Amia

 

At first, I wasn’t sure what it was. It had been so long since I experienced anything like it, it took a long time for me to recognize what happened.

I was hearing.

It started as a low static, which fizzed out at first. I almost thought that I was imagining things, but then it happened again, and words slowly formed. Before I knew it, I heard a loud guitar through the radio.

That was almost two whole minutes ago. And it hasn't gone away. I look at my older sister in the driver’s seat, completely oblivious to what’s going on. Her thumb is playing a beat against the steering wheel, and for the first time in almost ten years, I can match the beat with the song.

“Lisa,” I say. I can’t hear my voice. But she turns her head, showing that she can hear me. “Lisa, I can hear the song.”

She turns back to the road for a second, and then her head snaps back to look over at me. “What do you mean, you can hear it?” She makes sure to face me directly, so I can see her lips move. Not really a good idea while she's driving.

“I mean I can hear the music. This song…” I pause for a minute, seeing if I can recognize the song. “Amazing Grace.” She puts her blinker on and pulls over to the side of the road. “Amia, how can you hear the music?” I shrug. “Can you hear my voice?” I shake my head.

“I can hear the song. That’s it.” She turns the radio off and I’m enveloped in silence. I strain to hear something, but nothing comes. Not even static. I watch as she presses the button, changes is to a different station. She looks at me, and I shake my head. Nothing. She flips through the rest of the stations, until we land on 104.3, the station she was originally listening to. I smile and simply nod my head.

“Is it clear? Staticy? How well can you hear it?”

“It’s like I never stopped hearing. Clear as everything used to be.” She doesn't say anything else, just stares at me, and I stare back at her. I guess neither of us knows how to react to this. I keep staring at her, and then it hits me. I can hear the radio. Not knowing what else to do, I reach over and turn the volume up. I lean back and close my eyes, and enjoy the music. Lisa shakes as she pulls back onto the road, but doesn’t say anything. We drive back to the house without saying a single word. Lisa seems to be on auto-pilot, not really seeing the road in front of her.

We get to my house a few minutes later, and Lisa turns off the car, extinguishing the notes and words. She sits there for a second, staring out the windshield. “Amia, this is a miracle.” Of all our broken family, Lisa is the only one who really has faith in God anymore. Too many things, too many people have been taken away for the rest of us to really, truly believe.

I roll my eyes. “My ears are probably just healing. It’s about time, too.” I hope she doesn’t immediately see how crazy that sounds. I know that they aren't healing. Not after ten years. But I'm not about to give credit to some "higher power" that abandoned me along with my hearing and my father. No, thank you. 

I get out of the car and go towards my room. I don’t bother going to tell my mom what happened. I figure it probably won’t happen again, so why bother with it? I shouldn't have said anything to Lisa in the first place. As I pull my door open, I notice my hands shaking violently. Once my door is closed, I chew on my hair. What if she’s right? Is this a miracle? 

A couple minutes later, my mom bursts into my room. “Come on, Amia. We’re going to the doctor.” I consider arguing with her, telling her that it's nothing, just a fluke, we can all just forget about the whole thing. But I know it's no use. So I follow her down the stairs to the kitchen, where Lisa hands her the car keys. 

We get into the car, my mom driving and Lisa in the front. I, of course, am stuck in the back seat. Lisa turns on the radio and I hear a voice talking. “…was Hero, by Skillet. Thanks for listening, everyone. Email, text, or call in your requests. Here’s Need You Now, by Plumb.” Lisa watches my face for a reaction, but I don't have much of one. At least not on the outside. How am I supposed to react? What would be a normal reaction to this? I just nod and smile, unsure of what else to do.

Once we get into the hospital, I finally let the importance of this sink in. I. Can. Hear. After ten years of being completely deaf, I can hear the music.

 

An hour later, I’m in a room waiting for the doctor to get back with my results. My mom is holding my hand and Lisa is flipping through a magazine. I strain to hear the pages move, but I only hear silence.

The door opens and my doctor comes in. He’s frowning as he looks at his chart. “This is certainly interesting.” He puts the chart on the counter, but still looks at it for a few more seconds before facing my mom and I. “Unfortunately, the holes in your eardrums haven’t healed any more than they had last time you were in here. It probably won’t get any better, or else it would have started healing by now.” He smiles a little. “That accident really did some damage.”

I scowl at the floor. Ten years ago, I’d been in the car with my aunt on the way to the grocery store. While we were on the bridge that cut through town, a big pick-up had tried to come over into our lane without looking to see that, yes, there was a car in his blind spot. To get out of his way, my aunt had tried braking, but seeing the car directly behind her, she knew it wouldn't work. She swerved the car to the right, and we drove off the bridge, into the freezing cold water.

Before the car hit the water, my aunt had already unbuckled my seatbelt and started rolling the window down so that I could get out. A rush of water came into the car, and in seconds, it hit the bottom. The water was deep enough that the change in pressure caused my ear drums to burst, and I went deaf. The last thing I ever heard was my aunt telling me that she loved me. Well, the last thing until now, I guess. 

My aunt died in the crash, and I don’t remember how I got out of the car. I must have blacked out, and someone rescued me. I don’t know. I never asked anyone about it. I don’t talk about that day.

Afterwards, I learned to read lips, and I learned sign language. I very rarely use sign, though, because I still know how to form the words, I just can’t hear them. Early on, the doctor told me that there was a chance that the holes would close up and I could regain my hearing. As time wore on and no progress was made, they began to lose hope. I did too. An injury doesn’t wait years to start healing.

I turn my attention back to the doctor, so I can see if he has anything more to say. “But you said you could hear the music?” I nod. “Well…” he exhaled slowly, clearly confused.

“I have no explanation for this,” he finally says. “No medical, explanation, at least.”

My mom perks up. “What do you mean, no medical explanation?” She’s talking to the doctor, but she faces me, so that I know what’s going on. It’s something that she does on instinct now, because, after a few months of being deaf, I got sick of being left out of most of the conversations. It's just one of the many ways that my family has learned to adjust over the years. 

The doctor is completely serious as he answers her, but a smile plays with his eyes. “God has big plans for you, Amia.” He looks at me for a minute, and then gets up and leaves.

We stay in the room for a few more minutes, thinking about everything that the doctor just told us. And no matter how much I think about it, none of it makes any sense.

Finally, my mom picks up her purse. “Well, let’s go. I have to get dinner ready.” She seems calm, but I know that it’s all an act. On the inside, she’s screaming. This is how she always reacts; she just doesn't. And then one day, when it finally sinks in, she'll just be a different person. Completely.

In the car, Lisa turns the radio on. I hear the ending notes of a song, and then I hear someone talking. It’s the same voice that introduced the song on the way to the hospital. It’s a beautiful sound, deep, but I know that this man is young, my age or a couple years older.

“It’s good to be back, guys. I was gone for the last three days, but I’m back in the studio to play some Christian rock for you guys. Here’s Breathe into Me by Red.”

The strange music starts, only to become the chords of a guitar. Immediately, my head starts to nod a little and my foot taps the floor of the car. The instinct, this urge to move with the music in some way, shape, or form, comes back to me even after all these years. I try to listen to lyrics, but my mind won't focus on one thing or another. The abundance of sound is too much for me to try to control my focus. So I stop trying, and just listen to the music as a whole. I can still feel the vibrations of the music, which, for so long, was the only way I knew that music was even playing. But now, I can associate each vibration with a noise, a note, a word, so that it all fits.

By the end of that song, I remember exactly what I’ve been missing all these years.

A couple more songs play before we get to our house. As soon as the car is at a stop, I run in the house and sit next to the radio on our kitchen counter. We hardly ever use it, but I’ve never been so grateful to see it there.

I turn the radio on to the right station, and I hear the beginning of a song. I lean against the counter, close my eyes, and let my hearing lead me to a new place.

I listen to the words of the song, loving every second of it. I can't believe I missed out on this for so long. The music fills my head, forces a smile onto my face. It's a smile I haven't used in a long time. Pure, complete joy.

I listen to the radio for another hour and the sound doesn’t go away, like I thought it would. After a while, the music stops and I hear the voice again. “It’s time to start winding down for the day. It’s that time of the day when I start taking calls. Give me a song request, chat a little, whatever.” He lists the phone number, and I grab the cordless phone.

My mom and sister watch me, not quite understanding what I’m doing. They don’t understand my need to thank this person.

I hand the phone to my mom after hitting send. “I won’t be able to hear if he’s on the phone with me. I’ll only hear it over the radio, and it could be someone else. If he answers my call, give it to me.” I talk fast. I don't want to give them time to think about it. I don't want time for me to think about it either. She nods, still not quite sure of what’s going on.

We listen for about ten minutes, as people call in requests and have short conversations. Finally, my mom hands me the phone.

I listen on the radio for what he says. “Hey, caller, what’s your name?” I can't help but smile at the deep voice that I already love, if only because it's the only one I can hear. 

I answer, but there is a delay before I hear my voice on the radio. “Amia Chasor.”

“Cool name. What can I do for you, Amia?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Um… what’s your name?” For some reason, it bugs me that I don’t know his name. It's like a damsel in distress not knowing who her knight in shining armor is. Not that I think we'll grow up and get married or anything. But still.

“I’m Mikey.” He stumbles on his words for a second. “Uh… Thank me for what?”

I take a deep breath. “Mikey. I can hear you.” The six syllables come out slower than I wanted them to. My voice shakes with each sound.

There’s a long pause. “Yeah.” He sounds confused, and I understand why. Of course I can hear him. He’s on the radio.

“You don’t understand, though." Now it all comes out in a rush. "I’ve been deaf since I was six and I was in the car earlier and suddenly I could hear this radio station and Amazing Grace was playing but I couldn’t hear anything else and I can’t hear my sister or my mom and I can’t hear if the dog next door is barking. I can only hear your radio station.” As I finish, I take a deep breath.

Once again, there is a pause as Mikey, and everyone else listening to the radio station, thinks about what I just said. What if he doesn't believe me, and thinks I'm some crazy girl who just wants attention?

“Um… okay…” He’s still unsure of what’s going on. “So, you can hear. But only this radio station?” He speaks slowly, as if afraid that he heard wrong, afraid that he'll say the wrong thing and lose the game. But this isn't some game show.

“Yes. I’ve been listening to it for over an hour now. I love the song selection, by the way." I pause. "Of course, it's the first thing I've heard in ten years, so I'd probably love it if it was water dripping from a faucet.” I hear him laugh. “I wanted to call and tell you how grateful I am. The doctor said that my ears aren’t healing at all, so as of now, there’s no explanation for what happened.” Even I am able to hear the pride in my voice over the radio. Why is that something to be proud of?

I hear him exhale slowly. “Have you considered that this could be a miracle?”

“Yeah, kind of." I pause. Why does everyone keep saying that? "I wouldn’t have if my sister hasn’t said it first.”

“Well, why not? It seems to me like that should be the first thing that you consider it to be. Especially if the doctor doesn’t find anything to explain it.”

Even though he obviously can’t see me, I shake my head. “Well, it’s not the first thing I would consider.”

“And why is that?”

“I think that’s kind of personal, don’t you think? I don’t need to tell you if or why I do or don’t believe in miracles. I don’t know you and it’s none of your business.” I stopped believing in God a long time ago. And if there is some higher power, some divine being, why would he choose me? There are plenty of other people who could use a miracle more than I can. Still, despite all this, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that this really could be a miracle. How else am I going to explain this?

“Okay, that’s fair. But I still think you should consider that this really is a miracle.”

“And why would he choose me? I don’t need divine intervention in my life,” I say. I know I’m being kind of snappy, and there’s really no reason to be. This kid doesn’t know all that’s happened in my life, and none of it is his fault. But I didn’t call in so I could be lectured on the existence of miracles in the modern world.

