[fanfiction] Silence is relative
Title: Silence is relative
FANFICTION: Switched at Birth
ONE SHOT
Rating: PG
Comments: Half-adoption of bm_shipper's plunny, so it takes place after 1x04. I'm currently in a first-person mood after writing a slew of random character sketches (it reads like one too... whoops?). Critique on my beginner's knowledge of ASL is highly welcome! (although the descriptions can be rather vague...)
I hate feeling miserable.
When it happens, it's usually not so bad. Mum can usually cheer me up. Dad can usually make me laugh.
I can feel the tension that's been going on between them though. They think they're hiding it well from me, but really, who are they trying to fool? Only themselves, I think.
It reminds me too much of when they kept me away from hearing people when I was growing up, wanting to save the talk for when I was old enough to be comfortable with myself. They succeeded instead in keeping me unprepared for the realities of how the hearing viewed people like us until it was too late. It's been a memory that's been dredged up far too often these past few weeks thanks to Daphne's situation, and I just want it to DISAPPEAR.
I hate feeling miserable, but feeling miserable with no one to talk to is the worst. No Mum, no Dad, no Daphne. No one from school that I would even think of trying, because where would I start? Hi, I hope you remember me from that one class we have together because I really like my best friend Daphne but I think I'm losing her to the hearing world and to hearing people because she was actually switched at birth, oh and by the way my parents are on the verge of splitting up but they're trying to hide it from me? That always works well.
I can see my parents talking tersely now, expressions strained, signs sharp and moving a bit fast. Somewhere between Dad asking Mum how the party was and Mum replying that it was quite fantastic, something just snapped. Almost like they're tired of trying to hide it from me.
I glance down at my homework. It's almost done, but I don't want to stay in the house anymore. I glance back up, wondering if I should say anything. Instead, I opt for mapping a way to get out the front door without them noticing. Which, by the way, is never an easy task in an open space layout. Blame it on the 'we can't see you so we might as well be able to see you' mentality.
After going through several renditions of getting my coat without Mum's 'eyes in the back of her head' catching me to only get caught because it was in direct sight of Dad, I figure I might as well just leave. After all, actions are what get things done.
As soon as I get myself to the front door, I can't help but look back. What I see hurts even more, because they just keep talking.
I get myself out of there as soon as I can.
The strength of the wind as it streams past me and my motorbike is calming, but I'm still restless. I need someone to talk to!
Before I know it, I'm outside the Kennish's place. By instinct, I must've thought of Daphne, but I know that I can't talk to her. It hits a bit too close to home, especially after everything that happened tonight.
I see movement in one of the upper floor windows. It turns out to be a bleary-eyed Toby, which makes me wonder if I somehow woke him up, and what time it might be if he looks like he just woke up. Then I remember that yes, my motorbike does make sounds heard by the hearing, so I turn off the engine before I happen to wake up anyone else.
When I look back up, Toby's still peering at me. Not knowing what else to do, I cautiously wave at him, then wince at the completely-fake smile I give him. At least it's dark out. He frowns and mouths something that I can't see, but at least he points down. Wait, he's coming downstairs?
Before any attempt to tell him not to come down, his face disappears from the window. I only get to contemplate leaving before the front door opens, revealing a somewhat more awake Toby.
He flaps his hand at me to come over, or maybe it was a come inside gesture. Either way, do I even want to bother?
I'm off my bike before I can ask myself again. I just need someone to talk to, right? It's not like that person needs to understand what I'm saying. It's not like I want advice or sympathy. The pretence of telling someone is better than feeling miserable.
As soon as I get to the door, he points up to Daphne's room. I just shake my head, solemn in expression, and simultaneously sign 'no', thumb meeting my index and middle fingers. It results in Toby tilting his head as he gives me a side-eye look of puzzlement. I keep signing, "I WANT TALK-to-you."
He is surprised when I deliberately end with the sign 'you' by pointing my index finger at him. He points at himself almost immediately, mouthing, "Me?" Determined to go through with this, I nod once, my hand following suit.
