band iPOD micro MP3 music player-- hence she certainly wasn't deaf. A puzzlement.
Settling down after programming his machine, he glanced at her just as she looked his way: their eyes met from close-up, a first.
Some sort of reaction was required: an introduction might do. "Hi! I'm Tyler. I see you here all the time. You have the best suntan I've seen in YEARS!"
She eyed him coolly, almost suspiciously, then removed her Tyler-side earbud and said over the background noises and clatter of their bikes, "Thankoo. Minameizjean. Idoantalkmuch, cuzmos' peepulcandunnerstanme."
Her body language and attitude were vaguely challenging, as if this were a test. A test she rather expected him to fail. She held his gaze and waited for his reaction, kept pedaling, her body facing straight forward, head turned awkwardly sideways.
"I don't find it a problem, Jean. Maybe the others don't try hard enough?!"
She was obviously both surprised and pleased: "Howcumyoo canunnerstanme?" She pulled her other earbud, let them dangle over her shoulders.
Tyler grinned at her, shrugged, stood up and pedaled harder as the machine auto-changed its resistance. The question gave him the chance to look her squarely in the face -- up close she was much prettier than he'd thought.
"You sound just like my Grandpa, that's why! He lost half his lower jaw to cancer and I learned to understand his speech -- he lived for another 26 years that way, so I got lots of practice. Plus, I've studied several languages so maybe my ear is better than average. At any rate, it's no problem for me to understand you."
She nodded in apparent relief, smiled widely -- a pretty smile, great teeth and lips- and threw back "Soonzyooopendyoormouth Inewyooweredifrnt. Yoodintshout! Zpeekin louderduzznthelpatall. AN-yoodintassoom I'mdeaferstupid."
Her pedaling became faster, more intense: she stood, straining. "Dambikizhardwirk!" She studied him for a few pedal-strokes, then grinned again: "Howcumyoodon'azkme whazrongwivme?" she asked, obviously rather curious about him.
He shrugged: "Not my business. That would be rude. Doesn't matter anyhow -- we can communicate just fine, don't you think?" He pedaled harder, trying to match her rhythm -- she noticed, slowed slightly to accommodate him. She was better than he at this machine. He muttered "Thanks!"
Her body had relaxed, no longer aggressive or defensive. She seemed to make a decision - perhaps that he was worthy of more interaction?
"Thankooforbeanpolite. Iwuzbornheerinokay, gotabadfever, lostheerin. Totallee. Iwuzjusoneyeerol'."
He nodded, said "Too bad!"
She set the tip of her near-side index finger into her ear, made screwdriver motions and said carefully "I'ma 'sperimental payshunt. Kokleer implantz. Toouvzem. Cee-oh-cee-haitch-ell-eee-aee-arr." She paused, checking on his comprehension.
Tyler understood. "I know what they are. That's great! How well do they work? You seem to be getting along just fine."
She shrugged: "Itzhardtosai. Mydockterzallsai Ikinheerpurtygood. Ferinstinse, Ikinheeryoo, unnerstanyoo, jusfine. Yoortalkinnice - kleeranslow. Thas'unusual! Butitzhardworktalkin; hardmakindasoundzrite. GittinbetterIthink. Twoyeerznow. Gladyookinunnerstanme! Makzmeefeelgood."
They pedaled in lockstep for a minute, then Tyler reached for one of her unplugged earbuds, grinned at her, asked "I'm curious what you're listening to, Miss Cochlear Implants. Can I listen for a second?"
At first startled, she shrugged and nodded. He plugged it into his ear: she waited for his reaction.
"Mozart!" he exclaimed, "...and not very loud, either! Good show!"
She nodded happily, tapping her player with a free finger: "Allmyfavesareinheer. Mozart, Baitoven. Trumpetzandrumz. AntheDorz, too." She rolled her eyes, waved her hand to indicate the entire gym: "Cumpnymuzikizoogly, stoopid, sux! Notwirthlissnentooit."