“Maybe He did it to show you that He’s there, that He does love you. He knows that you can reach more people with your miracle than the homeless guy living behind the grocery store. Or, maybe, you need it more than the homeless guy.”

I look over at my mom and Lisa, and I can see their eyebrows raised. “Are you saying that the homeless guy is better off than I am?” Really? A homeless guy. He's comparing me to a hobo. So much for a knight in shining armor. 

“Not physically, no. I’m guessing that you have a nice home, a car, a closet full of clothes, a fridge full of food. Family. Friends.” He takes a deep breath. “But spiritually? Yes, the homeless guy could be better off. If he has any sort of relationship with God, he’s already ahead of you.” God. Really. He really thinks that the hobo is better off than I am.

“I still can’t believe that you think I’m worse off than a homeless person.”

“Look, Amia. I’m not trying to insult you," he snaps. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, what happened to you is a miracle.” He sounds mad at me, even though I don't know why. He's the one being a jerk, not me. I don’t say anything. What can I say? “Look,” he says after a few seconds. He sounds a little apologetic. “I gotta go. The next guy is pounding on the door to the booth and he doesn’t look too happy. Call back tomorrow, around this time. I want to hear your whole story.” 

“Yeah,” I say, “I’ll call back tomorrow so you can insult me some more.” I angrily turn the radio off, and my world is silent once again.

Mikey

 

After I hang up, I take a deep breath. Another pound on the door reminds me that my time is up. 
    I hit the play button and some song goes out on the air, so that when George is getting everything ready, the listeners aren’t listening to static. 
    I pass George in the doorway, but I don’t say anything to him. He’s usually pretty grumpy, even though I get out on time most days. I put some extra distance in between us today, because he actually has a reason to be angry. I just head straight for my dad’s office. He owns the Christian radio station here in town. We only have one sound booth, and it doesn’t pay very well. But it’s my home away from home.  For my seventeenth birthday last year, he gave me two hours each day where I’m in charge of what goes out on the air. 
    I have a feeling that he only gave it to me because the last guy moved away, but I’m not complaining. As long as I keep my grades up, stay out trouble, and stay out of George’s way, those two hours are mine. 
    I get to my dad’s office and barge in without knocking. Instantly, I see the pictures of our family on his desk, on display for all to see. For my dad, family always comes first.
    “Dad.” He frowns and holds up a finger, then points to the phone that he’s holding next to his ear. Oops. I sit down and wait for him to hang up, thinking about that girl. Will she call back? I really do think it’s a miracle, even though she denies it. God might have been standing in the background in her life for the last few years, but he’s standing front and center now. After a few minutes, he places the phone back on the receiver. 
    “What do you need?” He gives me his undivided attention. 
    “Well… Did you hear that last phone call that I got?” He shakes his head. Sometimes, my dad listens to me on the radio, to support me. Some kids have sports, some have art. I have my radio show. Sometimes, like today, he’s got other stuff to do. “Okay. Well, there was this girl…” He sighs and leans back in his chair, obviously getting the wrong idea about what I’m trying to say, “… and she said she’s deaf. But she called and said that she could hear the radio station. But only our radio station.” I then describe her reluctance to admit the possibility that this is a miracle.
    I hadn’t realized until now how ridiculous it sounds. Before he even opens his mouth to talk, I feel myself blush. I feel like an idiot for believing this girl. I now doubt that a single word she said is true. It was probably some girl who just wanted to see how many people would believe this story.
    My dad says nothing for several seconds. “That’s interesting. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 
    That’s it? “Wait for what?” I ask. 
    “To find out if she’s telling the truth or not. If she’s telling the truth, I’m sure it will be on the news, in the paper. There might even be reporters showing up here, asking you about it. And if she’s telling the truth, she’ll probably call back. Even if she says she doesn’t believe in God, she’ll be searching for some kind of answer. And if nothing else, she's going to want to call back so she can hear stuff.” He shrugs. “If nothing happens and we don’t hear anything else, we can assume that it was probably just a prank call or some scam.” 
    I nod slowly. Of course, he’s right. If the girl was telling the truth, there’s no way that this won’t be on the news. On TV, on the radio, in magazines and newspapers. If this girl’s telling the truth, she won’t be able to hide. 
    “Is there anything else?” I shake my head. “Okay. Here’s a grocery list.” He hands me a folded up piece of paper. “Your mom wants you to go get this stuff and then start on dinner. She’ll be home late tonight, so we’re on our own.” 
    I take the list from his hand and stand up. “See you later.” I get in my car and drive to the store, pick up everything on the short list. Once I get home, I start making spaghetti. It’s my dad’s favorite dish and my mom’s least favorite, so we make a big pot of it any time Mom isn’t home, which isn't often.
    I brown some hamburger meat for the sauce and while the water is boiling, I check my phone. I have it turned off while I’m in the studio, and I usually have a few messages when I’m done. 
    I check my voicemail, and hear my cousin Joe's voice. “I just got done listening to your show. Dude! That chick was freaky! Call me. I wanna know what you thought about it all.” That’s a surprise. At school, everyone knows me as the good kid. I’m the one who goes to church every Sunday, who reads his Bible in class. Heck, I’m the guy who’s on the Christian radio station each day. While some might think it would make the outcast of the school, it’s actually boosted my popularity. People love my confidence in my beliefs, how I’m not afraid to let everyone know how I feel. But, even though they admire the way I go about my life, my friends rarely listen to my show. Most high school students won’t take two hours out of their day to listen to Christian music. 
    I listen to the rest of my messages. It’s not much. One from Mom, saying she’ll be home late. One from some bill collector who has the wrong number. Then, I call Joe back. I want to know what he thinks about the whole situation. “Hello?” 
    “Hey, man. It’s Mikey.” The water is boiling now, so I pour the noodles in. 
    “Mikey! I was wondering when you’d call. Man! That was weird, wasn’t it? I mean… woah!” Joe has a way of talking that always sounds like he has an exclamation point at the end of most sentences. It makes him sound, at times, like an over-excited cheerleader. 
    “So, do you think she was telling the truth?” 
    There’s a pause before he says anything. His voice is serious, a rarity for Joe. “I didn’t consider for even a minute that she was lying. You could hear the awe and amazement in her voice!” He laughs, and when he speaks again, it’s in his normal, joking tone. “At least, you could, until you pissed her off!” 
    “Hey! I just told her what I thought. That’s what I always do.” 
    “I know, I know,” he says. “But think about it! If you were deaf, and suddenly started hearing again, would the first thing you wanted to hear be some kid on the radio telling you that a homeless guy is better off than you?” 
    I shake my head. He’s right, which doesn't surprise me. He can seem pretty goofy, but he's good at understanding things, including people. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.” 
    He laughs again. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow! Miranda’s calling me.” I say good-bye and hang up, then turn my attention to dinner.
    The noodles are done, so I drain the water. I open a can of tomato sauce and another of stewed tomatoes, pour them both into a pot along with the hamburger to warm up. It’s simple, and pretty plain if you ask me, but it’s how my dad likes his spaghetti. 
    While I wait for my dad to get home, I start working on my homework. 
    My dad comes home shortly, and we eat dinner, mostly in silence. That’s how it usually is when it’s just us- we’re both lost in our own thoughts.

    The next morning when I get to school, I can feel people staring at me. I try to meet their eyes, but everyone looks away. I frown, not quite sure what’s going in, and walk to my locker. Joe is waiting for me there, holding Miranda’s hand. 
    “Did you hear the news?” As usual, he sounds excited and his eyes are bright. I look at Miranda, who just looks bored. “Dude. That girl? She goes to school here.” 
    That catches my attention. Not because I believe it, but because the idea is ridiculous. “What? Don’t you think that I’d know about it if a deaf girl went to school here? It’s not like there are a ton of people here.” Our city, small compared to most, has several schools in it, and ours is one of the smaller ones. 
    “No, she just transferred today! I heard her and her mom when I was talking to the lady in the office. She was posting the girl’s picture on the board. Go see!” 
    I grab my books and head towards the front office, where they post school news, including new students. Sure enough, I see Amia’s name, with a picture that was probably taken less than ten minutes ago. She has blue eyes, and a pretty smile. But I can’t help but notice the sadness in her eyes, even through the ink.
    Suddenly, a finger appears in my vision, poking the picture. “See? I told you it’s her!” The bell rings before I can tell him that we don’t know what she looks like, so that could be anyone.
    “See you later,” I say, and turn towards my first hour class. As usual, I get there right as the bell finishes ringing. I’m a teacher’s aide for the Chemistry teacher, so I figure it doesn’t really matter if I’m late or not.
    I look up to the front of the classroom at Mr. Thomas. The girl from the picture is standing next to him, talking to him about the class. 
    “…a test today, but you’ll be excused from that. I’ll get a new seating chart put together, but for today, you can sit with my TA.” He points over to me and starts passing out the test to his students. I watch as Amia crosses the classroom. I offer her my chair and go get another one. 
    “Hi. I’m Amia Chasor,” she says. She exhales slowly, but I don’t say anything. After a few seconds, she gets angry. “What, you won’t tell me your name?” she whispers, practically spitting at me. So far, she really doesn’t seem like a happy person. Is she always like this? 
    I laugh quietly and face her as I talk. “They’re taking a test,” I whisper. “But I’m Mikey Levis. I think we talked on the phone last night.” 
    The rest of the class, including Mr. Thomas, watches this exchange. If they didn’t listen to the radio last night, they heard all about it this morning. At the sound of my name, her eyes get wide. “Mikey? From the radio?” 
    I nod. “The one and only.” I lean closer to her and point to Mr. Thomas. “See him, over there? He’s Mr. Thomas, from the Chemistry classroom. If you don’t be quiet while his students take a test, you’ll be Amia, from detention.” It’s the beginning of the school year, so it’s a little weird that they’re even taking a test at this point. But the first unit was super basic stuff, so it only lasted about two weeks.
    She turns away from me and crosses her arms across her chest. I should probably let her know that I was just joking, that I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I don’t know if it would help anything. For the rest of the period, she doesn’t say anything. Even though I told her to be quiet, I feel like I’m being ignored more than she just wants to take my advice. I try not to let that bother me. When the bell rings, I can tell that she wants to leave, but I tell her to wait for me. She considers leaving, but then sits back down to wait. I wait until we get out into the hall to start talking. 
    “Why is it that you’re coming here now? I mean, to this school. Shouldn’t you be going to a school for deaf people? Wouldn’t that be easier on everyone?” 
    She stops, and I turn around to face her. “You have to look at me when you talk. I can’t hear, remember?” 
    I laugh. “Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.” I ask her the question again, walking backwards so she can read my lips. 
    When I’m done, she scoffs. “You’d think. My mom thinks that my ears will heal, now that I can hear the radio. She said it’s only a matter of time before I can hear everything, so she enrolled me here this morning. Seems kind of early to be making such a big guess, don’t you think?” She sighs, and I think about the way she talks. It’s not too loud, not too quiet. There’s something a little strange in her inflection and enunciation.
    “The school is going to have to pay for an aide to come in and sign everything to me while I try to take notes. Which means I’ll have to be watching the aide, plus looking at the examples on the board, plus taking notes all at the same time. And I’ll probably end up needing a tutor for most of my classes. It’ll be difficult for everyone. All because my mom decided to be optimistic and stick me in regular school.” 
    We get to the Spanish classroom and I stop. “Hey.” I lightly grab her arm, so she’ll look at me. I’m a little worried that I’ve overstepped my boundaries. I mean, we just met each other an hour ago. She doesn’t say anything, but as soon as she looks at me I drop my hand so I don’t make her uncomfortable. “Are you going to call, later on?” 
    “I haven’t decided yet,” she says, walking away, and I don’t see her for the rest of the day.