He looks behind him cautiously and then beckons me in. I follow him inside and up the stairs. The journey gets interrupted often since he turns around suddenly at times with his finger to his lips. I just roll my eyes at him, because it's not like I can hear if I'm making any sounds.
Regardless, he seems relieved as soon as he gets me into his room. When he turns on a light though, awkwardness fills the air. We stand there, Toby at the door and me a ways in front of him. I can't think of a good way to start. I know you don't understand but I need you to just listen?
Then Toby gets an a-hah expression and navigates around me and the various items strewn across the floor. He sits at his desk and writes something down before spinning his chair around to show me: "Thanks a lot for drumming for us tonight!"
He grins (just like Daphne does, I'm thinking) as he holds up the notebook, before he realizes that I need to write down a reply if he wants to get one that he understands. I take the notebook and pen he offers and sit down when he points to the bed. I can't help but write "Hope I didn't sound horrible." and pass the notebook back.
When he reads that, a strange expression passes over his face, like something stung him. No, you sounded good great awesome! he writes back, punctuating it with a thumbs-up and another grin.
It's so uncanny how he looks and acts so much like Daphne sometimes. I think about why I came and write with some dejection, "Awesome for a deaf person, you mean."
He tries to say something as soon as he reads that, but I get as far as making out a "No!" before he gets frustrated, brow furrowed and mouth moving much too fast. He turns back to his desk and writes for a while, leaving me to stew in my problems some more.
Then he passes the notebook back with a tentative smile. "No, you were that was awesome even hearing it. Being deaf Adding the fact that you're deaf AND you didn't practice with us before blows my mind even more. Like seriously, I didn't believe it was possible you could drum until you did. Now I believe you. Believe me!! (also, writing is so slooow! How do you do it?)"
I can't help but smile at his earnestness. As I'm writing back, "I believe you. The only thing we can't do is hear. Also, we don't usually -" Toby interrupts to sit beside me to point at the word 'awesome' with an even bigger grin before reading over my shoulder. I resume writing after elbowing him a little, "- write on paper to each other. Something called sign language really helps, you know."
Toby underlines 'writing is slooow!' a few times before writing wistfully, "Makes me wish I knew some sign language."
"You can learn." This suggestion surprises even me. It must be the Daphne similarity that is making me all soft on a hearing person. Alas, I'm yet again thinking of Daphne and now I can't keep quiet about my problems. I tug the pen away from Toby before he can write down a reply and add, "For now, just watch me. I need someone to talk to, but there's no one except you. I don't need you to understand... just watch. Please."
There is a moment as Toby finishes reading my desperate plea. Then he looks at me and nods.
I end up pouring everything out to him in a flurry of sign, all the frustration, sadness, anger and fear that I feel inside about Mum and Dad and Daphne. Toby can only watch my signs and my expressions; just a picture of my emotions and none of the details. Somewhere in between, his hand finds its way to my shoulder and stays there. I get reassuring squeezes every once in a while, as if he understands.
Somehow, that makes all the difference.
I open my eyes. For a moment, I don't recognize my surroundings and languidly wonder why. There's a comforting weight on my stomach, which adds to the overall feeling of serenity. I haven't felt this calm in a long time.
Then I remember where I am. I am in Toby's room. Wait, I never left?
I push myself upright in a slight panic and Toby shifts from sleeping on my stomach to sleeping on my legs. I freeze, not wanting to wake him up. Then I notice everything.
Toby is sleeping in a partial kneeling position from the floor. I'm in his bed, with his blanket while he has none. I'm in his bed, so he's sleeping in what must be an uncomfortable position. I'm in his bed!
I glance at the clock. It's 5:42. Hopefully too early for the Kennish family to be up.
I look back at Toby. I remember ranting at him, his comforting squeezes, then crying into his shoulder. A bit embarrassing, as I've only cried that hard once before.
I shift, and the notebook tumbles out from wherever it was hiding. I open it, curious.
The pages are at first scrawls of lyrics interspersed with music. I pause to read a few, but it's a bit too personal, so I flip through them as fast as I can. I'm through a good portion of the notebook before I reach last night's conversation.