He laughed in complete agreement, handed back the plug. She let it dangle, which he took as a signal the conversation wasn't necessarily at an end yet. Another minute passed in a sort of companionable quiescence, with another intensity change for them both.
She grinned across at him again, now animated and anything but standoffish, a very different person indeed. "Persunlkvestiun okay?"
He nodded: "Sure. I might decline to answer, but fire away!"
"Yoorhereallatime, middleovdemorning, likeme. Yoodonlookoldenuf toobeeretired."
It wasn't actually a question: he responded anyhow. "Yep, I'm retired. Oceanographer. Sixty seven now. Gotta work out lots to stay in shape!"
She stared at him, frank astonishment showing plainly, then shifted her gaze to his legs and butt for a few seconds before re-establishing eye contact. "Goodferyoo! Iwoodagestmaybeefifty. Fifty-toomax! YoorinGREATshape! NexweekI'llbeethirtee. Gonabemittelaged!" Then, after a moment's thought, "Twennynine an'sixteeseven. Yoomore'ntwicemaiage. Thas'sortaneet! But they'rejusnumbers. Notimportant."
She extended an arm, laid it against his -- the color contrast was pronounced, him being a Nordic redhead/blond with zero recent UV exposure.
"Yoogotgoodmusselsonyoo. Foraneeage! Butyooneedsunzhine! Viddamindee. Yoosedyoolikemytan -- idzfromardifishel sunlidt. Iliketanning. Therezagoodsalon closetooheer, goodmasheenz, ezeetobekerful. I'mamember ankinbringguestzfree. Yooshoodcomewithmesumday! Getbrowner. Yoodlookbedder. Plusyoogedviddamins!"
She paused, gave him a thoroughly inscrutable look, and said "SumdaysoonIhope."
He was taken aback. She had just issued a perfectly clear invitation -almost a challenge, in fact- and he really didn't know quite how to respond.
She studied the bemused expression on his face, grinned at him, patted his arm and said "REELY! I'mzereuss, yooshoodcomewizme!" Another pause, another eye-check. "Wachadoonarestadaday? Yoobizzy?" she asked. "Ifyoowan, ifyoornodbizzy, wekingoritenow. Igoalmos'evrydai, anI'malmosdunwizdizjimstuf fert'day - arntyootoo?"
Tyler was delighted to accept -- he had no plans, and he'd never been to a tanning salon in his life. An adventure! And -- whoodathunkit!- with Miss Silent Standoffish, herself!
A quick plan: each retrieved their gym bag and donned an upper-outer garment for form's sake, then they met at the main entrance.
Unexpectedly, she looped her arm through his, leaned against him quite familiarly and said "I'mzogladyoocangowizme! Idongetmuchcumpanee -- evrybuddythinkzI'mweeeeerd! Heerzmykar!"
The tannery was a bigger business than he expected, but inconspicuous, the small sign stating only "Tanning and spas. Hourly or memberships. Open 24/365".
Jean led him in: as she handed over her membership card the girl at the desk clearly recognized her, did a tiny, well-concealed double-take at the sight of Tyler. Both hostess and Tyler were less successful at concealing their surprise when Jean insisted on "...wunuvdebigroomz", followed by "t'reehourzpleez, putitonmaibill. Anmaybeemoretime-wee'llsee boutdatlater."
The "big room" took Tyler completely flatfooted -- he'd expected a cubicle with a tanning bed, and spending perhaps twenty minutes or so all told under the lights. Nope -- this was the size of a good bedroom, walls and floor done in clear cedar: an oversize tanning machine built to hold two people side-by-side, a device he'd never even heard of but a great idea: a wall-chart of skin types and suggested tanning times. A small wooden hot-tub; complete shower with big towels, shampoo, liquid soap. Glass-door refrigerator with wine, beer, soft drinks. Wall-shelf with squeeze-bottles labeled 'SPF-25 lotion' and 'massage oil'.