    The final bell rings at 3:05, and I hurry to my car just like I do every day. I get to the studio at around 3:20, and start setting up for the show. By 3:30, I’m ready to go. I used to always be late for this, but my dad told me I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore if I wasn’t on time. As soon as I’m on the air, I play the song “Background.” While it’s playing, I start to create a playlist from the requests that I have in my inbox. Once the song is over, I play the playlist. It’s the same routine that I go through every afternoon. 
    The playlist will last me a little over an hour, and then I’ll play some of my favorites, plus any new requests I get. Then I’ll take a few calls, and, hopefully, I’ll hear from Amia. I can’t help but wonder about her, her whole life, what she likes to do, the difficulties of being deaf. I go through the whole show without really noticing anything. When I start accepting calls, I’m kind of surprised at what people say. 
    “Have you heard anything about that deaf girl?” 
    “I really want to know if that girl can still hear the radio, or what happened with her.” 
    “I’ve been thinking about that girl, I thought the whole thing was pretty cool.” 
    “I hope that girl calls back, and you get a chance to talk to her more. I want to hear her story, and what happened to her. I just can’t imagine all the stuff that had to happen to her that something so amazing and incredible can happen, and she refuses to believe that it was a miracle.” 
    The calls continue, every one of them talking about Amia, wanting to know more. Finally, I have to go. 
    “Well, it was great to hear so many calls, and it sounds like we all have the same thing on our minds. Unfortunately, I have no answers. Amia, you’re the only one who can answer our questions.” I glance at the door, and I can see George’s face through the window. 
    “It’s time for me to say good-bye now. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, Amia. You’ve got fans waiting.”

Amia

 

“You have to call him tomorrow.” I try to ignore my sister. Usually it’s not that hard. All I have to do is turn my back, and she gives up because I have no way of knowing what she's saying. But this time it doesn't work.
    She grabs my face in her hands and looks at me. “You need to call him. He’s trying to help you figure out what happened, and how you’re supposed to use this to your advantage.”
    I shake my head. “He’s not trying to help me. He told me the homeless guy is better off than I am. How is that helping me?”
    She closes her eyes for a second, and I know she’s trying her best not to slap me. “He didn’t mean it like that. Just call him tomorrow. If you won't do it for him, do it for all the people waiting to hear about it. Your story could move so many people, Amia. You could change so many lives with this.” I shake my head, but she latches onto my arm and squeezes a little. It's something she's always done, a threat. Even though I know that she she's not going to squeeze hard enough for her to hurt me, I always agree with her when she does it, just in case.
    “Fine,” I say. “I’ll call tomorrow.” I stomp up the stairs and shut my bedroom door. I press the button on my clock to turn the radio on. I always laughed at that clock. It has a radio, and an alarm. Like I could hear either one. I flip through the channels until I get to the Christian station, hoping that somehow, I’ll be able to hear something. Of course, nothing happens. Once I get back to Mikey’s station, I lean back, close my eyes, and listen to the music.

    I wake up in the morning to Lisa shaking me awake. I keep my eyes shut and try to ignore her. Maybe she’ll just go away. 
    When she keeps shaking me, though, I roll over and throw the covers off me. “Okay, I’m up!”
    I see her talking, so I turn my head to see what she’s saying. “Look out the window.”
    I look out the window, and what I see makes me groan so loud, I almost hear it. Covering my lawn are countless strangers, all holding cameras, notepads, and tape recorders.

“No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head and backing up from the window. “Lisa, I can’t do this. I don’t want this.” I bury my head in her shoulder and feel her arms come around me. I hate being the center of attention, and I love my privacy. I can’t remember a time, even when I was little, that that wasn’t true. And now I have people who are getting paid to squeeze out information about my life. And they’re camped out in my front yard.

After about a minute, I go over and sit on my bed. “This is terrible. I don’t want this.” I sit bury my face in my hands. “Can’t I just go back to bed until they leave?”
    My mom bursts into my room. “Amia!” She has a smile on her face. How is she smiling right now? “I just got off the phone with the doctor. He talked to a guy that he went to school with, and he said he thinks he can figure out what’s going on with your hearing.”
    I let out another groan. Great. I can't imagine why he would be able to figure it out when my regular specialist couldn't. “Mom, she doesn’t need that right now,” says Lisa. I mumble a "thanks" to her, but I don't know if she hears. She talks to me now. “Amia, get ready for school. Meet me in the garage, and then I’ll drive you to school.” I sit on my bed for a couple more minutes, trying to muster the courage to get up and face this horrible day. When Lisa comes in to check on me, I hurry up and get dressed, then head to the garage. My sister opens up the garage and starts the car.
    It’s never taken me this long to get out of my driveway. People are pressing up against the car on all sides, yelling at me through the glass. It's like an angry mob, only with flashing cameras and microphones instead of flaming torches and pitch forks. Lisa has to drive extremely slow in order to avoid running people over. Finally, once we turn onto the street, she can go at a normal speed.
    When I get to the school, it’s no better. I see the school security trying to shoo people away, and the principal is yelling with a bull horn. Only this time, it's not reporters. It's the students. They're all crowding the drop-off zone, getting as close to my car as the staff will let them. It's like another angry mob, only I'm more scared of this one. The reporters have certain etiquette that they have to have. They can't tackle me to the ground. And the school doesn't have to let them in the building. But the students don't have a job that they're trying to keep. If they want their story, they'll get it. And the school can't just ban all the students from going inside.
    I slide down in my seat. “I can’t go over there." I shake my head. "This doesn't even make sense. Why are they going crazy today? Why not yesterday?"
    I know Lisa is probably trying to say something, so I look over at her. To my surprise, she is just sitting there, staring at it all. After about thirty seconds, she pulls the car into a parking spot. “They probably just didn't realize it was you until after you were already at school, and it would just be easier to form a mob this morning instead of chasing you around the school." She shakes her head. "I’ll go with you until you get inside.” I look back out the window and my principal is standing at the door. 
    "I'll escort you inside," he says. Lisa comes around to my side and opens my door. She grabs my hand and we sprint through the crowd of gossips and cell phone cameras. I have a person on each side, and they're both holding onto one of my arms.
    I expected it to be a lot harder to get through the crowd. But they part almost instantly, creating a narrow pathway to the office door. I bump into people the entire way, and I feel the pathway close in behind up after we pass. I want to scream.

We head to the principal’s office. Lisa stays with me while he goes to get the guidance counselor. I lean my head on her shoulder. “Holy crap, Lisa,” I say. “What the heck is going to happen to me?”

The principal comes in with the guidance counselor. They both sit at the other side of the desk, facing Lisa and I. “Amia, yesterday I expressed my concerns of your success to your mother. I know that she insists that soon you’ll be able to hear perfectly well, but I don’t know where she got that idea. Plus, although we’re working on hiring an aide to help you in the classroom, we really don’t have any other resources available for someone who is completely deaf.” The principal clears his throat.

“But that’s not the point here,” she continues. “We are here for you. We want to make sure that you get the best education that you can while you’re here. And that means that we will not tolerate the other students interfering with your learning. Now, I’m sure that they’ll all have this out of their systems by the end of the day. They’re teenagers, and they have short attention spans. But I’m guessing that you’re being bothered at home as well.”

She addresses Lisa now, but her face is still aimed in my direction, which I appreciate. “Will you be available to pick Amia up from school today?” Lisa nods, and the counselor focuses her eyes on me again. “Okay, Amia. After your last class, I want you to go ahead and come here. And throughout the day, if anyone gives you any trouble at all, please come here and we’ll take care of it. Sound good?” I nod, wondering if she sees the irony in her closing words.

I say goodbye to Lisa and I’m given a hall pass. I get to class a couple minutes late, and sit in the empty seat up front.

 

    After class, Mikey comes up to me. “Did you listen to the radio yesterday?” I nod. “Are you going to call today?"
    I nod. “My sister made me promise that I would. But if you start telling me that I’m worse off than the homeless person, I’m hanging up.” My day is already off to a bad start, and I don’t need this know-it-all Christian kid to lecture me about letting Jesus into my life.
    He smiles. “No, I promise I won’t do that. And I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day. I just want to hear your story. How everything happened. What makes you the way you are.”
    I frown. “How am I?” I know he's not talking about the fact that I'm deaf.
    He shrugs. His eyes look down at the ground. “I don’t know how you are. Not yet. But I do know that God has a reason for choosing you instead of someone else. Not that you're a terrible person or anything. But He chose you for a reason. You specifically. And I want to know why.” I can’t hear it, but I still know that his voice is soft as he speaks. 
    “I want to understand what God saw in you, what he has planned.” We’re at his next class now, and I watch as he goes into the classroom. I’m not sure about him yet.
    For the rest of the day, people stare at me in all my classes. The teachers constantly try to turn their attention back to the front of the classroom, but it takes the students about two seconds before they turn to look at me again. At the end of each class, I apologize to the teacher for the distraction, but they all assure me that it's okay, it's not my fault. When I'm not warding off all the attention from the students, I think about what Mikey said. And my sister, and the doctor. Why is everyone telling me about the big plans that God has for me?
   By the time school ends, I’m exhausted. Trying to pay attention and learn when you can’t hear is exhausting, especially when halfway through the lesson the teacher starts facing the board as they write, so that you have absolutely no idea what's going on.

     By the time the last bell rings, people seem to have gotten over my situation. I see them talking, and stop when I get close, which is absolutely ridiculous because it's not like I can hear what they're saying about me. But at least they aren't forming a mob anymore. I get my stuff from my locker and walk to the office, where my mom is waiting for me. “Hi, honey,” she says.

“Are people still camped out on our lawn?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry honey. I don’t think the crowd is as big anymore, but they’re still there. They want to talk to you. I’m going to leave it up to you, but I know I wouldn’t want to talk to any of them. You deserve your privacy. But if you do talk to them, I won’t stop you. It’s your choice.”

We go to the car and drive the short distance home. When we pull into the drive way, it’s the same deal as it was this morning. They crowd the car, pressing against it, asking questions that I can’t hear. I don’t get why they think this is going to make me want to talk to them.

I go to my room and turn the radio on. Mikey will be on air soon, but for now, they’re playing a worship song. From the lyrics, it sounds like the title would be I Can Only Imagine. I think I remember it from when I was little. 
   After three songs, I hear Mikey’s voice. “Hey, guys. To start off the day, let’s listen to some Red. Here’s Already Over. He plays songs for more than an hour, and then he comes on the mic again. “Now, I’ll start taking calls. Call in, chat a little, let us know what’s going on in your life.”
    I let a couple people call before I reach over and dial the number. He answers my call right away. “Tell us your name.”
    I take a deep breath. “Amia.”
    “I’m glad you called, Amia." I can hear the smile in his tone. Isn't that great? I can hear it. I. Can. Hear. "If you listened yesterday, you’ll know that everyone here wants to know all about you. Can you tell us a story?”
    It takes effort not to scoff at the image in my head. “Are we in kindergarten now? ‘Come on, kids, sit on the story circle.’” I don’t know why I’m acting so crabby. It’s not like any of this is his fault. I just don’t know why I should trust him any more than the reporters on my lawn.

    “If it’ll get you to talk, then, sure. We can be little kids.” He pauses for a minute, and when he speaks again his voice is different. More serious. "So, are you going to tell us your story?"
    I don’t answer right away. This is personal stuff. I’ve met this guy twice, and it’s not like he was super nice to me on the phone the other night. But I promised my sister I would. And if I break the promise, she’ll just keep bugging me about it until I finally cave. So I might as well get it over with, as uncomfortable as it might be. “I… I haven’t talked about it since the day it happened. So, if I start bawling, just end the call so I don’t make a fool of myself on the radio.” I don’t really want to announce to the whole world that I might cry, but I need to know he won’t just keep me on air.
    “Will you promise to call back another day, when you’re ready to talk, and finish the story? If I do end the call?” He doesn't try to hide the seriousness. For some reason, I'm relieved. And that's probably why I do what I do next. Because he acknowledges my pain, understands, before he's even heard it, that my story is no fairy tale.
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s hear it.”