Rereading it, I find myself unconsciously signing along, as if Toby had actually been signing directly to me. "Thanks" with a flat hand to mouth and out and a genuine smile, "awesome" with open hands pushing in and out and a large grin, and "blows my mind" with closed fists pushing outwards, springing open and eyes, mouth open in surprise, which puts another smile on my face.
Then I reach my plea, now splotched with last night's tears, and my problems tumble around again but I find that I don't feel so miserable. I turn the page automatically and to my surprise, there's some more written after.
"Morning Emmett! Or at least, it should be. If not, wake me up!! I have a jam session at 10! You can come too, if you're up for it.
I hope you're feeling better. Watching you last night… made me really think. I couldn't understand why you were so upset. I felt so helpless. I mean, I thought I was helpless I've had helpless moments before, but this was different. I suppose you know what I mean. You probably deal with this all the time. You probably felt the same.
Ok, so this might seem a bit of a strange request, but do you think you can teach me sign language? Teach me so that next time you need a friend to talk to, you can talk to me. Teach me about yourself world, and I'll try my best to show you mine. And yes, let's be friends, not just because you're an awesome drummer.
Thanks again for last night!"
I glance at the sleeping Toby and laugh to myself at the bed hair he sported all night. I shake him awake and at this point, he is too tired to do anything but be pulled up and pushed around into his bed, which he reclaims with groggy gusto, blanket and all.
No one is awake yet, but I find myself attempting to tiptoe down the stairs. I don't think I'm very good at it, but there's no Toby to tell me this time around. Nevertheless, I make it out the front door, on my bike and out onto the road without consequence and feeling a lot better than before.
So maybe our first impressions weren't the best, but then again, neither were our perceptions of each other's cultures, people and well, we sure underestimate individuality. That's what second chances are for though, right?
"Thank you for last night, Toby. It really helped a lot, you don't know how much. I'll let you know one day though. For now, just know that I'm not feeling so miserable anymore, and that it's because of you."
FANFICTION: Switched at Birth
ONE SHOT
Rating: PG
Comments: Half-adoption of bm_shipper's plunny, so it takes place after 1x04. I'm currently in a first-person mood after writing a slew of random character sketches (it reads like one too... whoops?). Critique on my beginner's knowledge of ASL is highly welcome! (although the descriptions can be rather vague...)
I hate feeling miserable.
When it happens, it's usually not so bad. Mum can usually cheer me up. Dad can usually make me laugh.
I can feel the tension that's been going on between them though. They think they're hiding it well from me, but really, who are they trying to fool? Only themselves, I think.
It reminds me too much of when they kept me away from hearing people when I was growing up, wanting to save the talk for when I was old enough to be comfortable with myself. They succeeded instead in keeping me unprepared for the realities of how the hearing viewed people like us until it was too late. It's been a memory that's been dredged up far too often these past few weeks thanks to Daphne's situation, and I just want it to DISAPPEAR.
I hate feeling miserable, but feeling miserable with no one to talk to is the worst. No Mum, no Dad, no Daphne. No one from school that I would even think of trying, because where would I start? Hi, I hope you remember me from that one class we have together because I really like my best friend Daphne but I think I'm losing her to the hearing world and to hearing people because she was actually switched at birth, oh and by the way my parents are on the verge of splitting up but they're trying to hide it from me? That always works well.
I can see my parents talking tersely now, expressions strained, signs sharp and moving a bit fast. Somewhere between Dad asking Mum how the party was and Mum replying that it was quite fantastic, something just snapped. Almost like they're tired of trying to hide it from me.
I glance down at my homework. It's almost done, but I don't want to stay in the house anymore. I glance back up, wondering if I should say anything. Instead, I opt for mapping a way to get out the front door without them noticing. Which, by the way, is never an easy task in an open space layout. Blame it on the 'we can't see you so we might as well be able to see you' mentality.