 

Mikey

 

I listen in amazement as she tells me about the day she lost her ability to hear. Her voice wavers in several places, and I’m sure she has a couple tears rolling down her cheeks. But she keeps it mostly under control as she talks about the car crash and her aunt’s death. It only takes a couple minutes to describe the whole thing, but it feels like so much longer.
    At the end, she sniffles. “I don’t know how I got out of that car. The next thing I remember, I was in the ambulance. The doctors said I must have been in shock. But they told me I never lost consciousness. I didn't even notice that I couldn't hear anything until the shock wore off and my ears started hurting.”
    She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “When we went to the funeral, I cried so much that my eyes burned for days. I ran out of tears. My aunt was my best friend. And she was just… gone.”
    It’s quiet for a minute. I'm not sure how to react to something like this. I knew that it would be sad. I just didn't think it would be like this. 
    “Did… did you ever consider that what happened that day was a miracle?” I'm cautious, each word slipping out of my mouth slowly. I don't want her to think that I'm pushing God and my beliefs on her, because that's the best way to make people turn and run. But seriously. How else do you explain this?
    “Yeah. Because when your aunt dies, that’s the first thought that goes through your head.” Her sarcasm is bitter, like a punch in the gut, and I wince.
    I take a deep breath. I wait a couple seconds to answer her, because I don't want to snap at her and start an argument on air. “No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that part. I just… I can’t stop thinking about when you were in the car, under water.” Her life, from what I've heard so far, has been full of tragedy. But mixed into her story, I also see many wonders that can only be explained in one way- that God is working miracles in her life.
    She doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. “How is that a miracle?”
    “Think about it. You were six years old. The only adult with you was dead. Most six year-olds would just freeze up and drown, panic. They'd have no idea how to get out. But you got out of the car. You don’t remember it, but you must have gotten out, because you’re here now. The chances of that happening… Well I don't know the statistics but it can't be a big chance." My words start to get faster, stumbling into each other. I want to get it all out fast in case she decides to interrupt or hang up.
    “I’m not saying that you rose from the water and floated in midair until you got to the bank and they took you to the hospital. Not that kind of miracle. But…” I take a second to think. I want to choose my words carefully, so that she, and everyone else listening, understands. “God was definitely looking out for you that day. He knew that he would need you later. He has big plans for you, missy. He has from the start.”
    I can hear her crying softly. I decide it’s time to end the call. I look at the clock and see that I only have a few minutes left anyway.
    “Thanks for calling, Amia. But we're out of time.” I press the button to end the call and continue talking to the rest of the listeners. “If you have any more questions for Amia, email them to me, and we’ll see if she can answer them. Here's one more song for you guys.”
    I hit the play button and the Worship Jamz version of God of Wonders comes on. I start cleaning up my stuff. I leave the booth, push out the door into the evening air. I need to get some fresh air, clear my thoughts. Figure out what’s going on.
    Out in the parking lot, I stop by the car and leave my stuff in there. I grab a sweatshirt, and then I start walking. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to go somewhere.
    When Amia was telling her story, I wanted to wrap my arms around her, comfort her, make her know that it’ll be okay. It was more than that, though. I didn’t want to just comfort her so that she felt better. I wanted to hold her, for me.
   It was different from anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve liked girls, of course, dated a couple. But those were different. I always wanted to talk to them, to be doing something, anything with them. I never wanted to just hold them, to feel them in my arms. 

And it doesn’t make sense anyway. I don’t like this girl like that. I barely know her. But I still feel like, somehow, we have a unique connection. A strong one. Whether or not we’ll end up friends, or anything else, our lives are connected now. I’m the only voice she can hear. Conversations with me are the only ones she can hear. I can’t shake the feeling that, for some reason, God wants us in each other’s lives.
   I look around. I’m getting close to a neighborhood, and I decide to keep going. I’m not ready to turn around and get my car yet.

   I wander around the neighborhood, looking down at the ground. Looking back, I know I probably should have heard the footsteps. She probably should have felt me stomping around. I don’t exactly walk lightly on my toes. But we didn’t realize that anyone else was there until we bumped into each other. 
   “Woah. Sorry,” she says, barely looking up.
   “Sorry,” I mumble at the same time that she does. I had caught her so she didn’t fall, and I don't let go. I just keep a hand on her arm, and she looks up at me when I won't let go.
   “Oh. Hi, Mikey.” Her face is puffy and her eyes are red. She looks down and wipes a hand across her nose, wiping away snot. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
   I put my hands back in my pocket. I don’t want to tell her that I’ve been wandering aimlessly around, thinking about her. That doesn’t sound creepy at all.  “I live in that house on the corner.” I nod my head towards the house and she laughs. “What?”
   “You don’t live there. That's my house.” Oh.
    She starts walking again, and I fall into step next to her. Neither of us say anything. Eventually, we get to a playground. She sits on one of the swings and turns it sideways. I sit on the other one and turn to face her. 
    “I thought about what you said,” she tells me after a few seconds of silence. “About God’s plan, and how you’re convinced that every big event in my life is a miracle.”
    I nod, but don’t say anything. “And, I think you’re right,” she continues. Then she shakes her head, looking mad at herself. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't even know you." She looks down at the ground, and then back at me, but I have a feeling I know why. She feels it too. I’m the only one she can hear. Like it or not, we are connected in that way. "I’m still not sure about the whole God thing. With everything that’s happened to my family… Why would God do that to his children?” I consider stepping in and saying something, telling her that she's looking at it all wrong. But I get the feeling that that's not what she needs right now.
    She takes a deep breath. “But I realized that God must exist, in some way. Because without God, I wouldn’t be able to hear the radio. I probably would have died with my aunt if he hadn’t stepped in.” She studies her hands. “But I still don’t know that I want to worship this god, this being that watches over all of us. There’s too much evil in this world. If he’s letting all this happen… No. It’s wrong. I guess I know he's there. I just don't know if I like him.”
    I nod. “Well, I’m sad that you think of Him in that way. Hopefully, that will change. But I’m glad you thought about what I said. And I hope that you’ll realize God really does love you, and He doesn’t take people away from you to hurt you. He has His reasons. And sometimes, it's not exactly His choice. But He'll make sure that something good comes out it, somehow, somewhere along the line.”
    She nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “I won’t be able to listen to the radio tomorrow,” she says quietly, changing the subject. “I have to go to the doctor. My mom made an appointment with my doctor’s friend. He’s supposedly going to figure out what’s up with my ears.” She shrugs.
    I just nod. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. “So, are you going to tell me the real reason why you were sneaking around my neighborhood?” She looks up at me, a smile on her lips.
    “I just needed some fresh air. I wanted to think about some things. Today was kind of weird.”
    She nods. “Yeah, I just had a mini press conference on my front porch. My sister told me that I already talked a bunch on the radio, so I might as well just tell them about it, so they’ll leave me alone.” She exhales slowly, puffing out her cheeks. “I guess she’s right. But I wish people wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t like being the center of attention. And I like my privacy. The only reason I ever would have considered calling in today was because my sister made me promise to do it.”

"Are they still there? At your house?"

She shakes her head. "No, my mom threatened to call the cops if they didn't leave, now that they got answers. But I'm sure they'll be back to ruin my life again tomorrow."
    Before I can say anything, I feel rain on my face. It starts out slowly, but the raindrops start coming faster. In the matter of just a few seconds, it’s gone from sprinkling to outright downpour. “We should get inside.”
    “Good idea.”
    I decide to walk her to her house, so I know she gets home safe. We get inside and I shake the water out of my hair. She immediately goes to the couch and pulls a blanket around her shoulders. “Okay. I gotta go get my car. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” I give a little wave good-bye and turn back around to face the door. I really don’t want to walk all the way to my car in the rain, but I don’t want to bother the family.
    I start to open the door to leave, but she grabs my arm. “No way. You're not walking around town in the rain. We can drive you to your car. Let me go get my sister.”

Amia

 

“Lisa, will you give me a ride?” I poke my head into her doorway. She’s nodding her head to some kind of music while she does her homework- she's taking online classes with the state university. She gets up and turns the music down. 
    “Where do you need to go in a storm like this?”
    “Actually, I have a friend who went for a walk earlier and left his car somewhere. He needs you to take him to the car.”
    “Okay, gimme a second to freshen up.” She puts her notes aside and stands up to face the mirror.
    I roll my eyes. “Lisa, it’s not a date. We’re going to bring someone to their car. Let’s go.” She doesn’t argue. Instead, she rolls her eyes, grabs the keys, and follows me out the door.
    I get to the living room and Mikey is standing there, awkwardly trying to decide what to do with himself. “C’mon.” I motion towards the garage door. 
    We get in the car and I immediately turn the radio on. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mikey smile. No one talks except for when Mikey tells Lisa where his car is parked. We pull up next to the car and he gets out. It’s still raining, but not nearly as hard as it was earlier. “Thanks for the ride,” he says. “See you tomorrow, Amia.”
    Once we get home, I go to my room. I expect Lisa to go to hers, but she follows me. “Who was that?”
    “That was just Mikey.” It takes her a second to remember who he was, and she smiles.
    “He’s a lot cuter than he sounded on the radio.” She comes over and sits next to me on the bed, nudges me with her elbow. “And I think he likes you.” Her smile covers her whole face, and for some reason I want to smack her.
    I shake my head. “You got that from one car ride? Lisa, no. He’s known me for three days. You don’t like someone in three days.”
    She opens her mouth to say something, but I turn my head away, ending the conversation. “I have to do my homework now,” I say after a minute, and reach into my backpack. I don’t know if she says anything else or not. I start on my English and, after a minute, she leaves. I do my math and English, then start on Chemistry. When I’m done, I look at the clock. It’s past midnight. 
    I get up to turn off the light, then turn on the radio. Late at night, they play the classic worship songs that everyone knows. To mix it up, they just play the songs performed by different people. They are my only lullaby, and they’ve pulled me into sleep each night since I started hearing. I close my eyes as Michael W. Smith's voice comes to my ears, singing the song Breathe. 
   I try to stay awake as long as I can, to hear every note, all night. It’s sort of like making up for all the years when I could hear nothing. When I wake up in the morning, I regret not being able to stay up later.

    That day, my mom picks me up from school five minutes early. As I walk out of class, I roll my eyes. Why couldn’t she just pick me up when the bell rings? We drive to Dr. Lee's office, then sit in the waiting room for at least half an hour. For the first couple minutes, neither of us speak.
    Then, my mom turns toward me and starts telling me about her day. She talks slow, so it’s easy for me to read her lips. I concentrate on what she’s staying, but none of it really registers. I'm focusing too hard on trying to hear. It doesn't have to be a sentence, or even a word. Even just a syllable, just a single sound, would do. I even close my eyes, so that I really have no idea what she's saying. I lean towards her. Maybe I just need to get closer, and it'll work.
    I feel her hand on my shoulder, and I open my eyes. She looks concerned, and I instantly feel bad for worrying her. “What’s wrong, honey?” Still no sound.
    I shake my head. “Nothing, I was just thinking about something one of my teachers said in class today.” I tell her to finish telling her story, but she looks up to a space behind me. She nods, stands up. “Come on, honey. It’s time.”
    I follow her down a few hallways until we get to an examination room. To my surprise, the doctors are already there. Dr. Lee stands up when we enter and he shakes my mom’s hand. “So glad that you guys could make it. This is my friend, Dr. Abrams."
    I look at the man standing behind Dr. Lee. He’s tall, at least six-four. He’s skinny, with long fingers. His head is bald and plain glasses sit on his nose. He kind of creeps me out.
    For over an hour, Dr. Abrams runs tests and examines my ears. He takes notes every couple minutes, and as more and more time passes, his frown deepens. Finally, he’s done. He looks at his notes again, and then at my mom. He starts talking, but my mom stops him.
    “Let her see you talk, so that she can understand what you’re saying.” He turns toward me, rolling his eyes, as if he thinks that I don’t really need to know what’s going on. All throughout the appointment, he's acted like that. Like just because I'm deaf means that I can't make any decisions, that I won't be able to understand anything. I've been coming to the doctor regularly for ten years, I think. I can understand plenty.
    “I didn’t see anything that, I can really diagnose… I’ll take my notes home tonight and reread…” He glances at the papers sitting on the counter. “I might find something that explains…” He gestures to me. We talk with him for a few more minutes, but his broken sentences don't help me understand anything besides the fact that he has no idea what's going on. I can't help but think that this whole thing was such a waste of time and money. We learned absolutely nothing. 
    A few minutes later, as I’m getting into the car, my mom starts laughing so hard that the car shakes. “What?” Her eyes are closed, and her shoulders shake. 
    “That doctor… He was just… Why didn’t he finish any of his sentences?” She starts laughing again, and I laugh with her. It really isn't that funny, but we laugh because we don't know what else to do. 
    After a few minutes, she puts the car into drive and we go home. As we walk in the door, we both have large smiles on our faces. I look at the clock above the kitchen sink. It’s only 5:30. I still have time to listen and maybe call Mikey. I go to my room and turn on the radio. A song is playing, and at the end, I hear Mikey’s voice. 
    “Now, I’m going to start taking callers. Request a song, ask a few questions. Anything.” 
    I take a few seconds to decide that I for sure want to call in. I’m the second person that he answers. “Hi. It’s Amia.”
    His voice sounds surprised. “Oh. How was the doctor?”
    I think about the strange man. “It was weird. The guy was just kind of creepy and he kept trailing off at the end of his sentences. It seemed like a waste of time. He didn't even pretend to offer any explanations. And he was kind of a jerk.”
    “I’m sorry about that." And he sounds like he is. I close my eyes for a second. To be able to hear someone's tone of voice, to hear the emotion. It's something I don't want to take for granted. It's something I want to hold on to, in case it goes away. "Did anything interesting happen today?” 
    I think about it, but can't find anything interesting. "No," I say. "I freaked my mom out a little today, but I don't know if you could call that interesting. She was talking to me and I just wanted to be able to hear her voice, so I focused only on that. I even closed my eyes and leaned in really close to her." After it all comes out, I shake my head. Normally, I wouldn’t tell someone like him something so personal, so embarrassing. But things are easy to say around him. He’s the only one that I can hear, so I can’t deny that there’s some force that wants us to get to know each other, whether it’s God or something else.
    He laughs, and again I close my eyes. Even before I lost my hearing, I don't remember ever hearing a laugh like his. I love it. Of course, when I was six, I didn't really care what people sounded like when they laughed. If I could go back, I'd relish every sound. I'd close my eyes, sit still, and just hear. 
   I feel myself blush, even though I don’t know why. It's not like he could hear my thoughts about his laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my door push open. Lisa pokes her head in, and I turn to see what she wants. “Amia, you need to hang up and come downstairs. This is important.”
    I nod and turn back to the telephone. “Mikey, I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    He sounds disappointed when he answers. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”
   I hang up and toss the phone on my pillow. Whatever this is, it better be good. I go down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I can hear water running. My mom is rinsing off a plate, and Lisa stands with her back against the fridge. When she sees me, my mom turns the water off and turns to face me. She dries her hands on the towel, and her face looks... conflicted. She motions with her head to the table, and I look behind her.
    There’s a man sitting at the table, but he’s looking out the window. Something about him is familiar. When he turns around and I see his face, I take an automatic step back. 
    “Amia?” His eyes look soft, like they've been crying. But I know it's fake. He's not capable of emotions. If he were, he wouldn't have done what he did. I don't know whether I should run or scream or punch something. All I know is that I want this man out.
    I shake my head and look at my mom. “No. I don’t want him here.” I turn around to leave, but my mom grabs my arm.
    “Amia." Her face is soft, and I imagine her voice is too. She puts a hand on each of my shoulders and turns me to face her head-on. "I know you don't want him here. I don’t like him either. But he came all this way to make amends. He came to tell you how sorry he is. He wants to make things right with you. He never wanted to hurt you. He never meant to hurt any of us.”
    I look at her, incredulous. “I can’t believe you." I narrow my eyes at her. My anger has transferred to her now. How is she okay with this? "He ruined our family. He tore us apart. And now you think he really wants to apologize? How could you even let him in the house after all that he did? Are you blind? I thought I was the disabled one in this house. And then he comes back when he sees me on the news or reads about me in the paper? Give me a break. He's just going to turn around and do it all over again."
    She leads me out of the kitchen so that he can’t hear our argument. “Amia, I know what he did. He hurt me too. Don’t you remember how hurt I was?”
    “Of course I remember! That’s why I don’t want him here. Mom, he bailed on us as soon as things got hard. And now things are getting a little bit better, so he's just gonna step in like he never left? I don't think so. How can you just look past what he did?" When he left, he tore a hole in us. Not just in our family, but in all of us individually. He said that he just couldn't stand it, that he just needed to sort things out. Apparently in all the sorting he didn't think we were worth keeping.
    She winces, remembering that year. That was the year I lost everything. “I know, I know. But he’s different now.”
    I shake my head. How would she know? He couldn't have been here longer than a few minutes. An hour at the most. You don't judge someone's character in that time. There's no way you can. Not honestly. “No, he’s not.” We argue for the next five minutes, and finally, she talks me into talking to him.
    “You don’t have to became his best friend. Just talk to him. You'll feel better. He really is sorry, Amia.” I take a few breaths. Just breathe. In, out. Breathe. It'll be okay.
    I walk back to the kitchen and he stands from his chair. He has a small smile on his face, like he's actually happy to see me. Yeah, right. “Hi, Amia.”
    I keep my face straight. “Dad.”

Mikey

 

I get to school late, about twenty minutes into class. Even for me, that’s pretty bad. I slept through my alarm this morning because I didn’t get to sleep until really late. I just kept thinking about Amia, and I wondered why she had to leave.
    When I walk into the classroom, everyone just stares at me. I walk to my table and stare at the stack of papers. After a couple seconds, I pull out the answer keys and start grading papers and the class goes back to their work. 
    At the end of class, Amia comes to my table. “You look terrible,” she says. I just laugh.
    “You don’t look like you got too much beauty sleep either.” She shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are groggy, like she's having a hard time keeping them open. “So, why did you have to leave yesterday?” I pick up my backpack and walk backwards out the door. 
    She hesitates, like she doesn't know whether or not she should tell me. After a couple seconds, she sighs and says, “My dad came to my house. We haven't heard from him since I was six. When my aunt – his sister – died, he just kind of freaked. And he left.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry.”  But I know those two words do no good. Once again, I just want to comfort her. I don’t know what would make her feel better, but I feel like I have to try something.
    “Yeah. My mom made me talk to him. I just can’t figure out why he chose to come now. Why couldn’t he just stay away? We’re getting along fine without him. We have been for ten years. We don’t need him to come back again. He’s… he’s just going to hurt all of us, all over again.” We're at the Spanish classroom now. She stops walking and looks at the door. 
    Her voice shakes when she talks. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t let him back in. I can’t get hurt again. But how can I protect my mom and sister?” She lifts her head up and a tear rolls down her face. The look in her eyes shows that she hates this. Not just the situation, but that she's crying about it. That she's complaining about it to a boy she's known for less than a week. That she's showing her weaknesses out in public, for everyone to see.
    I step closer to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, half expecting her to push me away and take off down the hall. Instead, she hugs me back, wrapping her arms around my waist. I close my eyes for a moment as her arms tighten. “He left that year. I lost my dad, my aunt, and my hearing. All in a couple months. He had a choice. And he chose to leave me when I needed him the most." Her shoulders are shaking now, and people are staring at us. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do. What's the protocol for when a girl you've known for a few days breaks down on you?
   And then I remember how my mom used to cheer me up. I pull away from her for a second and wipe a tear off her cheek. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I grab her hand and pull her down the hallway. 
   She’s confused, but she follows me. It's probably more out of shock than an actual willingness to go, but I'll take it. I leave the building and head to the parking lot. She follows behind me, grasping my arm. “Where are we going?” she asks once I open the passenger door of my car. I just motion for her to get in. I’m a little embarrassed about the mess – I have water bottles, other trash, CD cases, sweatshirts, and basically anything else you can think of scattered across the seats of my car. She doesn’t say anything about it, so I don’t point it out with an apology .
   “You’ll see.” I give her a smile, to show that it's all okay and she has nothing to worry about. I drive out of the parking lot, down the road. I hand her my cell phone. “Call your mom. The school’s gonna call her during third hour, since that’ll be your second class that you’re absent. You might still get in trouble, but it’ll be better if your mom knows you’re okay, instead of spending all day worrying that you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.” I laugh. “Trust me.”
    She dials the number and hands me the phone. “You have to call her. I can’t talk on the phone.”
   “Oh, yeah.” I wait for her mom to pick up. After a couple rings, she comes on the line. 
   “Hello?”
  “Hi,” I say. “This is Mikey, Amia’s friend from school. I just wanted to call and let you know that I have Amia with me, and she's alright." I talk in a hurried voice. I don't know how her mom is going to react, and I don't want her to start freaking out because she's scared for her daughter's safety. "In a couple hours, you’ll get a call from the school.  They’re gonna tell you that Amia hasn’t been at school since first hour.”
   “What? Why?” Her tone is confused, but she doesn't sound worried or angry. I decide to take that as a good sign.
  “Well, she’s having a rough day.” I turn my head so Amia can’t read my lips. “I’m taking her out for ice cream at this place that my mom used to take me. I promise you, she’ll be safe the whole time.”
   She sighs. “Okay. As long as she’s alright." She sounds exhausted, which I assume is why she's allowing this. I don't know many mothers who are okay with their daughters ditching school with a boy she doesn't really know. "Do you know what time you’ll have her home?”
   “Um…. I don’t know. It probably won’t be too late, though. I have to be back for the radio show.”
   “Okay. Thanks for letting me know where she is.” She sighs, and I cut my eyes over to Amia. I guess no one in their house got much sleep last night.  
   I hang up and look at Amia. She’s glaring at me. “You could have at least let me see your side of the conversations, you know.”
   I smile. “But that would have ruined the surprise.” I reach over and turn the radio on for her. She glares at me for another couple seconds, and then she closes her eyes as the music fills the car. The first song is What Life Would Be Like, one of my favorites. I sing along as we cruise down the road.