After going through several renditions of getting my coat without Mum's 'eyes in the back of her head' catching me to only get caught because it was in direct sight of Dad, I figure I might as well just leave. After all, actions are what get things done.
As soon as I get myself to the front door, I can't help but look back. What I see hurts even more, because they just keep talking.
I get myself out of there as soon as I can.
The strength of the wind as it streams past me and my motorbike is calming, but I'm still restless. I need someone to talk to!
Before I know it, I'm outside the Kennish's place. By instinct, I must've thought of Daphne, but I know that I can't talk to her. It hits a bit too close to home, especially after everything that happened tonight.
I see movement in one of the upper floor windows. It turns out to be a bleary-eyed Toby, which makes me wonder if I somehow woke him up, and what time it might be if he looks like he just woke up. Then I remember that yes, my motorbike does make sounds heard by the hearing, so I turn off the engine before I happen to wake up anyone else.
When I look back up, Toby's still peering at me. Not knowing what else to do, I cautiously wave at him, then wince at the completely-fake smile I give him. At least it's dark out. He frowns and mouths something that I can't see, but at least he points down. Wait, he's coming downstairs?
Before any attempt to tell him not to come down, his face disappears from the window. I only get to contemplate leaving before the front door opens, revealing a somewhat more awake Toby.
He flaps his hand at me to come over, or maybe it was a come inside gesture. Either way, do I even want to bother?
I'm off my bike before I can ask myself again. I just need someone to talk to, right? It's not like that person needs to understand what I'm saying. It's not like I want advice or sympathy. The pretence of telling someone is better than feeling miserable.
As soon as I get to the door, he points up to Daphne's room. I just shake my head, solemn in expression, and simultaneously sign 'no', thumb meeting my index and middle fingers. It results in Toby tilting his head as he gives me a side-eye look of puzzlement. I keep signing, "I WANT TALK-to-you."
He is surprised when I deliberately end with the sign 'you' by pointing my index finger at him. He points at himself almost immediately, mouthing, "Me?" Determined to go through with this, I nod once, my hand following suit.
He looks behind him cautiously and then beckons me in. I follow him inside and up the stairs. The journey gets interrupted often since he turns around suddenly at times with his finger to his lips. I just roll my eyes at him, because it's not like I can hear if I'm making any sounds.
Regardless, he seems relieved as soon as he gets me into his room. When he turns on a light though, awkwardness fills the air. We stand there, Toby at the door and me a ways in front of him. I can't think of a good way to start. I know you don't understand but I need you to just listen?
Then Toby gets an a-hah expression and navigates around me and the various items strewn across the floor. He sits at his desk and writes something down before spinning his chair around to show me: "Thanks a lot for drumming for us tonight!"
He grins (just like Daphne does, I'm thinking) as he holds up the notebook, before he realizes that I need to write down a reply if he wants to get one that he understands. I take the notebook and pen he offers and sit down when he points to the bed. I can't help but write "Hope I didn't sound horrible." and pass the notebook back.
When he reads that, a strange expression passes over his face, like something stung him. No, you sounded good great awesome! he writes back, punctuating it with a thumbs-up and another grin.
It's so uncanny how he looks and acts so much like Daphne sometimes. I think about why I came and write with some dejection, "Awesome for a deaf person, you mean."
He tries to say something as soon as he reads that, but I get as far as making out a "No!" before he gets frustrated, brow furrowed and mouth moving much too fast. He turns back to his desk and writes for a while, leaving me to stew in my problems some more.
Then he passes the notebook back with a tentative smile. "No, you were that was awesome even hearing it. Being deaf Adding the fact that you're deaf AND you didn't practice with us before blows my mind even more. Like seriously, I didn't believe it was possible you could drum until you did. Now I believe you. Believe me!! (also, writing is so slooow! How do you do it?)"
I can't help but smile at his earnestness. As I'm writing back, "I believe you. The only thing we can't do is hear. Also, we don't usually -" Toby interrupts to sit beside me to point at the word 'awesome' with an even bigger grin before reading over my shoulder. I resume writing after elbowing him a little, "- write on paper to each other. Something called sign language really helps, you know."