I consider that I may have over-stepped my boundaries here, since I barely know her. But again, it goes back to this hearing thing. I feel pretty close to her, closer than a lot of people who I would even consider friends. Plus, she started crying in the hallway. I couldn’t just leave her there where everyone could stare at her. These may be poor excuses, but they’re all I have.
   I drive out of the city, into a small town past the outskirts. It takes a little over an hour to get there. We don't talk much, just listen to the radio. I drive through a neighborhood and stop at the fourth house on the left.
   She looks around. “Why are we here?”
   I shrug. “It looked like a nice neighborhood.” She rolls her eyes. 
   "Who are we here to see?" she asks.
   "My Aunt Bailey. Come on," I say. "You're going to love her. And she's going to love you." She stopped crying a while ago, but her eyes are still red and puffy. She looks like she just needs a nap.
   I knock on the door and wait for Aunt Bailey to open it. “Mikey! What are you doing here?” Aunt Bailey is one of my mom's best friends. She opens the door all the way and gives me a hug.
   “Hey, Aunt Bailey.” I motion towards Amia. “My friend’s been having a pretty rough day.” She looks behind her at the clock on the wall. It’s a little after ten.
   “A bad day already? Well, I know just how to fix it. Follow me.” Amia and I follow her inside. 
   I look at Amia. “Brace yourself.” By the time we get to the kitchen, Aunt Bailey is already digging in the freezer. I motion for Amia to sit at the breakfast bar and I grab bowls and spoons. “You are about to taste the best homemade ice cream in the world.”
   She rolls her eyes, and I just smile at her. I put two huge scoops in each bowl and slide Amia’s over to her. Aunt Bailey and I watch as she takes her first bite.
   Her eyes get wide. She shoves another spoonful in her mouth. Then another. Laughing, I put my hand on hers, stopping it in midair. “Slow down. You’ll get a brain freeze.” I take a bite of my own, slowly. She follows my example and eats the rest at a nice, slow pace. The next few minutes are silent as we eat our ice cream. I don't know if it's just me, but she seems to actually start to feel better. She looks better, at least.
   When she’s done, she takes her bowl to the sink. Turning towards Aunt Bailey, she says, “That was awesome. That was the best. Thank you.”
   Aunt Bailey smiles. “Of course, honey. Any time you want ice cream, feel free to come back here.”
   We all sit and talk for a while, and Aunt Bailey looks at her watch. “Okay, guys. I’m gonna have to kick you out. I have a dentist appointment today. I need to take a shower and get a few things done around here before I leave.” She smiles at Amia. "And honey, really, you are welcome over here any time." We say our goodbyes and Amia follows me out to the car.
   “Is she really your aunt?” she asks once I start the car.
   I shake my head. “She’s just my mom’s best friend from elementary school. She’s kind of like a second mom to me. When I was little, my mom had a part-time job at the hospital. She didn’t get home until an hour after school got out, so Aunt Bailey drove to our house each day and took care of me until Mom got home.”
   I’m turning out of the neighborhood now. “Where do you want to go? Home? School?” She shakes her head. “Just let me know. I’ll take you anywhere.”
   She thinks for a minute, looking out the window. It’s a beautiful day, and it hasn’t started to get cold yet. “Can we go somewhere where we can sit outside for a while? I still have reporters camped out in front of my house so I’ve pretty much been stuck inside the last few days.” I nod, understanding how she feels. I don’t have people at my house, but there have been people in front of the station. Of course this doesn’t keep me cooped up inside. So I guess I don’t know how she feels. I’m glad I didn’t say that.

I turn the car in the direction of a park that’s a couple miles away. I turn the car off and she hops out, heading for the carousel.

“I used to be so scared of these when I was little,” she says. “There were some older kids down the street and they would always spin it way faster than I was comfortable with. It was so scary when I’d just start to feel myself move to the outside. I thought I was going to fly off and get killed or something.” She laughs, running her hand over the metal. “I couldn’t stand those kids.”

I don’t really know what to say to that, so I just watch her.

She looks up at the sun and closes her eyes, bathing in the warmth. I sit down next to her, but it’s a few minutes before she says anything else.

“But my dad used to take us to the park, all the time. When we were little, he would take us and push us on the swings, catch us at the bottom of the slide. And when he was around, he wouldn’t let the older kids spin me too fast.”

“Do you ever miss him?” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I think that maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

She hesitates, and I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t want to answer. I’m about to tell her that she doesn’t have to answer when she starts to speak.

“I used to, when I was little. He was a good dad, from what I remember. But I was six. I missed him for a while, until I just got angry at him. And eventually I just told myself that we didn’t need him. That if he ever did come back, I’d never forgive him. And I don’t plan on changing my mind.” She watches my face, and I don’t know if she’s waiting for a reaction or for words.

After a few seconds, I decide to open my mouth and speak. I don’t know if it’ll be the right thing to say, but I figure it’s better than nothing. “Never? That seems a little extreme, don’t you think? I mean everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone deserves to be forgiven.”

She shakes her head. “That’s easy to say when you’re a rich kid with two parents who’s never been hurt by anyone or anything,” she snaps.

“Excuse me?” I yell at her. “You don’t know a thing about me!” Then, I realize that she can’t hear me, so there’s no use in yelling anyway. “You don’t know what has or hasn’t happened in my life. You don’t know who I’ve had to forgive.” I clench my fists. Who does she think she is? “And what makes you think I’m a spoiled rich kid?”

She just laughs. She laughs. I’m about to snap at her again when she speaks. She looks up at me, and I can see the hurt in her eyes. It’s that same hurt, that same sadness, that I saw in her picture just the other day. “Alright then. Tell me. Who’s hurt you? What’s so bad that’s happened in your life? Give me something, and I’ll consider forgiving my dad.”

I think for a few minutes. And the longer I think, the more I realize how great my life is. Sure, not everything is perfect. But I have two parents. I have a house, a car, and everything I’ve ever needed. I don’t have any real complaints about my life. None at all. She was right.

There was a chance that she could have been wrong, because she doesn’t know me. But she got lucky. She’s right. I’ve never had to forgive anyone for anything. No one’s ever done me wrong.

I look down at my hands, and then back at her eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She just shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s life.”

We sit for a while longer, and then we start talking about other things. We talk about her old friends, the ones from her old school. It seems to make her sad, and she tells me that she’s not very good at keeping in contact with people. “I’ve only talked to one of them this week. And I didn’t talk to her for very long. I don’t know what to say, so I just kind of don’t say anything,” she says.

I tell her stories about when I was little, hoping to make her laugh. It’s the least I could do, after yelling at her earlier.

Throughout the conversation, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I haven’t known her very long, but I’ve learned that she’s really not a happy person. She almost always has something negative to say about anything. Basically the only time she even seemed like she was in a genuinely good mood was that first conversation, when she could hear me. And that certainly didn’t last long. I listen to her talk, telling a story about her and Lisa as kids. Even though it’s a funny story, the sadness hangs on her, weighing her down.

Amia

 

We talk for a long time, and eventually Mikey looks at his phone. It’s a little after 1:00.
    “What do you want to do?” I shrug, then look at the road in front of me. 
   “I dunno. I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t want to go back to that place. Not right now." Everyone saw me cry today. My pride needs some healing time. 
    He nods. “Alright, then. Do you just want me to take you home? You look tired.”
    I feel my head move up and down, without me making it. Really, I don’t want to go back home. There will be too many questions there. But I get in the car anyway. He's already done enough, missing a day of school to drive me around, sitting at the park for a couple hours doing absolutely nothing. He'd probably just leave me right here if he thought he'd get away with it.

After thinking that, I shake my head. I should know better by now. I don’t know this guy very well, but it’s obvious that he’s caring. If he’s the kind of guy to do all this with me today, he’s not the kind of guy who would just leave me somewhere when he decides he’s done making me feel better. Coming to this realization, I hide my smile from him. For as long as I can remember, I’ve pretty much looked for the worst in people. I’ve only known Mikey a few days, but his actions have already gotten me to at least think twice about assuming the worst.
    It takes a little over an hour to get back to the city, and he starts to drive right to my house. As we get close, though, I lean forward in my seat so that I can see my driveway. Amidst the reporters that are still camping out, waiting for their story, is an old, beat-up, red truck.
    “No,” I say, and sit back. “Don’t take me home. Just keep going. I don’t care where you go. Just don’t take me home.” 
    He reacts by pressing the gas pedal further towards the floor. The car accelerates. He takes a few turns to get out of the neighborhood, and then drives to a park. I can’t imagine that he actually wants to spend any more time at a park today, but neither of us knows where else to go.
    He stops the car, takes the keys out of the ignition. But he doesn’t get out. He looks over at me. “Are you okay?”
    I nod. “Yeah. I… that was my dad’s truck. I can’t go there. I can’t see him. They can all pretend like he's such a great guy. But I'm not going to.” I don’t want to talk about this again today. I’ve already talked about my dad more in the past day than I have in the past year.
    Mikey gets my attention by tapping on my arm. I watch his lips as he speaks. “Do you wanna swing?” He points to the swing set by the playground. I smile and nod. Even when I was little, swinging always helped me relax.
    We start out on separate swings, racing to see who can get the highest the fastest. Then he jumps off his swing, gestures for me to do the same. I simply shake my head.
    “Why not?” he begs. I’ve always been afraid of jumping off the swings. Visions of bloody skin and broken bones flash across my eyelids. No. I won’t.
    I start to drag my feet on the ground, slowing the swing. Once I’m stopped, he walks over to me. “It’s three. I have to get to the station at 3:30.” 
    I didn’t realize that so much time had passed. But I know my dad’s still at the house. I can’t go back there. Mikey must be reading my mind, because he takes a step toward me.
    “Do you want to come to the station with me?” I might have said no. I might have had him take me to my grandma’s house or something like that. 
    But it happened. His last word, “me.” I heard it. Loud and clear. Like I was listening to the radio, only it wasn't. He's right here, in front of me. And. I. Heard. Him.
    So I accept his offer. It's like I found a little bit of magic, and I want to hold on to it for just a little bit longer. We get in the car and head to the studio. He leads me down a few hallways. “Hold on,” he says, and then he steps into a room. There is a man at a desk, but he doesn’t look up. After Mikey closes the door, he apologizes. “Sorry. I had to tell my dad where I was all day, since the school most likely called him. I’ll probably get in trouble for it later.” He shrugs. “Oh, well.”
    We go into a room and he sits down in a chair. He pats the one next to him. “Take a seat. You can help me host this show.” He leans toward the computer. “Let me just… hook up the speakers in here to the radio…” He opens a drawer and pulls out little speakers that plug into the computer. “That way, you can hear what’s going on. He flashes me a big smile, and I give him a small one. 
    This is all a lot to take in.
    I’m still trying to figure out what my dad wants. I know that he doesn’t just want a relationship with me. His timing proves that. So there must be something else. 
    But I’m also thinking about Mikey. I’ve known him for, what? A week? And he ditched school all day to waste gas and spend money on me. And then, he could have just dropped me off at home. Why didn’t he?
    He takes his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna go call your mom and let her know where you are, so she isn’t worried.”
    He steps out and I look around the room. I turn the speakers on so that I can hear the radio. It’s just going through one of their playlists right now, and I scroll through the long list of songs that they have in the computer. 
    I see one that sounds like I might like it. Smiling, I click on it. I don’t know if I’ll get in trouble for this, but I don’t care. I lean back as I hear the notes come through the speakers. 
    “I’m begging you
    I’m begging you
    I’m begging you 
    To be my escape.” 
    Mikey comes in then, and looks at me. He glances at the computer, where “Reliant K- Be My Escape” is highlighted. Then, he looks at the clock on the wall. It’s 3:30. He shrugs, and doesn’t say a word. 
    When the song ends, he leans in towards the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Boy, do I have a surprise for you.” He smiles over at me.
    “I have a co-host tonight.” He moves the mic over towards me, and motions to it. 
    “Hi, guys,” I say, and I hear my voice, delayed and shaking, through the speakers. “It’s Amia.”

We play lots of songs, many that I don’t even remember right after they’ve ended. Every few songs, Mikey will stop the songs to say something, asking me to share a few words as well.
    Finally, it’s time to take calls. I know that most, if not all, of the calls will be about me. It will be just like the reporters, but this is different. I’m willing to answer these people, to tell them my story. It makes a difference that these people aren’t camped out on my lawn. Also, the fact that it’s over the radio seems to make it better.
    “Hey, you’re our first caller. Tell us your name?”
    “I’m Tess,” I hear. She sounds pretty young. “I have a question for Amia.”
    I lean in and speak. “Hey, there, Tess. What do you want to know?”
   “First, I want to tell you how exciting this is.” Her voice gets high-pitched, almost a squeal. “Your story… it’s so awesome! My whole family started listening to the radio, just so we could hear you.” I feel a smile on my face. “So, my question is, what is it like only being able to hear the radio?”
    I take a deep breath and think for a moment. “Well, it’s nice, in a way. I mean, it’s definitely better than not hearing anything. I always have the radio on, because… well, it’s calming.
    “But sometimes, it gets annoying. I mean, it’s kind of teasing me. I can hear some person, who I’ve never met and maybe never even heard of before, singing on the radio, but I can’t hear my mom and my sister, who I love more than anything. Of course, it’s nice to hear something. But there are times when it’s important for me to hear something else, and it’s impossible. Does that make sense, why it’s so frustrating?”
    “Yeah, I understand,” she says after a second of hesitation.
    Mikey leans towards the mic. “Thanks for your call, Tess. Next caller, you're on the air.” He presses a button. "What's your name?"
    “This is Connor,” I hear. He has a deep voice, too deep to be a teenager. “I just want to thank Amia. Now, you might not think that you did anything, but you’ve been an inspiration.” He takes a deep breath. “My daughter was born deaf. She’s never been able to hear anything. But she read in the newspaper that you are able to hear the radio.”
    He laughs a little. “You’ve become her hero. She doesn’t think that she’ll miraculously be able to hear the radio. But she is so fascinated with your story. We listen to the radio each night, and I sign everything to her. She loves it. I’ve never seen her so happy. I want to thank you for that.” 
   I don’t know what to say. “Um… you’re welcome, I guess. I’m glad that my story has… touched people, I guess.” I had no idea that people actually cared, other than to keep up on the latest gossip.
    When Mikey cuts to the next caller, it’s a teenage girl. She asks me what it’s like to be deaf in a world full of noise. Of course I don't really have much of an answer for her. Since I can't hear, the world to me isn't "a world full of noise." It's just the world. Another call is a group of girls who just want to say hi.
    I lose track of all the calls, all the names and conversations. But the whole time, I am amazed at all these people, how interested and inspired they are by my story.
    When the show is over, I just stare at the computer. For a couple minutes, Mikey doesn’t say anything. 
   Finally, he taps my shoulder. “It’s time to go,” he says. I nod, but don’t say anything.
   He takes me back to my house. My dad’s car is still there, but I just sigh. I figure it’s time for me to face him. I'll have to do it eventually, so it might as well be now.
    I still don’t get out of the car right away. I turn to Mikey. “Thanks. For today. For everything.” 
    He shrugs. “It was nothing.”
    I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t nothing. Today was a lot of help. I think…” I look toward the house. “I think I can handle my dad now.”
    He nods. I look out the windshield, exhale slowly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    I get out of the car and head into the house.
   I go straight to the kitchen, where Lisa and my mom are huddled, talking to each other. I go to the fridge and grab a water bottle. They stop talking and look at me. I roll my eyes.
    “Did you have a good day?” I smile and nod. My mom nods, then glances at Lisa. “Well… I hope you don’t mind that your dad will be joining us for dinner.”
    I sigh. “I figured that, since his truck is still here.”
    Lisa cuts in, “Yeah, well, he’s been waiting for you all afternoon.” She looks annoyed, but I can't tell if she's annoyed by me or my dad. 
    I just shrug. I don’t regret avoiding him for one afternoon. He avoided me for ten years. 
   I hear the bathroom sink running down the hall, and in a couple minutes I see my dad walk into the kitchen. 
    He has bags under his eyes, and he looks frustrated. Good. 
    We sit down with our meals and for the first few minutes, no one says a word. 
    Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I put my fork down and look at my dad. 
    “Why did you leave us?” It’s a question that I didn’t ask him last night, but it’s a question that I need answered. It’s a question that used to haunt me, keep me awake at night. I used to think that there was something wrong with me, that my dad didn’t love me enough to stay, or even keep in touch.
    My mom faces me, but her eyes are focused on my dad. “Amia, please, not at the dinner table.”
    I ignore her. I’m looking at my dad, waiting for an answer. He just looks confused.
    “Uh… well, um… Amia, I need you to know that it wasn’t easy for me to make that decision.”
    I snort at his reply. “But it was easier than staying with us?”
    He takes a minute to answer. “Um… well, no. Of course not. If it means anything to you, there isn’t a day that went by that I didn’t regret leaving.”
    I roll my eyes. “So you regretted it, but it took you ten years to come back? Am I supposed to believe that you really lived ten years of your life, hating every minute of it? Did you realize that you missed out on over half of my life? More than half of Lisa’s?"
    He nods slowly. “I’m sorry. Every day, I wanted to come back. I wanted to fix things. But I was too ashamed.” He looks into my eyes. It takes all my strength not to run away and cry. “I thought about you guys every day.”
    “I didn’t think about you,” I say almost immediately. It’s a lie, of course. Every Fathers’ Day, every father-daughter dance. Any time I needed something that required two parents, or Mom was too busy, I thought of him. But I can’t let him know how much he’s damaged me. “I didn’t think about you once.”
    No one says anything for a couple minutes, but no one eats either. We all just stare at our plates. Finally, I speak again. “Why did you leave? I want a reason. Don’t change the subject again.”
    He sighs. “It was hard for me, Amia. My sister died that year! She was my best friend. It was hard to lose someone that close to me. And then we were having money problems, and your doctor’s bills added to it and…” He stops. “I didn’t know how to handle it all. So I left. I wasn't leaving my family. I was leaving everything- all my problems. I was blinded by my grief, and I didn't see that you guys weren't the problem.” 
    I nod slowly. “I get it. It’s not like she was my aunt, and we weren’t close at all. It’s not like I was in that car when she died. And you know, I hadn’t just lost all my hearing. I wasn’t trying to learn how to read lips, learn sign language, go to a new school where other people had been deaf their whole lives. Of course not. And you and Mom were having money problems, but Lisa and I weren’t. We didn’t need you guys to be there for us.” 
    I’ve been staring at my plate this whole time, but now I look up at him. “That car accident took so much away from me. Don’t you remember that I wouldn’t go on that bridge anymore? Did you know that I still can’t stand to be anywhere near it, after ten years? Last time we tried, I almost had a heart attack.” I shake my head. “We needed you. And you just left.”
    I stand up and walk out.
    I go through the front door, and then I find a flaw in my plan. I have no idea where I’m supposed to go.   So I just turn left and walk towards the park where Mikey and I went before the storm.
    I sit on a swing, pump my legs back and forth. I get high, higher, higher. I look down at the ground. 
    I think about jumping. Almost do it.
    But… no.
    I can’t.

Mikey

 

Dinner’s fun. Even though he didn't say much earlier, my dad is pretty mad at me for skipping school. When he tells my mom, she’s even more pissed than he is. 
    “Explain why you feel you have the right to just leave school.” My mom studies my face, waiting for my answer.
    “Amia needed to get out of there. Her dad came back last night, and she started crying. I couldn’t just let her go to class like that. I took her to Aunt Bailey’s and then we went to a park until it was time to go to the studio.”
    When my dad told my mom that I ditched, I heard him say that he was just going to let my mom deal with it. Now, he looks up from his plate and starts talking. That didn't take long. “That’s another thing that I’m not too happy about. You know that you’re not supposed to bring people into there.”
    I just roll my eyes. They are completely missing the point. My mom looks like she’s ready to slap me. “Her dad came back? Where was he? Why was he gone?”
    I shrug. I want to tell her that it doesn't matter, it's none of her business. “She hasn’t told me the whole story." I hesitate before going on, because I know that it won't make my mom happy. "I just know that he left them when she was six.”
    She slowly shakes her head, sad for the family. “And you say they don’t go to church?”
    Again, missing the whole point. I nod. “Yeah. Sometimes her sister goes, but that's it. Now can we get on with my punishment, instead of talking about her? None of this is her fault. She didn’t ask me to skip school and take her somewhere.”
    My mom shakes her head. “I don’t want you hanging out with that girl anymore.” I wasn't expecting that. My mom has never been approving of people who get a divorce, or of kids whose parents are divorced. She doesn't think that it's possible to raise a good kid without the help of both parents. I've always known that, which is why I was reluctant to tell her about Amia's dad. I just thought she'd be judgmental, but I didn't expect her to tell me I can't talk to her anymore.
    “What? Why? She didn’t do anything wrong! I practically had to drag her out of the school.”
    Her head is still moving from side to side. “She doesn’t go to church. Her parents are divorced, Michael.  She’s obviously not a good influence for you.”
     I just laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Mom, you can’t blame her for her parents’ failed marriage. That’s not her fault." I've only known her for a short time, but I'm already way too attached to let just stop talking to her. Besides, that's the last thing Amia needs right now. She needs a friend. "And just because she doesn't go to church doesn't mean she's a horrible person," I add. 
    My dad glares at me. “Michael, your mother is right. Without both parents around, she is obviously not getting the right kind of guidance that a teenager needs. And if she doesn’t go to church, then she is missing out on a very crucial part of life. She can only bring you down.”
     I shake my head. They must be joking. I didn't realize they were this judgmental. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t be banned from talking to her.” This is ridiculous. I can’t believe this. Since when is it the Christian thing to abandon someone in need?
    My mom, instead of continuing the argument, pretends like I have agreed with their decision. “I’m sure you’ll agree that having your driving privileges taken away for a while is a suitable punishment.” She pauses for a second. “And clean your room. You know, Michael, you’re not a little kid anymore, and I’m not your maid. Your room is a pig sty and it needs to be cleaned. You know better.” Of course she’d use this as an excuse to tell me to clean my room. She’s always bugging me about that. I shake my head. Now I’m missing the point.
     “And, you don’t get the radio for a week.” My dad waves his fork at me. 
    I had expected the car to be taken away. Not only did I ditch school, but I’ve been arguing with my parents since they started talking. But the radio too?
    I keep my mouth shut. I know that arguing will just make it worse. I just look down at my plate. After a couple seconds, I decide that I’m not hungry and take my plate to the sink, then go to my room.
    I lay on my bed for several hours, thinking about my punishment. I can’t understand why they think Amia is at fault. I sigh and roll over to look at the clock. It’s 11:15, but I know he’s still up.
    I dig through my pocket and dial Joe’s number on my phone. There have been a few times where I needed someone to cover my spot at the station, and Joe's always up for it.
     He answers on the fourth ring. “Mikey?”
    “Yeah,” I say. “Hey, Joe, would you be able to fill in for me for this week?” 
   I hear him laugh. “A whole week? You must have really pissed your dad off. Sure. But what did you do to get it taken away for that long?”
    “I ditched school and then I brought someone into the studio.” I hear a door slam on the other end of the line, and Joe says something to someone. Then, he turns his attention back to me.
    “Why did you bring them in?”
   “She was having a bad day and-“
   “Oh. I see.” If we were talking face to face, he’d be winking at me, and I know he has that look on his face. The one that says, “I know what you were up to in there.” Of course, he knows it wasn't anything like that, but he's still going to tease me about it. 
    I ignore this. “So you’ll do it for me?”
    “Yeah. 3:30-5:30, right?”
   “Yeah. Thanks, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

In the morning, Amia isn’t at school. I keep waiting for her to walk in with a note from the office, but she never does. 
    In each class, my teachers ask me where I was the day before. It's not normal for me to not be at school, especially since it's an unexcused absence. But I just mumble something about being sick, and try to pay attention. It's not that easy, though. For some reason, I keep worrying about Amia. There's a large part of me that keeps saying that it's okay, she's perfectly fine. But a small part knows that something could have gone wrong. 
    When the final bell rings, I’m slow getting out of the school. I usually leave in a rush, but since I’m riding the bus this week, I take my time.
   By the time I get to the parking lot, there aren’t many people left, except for the ones riding the bus. I head to my bus and on the way, I see a girl standing on the cement, waiting for someone. I jog over to where she is. “Where were you this morning?” I say after she looks at me. 
    Amia looks tired. “My mom made us all go out to breakfast together, since dinner last night was a disaster.”
   I nod. “I’m sorry. About your dad. About everything.” I don't ask her what happened at dinner – she doesn't look like she's in the mood to talk about it. For a few seconds, it's quiet. Looking around, everything is still. People aren't talking, and cars aren't pulling up. I can’t hear anything. I wonder what it’s like for it to be like this all the time. 
    "Um... so I'm grounded," I say, breaking the silence. For me, anyway. "So I won't be on the radio this week."
    She gives a small nod. "Sorry for getting you in trouble. But thanks for taking me. It made me feel a lot better. But I really am sorry that it got you in trouble."
    I shake my head at her. "No, it's not your fault at all. It was all me. Plus, I sat there and argued with my parents and made it worse." I really don't want her to feel bad or think that she got me in trouble.
    She looks behind my shoulder and waves at someone. I turn around and see Lisa in a car. “I gotta go,” Amia says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave at them as they pull away, and then turn around and get on the bus. 
    I exhale slowly as I climb the steps. I hate the bus. I dodge the middle schoolers and find a seat in the back, where hopefully I won’t be bugged by anyone. Usually, I don't mind socializing with people. But when I'm forced to ride the bus, I don't want to talk to anyone. I end up getting the seat to myself, and when the bus starts to pull out of the school parking lot, I slip my headphones on and drown out the noise. I hate the bus.