Toby underlines 'writing is slooow!' a few times before writing wistfully, "Makes me wish I knew some sign language."
"You can learn." This suggestion surprises even me. It must be the Daphne similarity that is making me all soft on a hearing person. Alas, I'm yet again thinking of Daphne and now I can't keep quiet about my problems. I tug the pen away from Toby before he can write down a reply and add, "For now, just watch me. I need someone to talk to, but there's no one except you. I don't need you to understand... just watch. Please."
There is a moment as Toby finishes reading my desperate plea. Then he looks at me and nods.
I end up pouring everything out to him in a flurry of sign, all the frustration, sadness, anger and fear that I feel inside about Mum and Dad and Daphne. Toby can only watch my signs and my expressions; just a picture of my emotions and none of the details. Somewhere in between, his hand finds its way to my shoulder and stays there. I get reassuring squeezes every once in a while, as if he understands.
Somehow, that makes all the difference.
I open my eyes. For a moment, I don't recognize my surroundings and languidly wonder why. There's a comforting weight on my stomach, which adds to the overall feeling of serenity. I haven't felt this calm in a long time.
Then I remember where I am. I am in Toby's room. Wait, I never left?
I push myself upright in a slight panic and Toby shifts from sleeping on my stomach to sleeping on my legs. I freeze, not wanting to wake him up. Then I notice everything.
Toby is sleeping in a partial kneeling position from the floor. I'm in his bed, with his blanket while he has none. I'm in his bed, so he's sleeping in what must be an uncomfortable position. I'm in his bed!
I glance at the clock. It's 5:42. Hopefully too early for the Kennish family to be up.
I look back at Toby. I remember ranting at him, his comforting squeezes, then crying into his shoulder. A bit embarrassing, as I've only cried that hard once before.
I shift, and the notebook tumbles out from wherever it was hiding. I open it, curious.
The pages are at first scrawls of lyrics interspersed with music. I pause to read a few, but it's a bit too personal, so I flip through them as fast as I can. I'm through a good portion of the notebook before I reach last night's conversation.
Rereading it, I find myself unconsciously signing along, as if Toby had actually been signing directly to me. "Thanks" with a flat hand to mouth and out and a genuine smile, "awesome" with open hands pushing in and out and a large grin, and "blows my mind" with closed fists pushing outwards, springing open and eyes, mouth open in surprise, which puts another smile on my face.
Then I reach my plea, now splotched with last night's tears, and my problems tumble around again but I find that I don't feel so miserable. I turn the page automatically and to my surprise, there's some more written after.
"Morning Emmett! Or at least, it should be. If not, wake me up!! I have a jam session at 10! You can come too, if you're up for it.
I hope you're feeling better. Watching you last night… made me really think. I couldn't understand why you were so upset. I felt so helpless. I mean, I thought I was helpless I've had helpless moments before, but this was different. I suppose you know what I mean. You probably deal with this all the time. You probably felt the same.
Ok, so this might seem a bit of a strange request, but do you think you can teach me sign language? Teach me so that next time you need a friend to talk to, you can talk to me. Teach me about yourself world, and I'll try my best to show you mine. And yes, let's be friends, not just because you're an awesome drummer.
Thanks again for last night!"
I glance at the sleeping Toby and laugh to myself at the bed hair he sported all night. I shake him awake and at this point, he is too tired to do anything but be pulled up and pushed around into his bed, which he reclaims with groggy gusto, blanket and all.
No one is awake yet, but I find myself attempting to tiptoe down the stairs. I don't think I'm very good at it, but there's no Toby to tell me this time around. Nevertheless, I make it out the front door, on my bike and out onto the road without consequence and feeling a lot better than before.
So maybe our first impressions weren't the best, but then again, neither were our perceptions of each other's cultures, people and well, we sure underestimate individuality. That's what second chances are for though, right?
"Thank you for last night, Toby. It really helped a lot, you don't know how much. I'll let you know one day though. For now, just know that I'm not feeling so miserable anymore, and that it's because of you."