 

For the next couple months, Amia and I become close. There aren’t any more ditch days, and we don’t see each other much after school. The reporters move on after a while, and neither of us read anything that they published. We start texting every once in a while, until eventually we pretty much text each other every day. It’s nice to have a platform where we can get to know each other without the audience at school or on the air. Once I get to radio back, she calls every day.
    And that’s what brings us close. It’s definitely not because we have so much in common – she’s the deaf girl from a broken home, I’m the Christian kid with married parents. She never trusts anyone until she has a reason, while I try to see the good in people and trust them until I have a reason not to. She’s generally a gloomy person, and I like to look at the bright side. But despite these differences, we get along really well. She and I have experienced two very different sides of humanity, so we balance each other out. Opposites attract, right?

The radio is where we really get to know each other. I still feel that special connection to her, since I’m the only one she can hear. She seems to feel it too, and I can tell that she’s more comfortable with me than she is with other people. We talk about our likes and dislikes, tell stories from our childhoods. We discuss our opinions on current events, and every once in a while we’ll talk about religion in some shape or form.

We tease each other, and I make it my goal to make her laugh at least once a day. I know that she sees the world as a dark place, and I make it a priority to bring at least a little bit of light to her. As time passes, it becomes a little easier to make her laugh. I discover that, underneath the serious and calloused attitude, she’s actually a lot of fun.

It doesn’t take long for her to go from the stranger who can miraculously hear to one of my best friends.
    My parents try to get me to stop talking to her, but I refuse. Not just for my sake, but for Amia's too. What would she think if I just told her I couldn't talk to her anymore? What would she think if I told her what her mom said about her? It would crush her, and I won't do it to her. Plus, this girl is miraculous. And I'm determined to get as much time with her as possible. I would be lying if I said that curiosity about her situation had nothing to do with getting closer to her. But the more I know about her, the more grateful I am that God put her in my life.
    My mom continues to be mad about it, but my dad gave up after a couple weeks. He realized that he won’t always be able to boss me around, so I’ll have to figure some things out on my own. I have a feeling that the increase in listeners also has something to do with it. 
    On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I stop her before she leaves Chemistry. “What are you doing this weekend?”
    She shrugs. “I don’t know. My dad will be over tomorrow for dinner. After that I’ll probably just be at home.”
    I nod. “You’ll still be listening to the radio, right?” She nods. “Okay. Are you doing anything on Sunday?” 
    She thinks for a second. “No, not that I know of. Why? What do you have in mind?”
   “My parents are leaving on Saturday morning. They’re going to visit my grandma for a couple days, and I decided not to go. I was just wondering if you’d go to church with me.”
    She starts laughing, and at first I don’t know why. We’re in front of my second hour, but I stop and wait for her answer. 
    “You really are strange, you know that? Maybe you’re just really out of the loop or something, but most kids throw parties when their parents are out of town.”
   I shrug. “Yeah, I’ve been to some of those. Cheap booze and beer pong, lots of weed. Been to one, been to ‘em all. I like to shake things up a little bit.” I smile. “So will you go with me?”
    She thinks about it for a minute. “Can we sit up front, where I can read people’s lips?” I nod. “Alright. I’ll go.”
   “Cool. I’ll pick you up around 7:30, okay?”
   She smiles and nods. “See you then.”
   When I walk into class, everyone is looking at me. "Am I late?” I whisper to the people who sit around me. I don’t remember the bell ringing.
   “No,” says Courtney, a red head who I’ve known since kindergarten. “We’re just all wondering when you’re finally gonna ask her out.”
   “Amia? She’s my friend. That’s it.” I’m not sure why this has to be a class discussion. I start taking out all my stuff, but they aren’t done with this.
   “Come on, dude. We all know she wants you.” This from Kevin, our school’s resident dealer. 
   Before I can answer, Mr. B. tells us to quiet down so he can get the class started. He turns to the girl behind me and asks, “Donde vives?” and no one says another word about Amia and I.

 

Amia

 

In between the impromptu ditch day and Thanksgiving, Mikey and I get to know each other a lot better. It starts to feel like I’ve known him for years. Even though he hasn’t been through most of the stuff that I’ve been through, he always finds something to say or do that makes me feel better. He doesn’t try to act like he knows exactly how I feel, as if he’s been through all of this too. But even though he doesn’t understand it all, he still is able to comfort me.

I find that it’s always easy to talk to him, and we don’t ever have awkward silences. I’m instantly comfortable around him, and when I’m talking to him it’s easy to forget about our audience. I’d be lying if the fact that he’s the only one I can hear has nothing to do with me making the daily phone call. But as I get to know him a little more, it becomes more than that.

Of course, it’s not like we have much in common, at least not the big things. We like the same music, and we have the same opinion on pizza toppings and ugly dog breeds. But at the beginning, I don’t expect us to be anything more than acquaintances. We just have too many differences. He’s the Jesus freak raised by his perfect, married, Christian parents. I don’t even know if God exists, and my dad disappeared for ten years. He automatically trusts everyone, but I recognize that not everyone is a saint and I don’t want to get hurt because I trusted someone before I had a reason. He sees everything with rose colored glasses, but I prefer to see the world for what it really is: a dark place full of dark people.

But I have to admit that when I talk to Mikey, somehow the world does seem a little lighter.

And the light is refreshing. I still don’t completely trust it, but it feels nice to have conversations with someone where I feel safe, where I know I don’t have to keep my walls up in order to not get hurt.

So when Mikey invites me to church with him, I don’t really consider not going. I want to experience what he experiences, witness where he gets his light. And I’m flattered that he wants to share such a big – but personal – part of his life with me.

When I get home, I still have a smile on my face. Lisa looks at me and raises her eyebrows, surprised.

“What are you smiling about?” I just shake my head.

“Don’t worry about it. Where’s Mom?”

“She’s in the laundry room.” Lisa goes back to watching TV and I walk down the hall.

“Mom? Are we doing anything on Sunday?” I lean against the door frame and watch her fold clothes.

“No, I don’t have anything planned. Why?”

“I’m going to church with Mikey. I just wanted to make sure it’s okay with you.” She stops folding.

“He’s Catholic, right?” I nod. “I don’t know, honey.” And here it comes. We’ve had conversations about this a few times in the past. Sometimes I wish I’d never told my mom about his faith.

“What do you have against him?”

“I don’t have anything against him. I think he’s a wonderful boy and a great friend for you. I just don’t like his religion. And I’m not sure that I want you going to a Catholic mass.”

I shake my head. “Mom, please. I haven’t stepped foot in a church in ten years. And I really haven’t wanted to. But now I do. This is important.”

“Why? Why do you suddenly want to go to church? Why is it suddenly a huge concern?”

I look down at the ground. “I gave up on God. I stopped believing that He even exists, let alone loves me. But recent events have brought back that faith in Him. He never gave up on me. And I know there’s a reason. I want to find that reason. It might help me if I go to church.”

She sighs. “Alright. On one condition. I don’t want you converting.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to one mass. I’m not joining a convent.”

The next day, my dad comes over at around 10. He gives my mom and sister a hug, just like he always does.

He tries to give me a hug too, but I turn around and leave him standing alone. He moved to the city, sure. He sees us more often, and he actually does act like he might be sorry. But he hasn’t tried to help Mom pay bills or anything. No child-support at all. He also “borrows” money from my mom. It’s never more than twenty dollars at a time, but it all adds up.

He also hasn’t really apologized for leaving us. He’s said that he regrets it, but he hasn’t ever said that he’s sorry. Or that he won’t do it again. Mikey always tells me that I should give him a chance, but I just can’t.

When he’s around, I don’t say much. When I do talk, I use sign language. I usually don’t use sign language because it makes me feel like I don’t belong. At my old school, everything was signed. But at home, I always speak. For some reason, it makes me feel a little better to at least keep the illusion that I’m a normal kid.

Now, I sign so that my dad is left out of the conversation. My mom translates for him, but I know that it bugs him. I know it’s not very nice or mature, but at this point, I don’t care. I don’t want him here, and I don’t get why my mom and sister are so willing to forget the last ten years in just a few months.

He goes into the kitchen, where Mom is cooking. I go into my room and turn the radio on, to distract myself from what’s going on downstairs.

A few hours later, Mom sends Lisa up to get me. “Time for dinner.”

I stand up and trudge down the stairs. I grab a small plate, even though there are four big plates set out. I dish turkey and mashed potatoes, and a scoop of green beans. While everyone else is still dishing, I go to the table. All the other stuff – yams, stuffing, cranberries – is disgusting to me, so my plate is always bare compared to everyone else’s.

When they all get to the table, they all start digging in. I stop them. “Aren’t we going to pray?”

My mom looks confused. “We never pray, Amia.” Her voice has a hint of annoyance in it, like she doesn’t understand why I would suggest that we say a prayer.

“But it’s Thanksgiving. I just thought…” I look over at Lisa. She’s the only one who’s really kept believing in God all these years, so I’m hoping that she’ll back me up. Honestly, I’m not really sure why I suggested it myself.

She nods and grabs my hand. “She’s right.” My mom and dad slowly join hands and bow their heads.

Lisa starts praying, but I don’t try to follow what she says. Instead, I close my eyes and say a prayer of my own. I thank God for my family, my home, and all that I have. I thank him for putting Mikey in my life. “And, Lord, thank you so much for never giving up on me, even after I gave up on you.”

I look up and everyone is staring at me. Lisa squeezes my hand, and then we all drop our hands.

All throughout dinner, I don’t say much. I watch my mom and Lisa and my dad, and each minute, I get a little more tired. I don’t get how they can just let him come back into our lives.

After we’re all done, I stand up. I have to leave. “Mom, can I go to bed? I don’t feel good.”

“Of course, honey.” She hugs me and kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

I go upstairs and I turn on my radio. Because it’s a holiday, Mikey won’t be playing anything today. But the music calms me down.

I’m alone in my room for a few hours when Lisa comes in. “Amia, what’s wrong? Why can’t you just get along with him? It’s Thanksgiving.”

I don’t answer her. I don’t want to talk about my dad and what he’s done. I turn over and face the wall. I focus on the music coming from the radio.

And then it stops. I turn to Lisa, glaring. “What was that for?”

She shakes her head, clearly disappointed in me. “I know he hurt you, Amia,” she says. “I know you’re mad. But he hurt me too. And don’t you think Mom was hurt? You saw how she was when he left. She was crushed. But he’s back now. He’s trying to be a dad now. So why won’t you let him?”

She looks sad. I didn’t think about how the silent war between my dad and I would affect Mom and Lisa. But I still can’t let him in. “I don’t trust him.” I reach over and turn the radio back on and face the wall, ending the conversation.

For the next two days, not much happens. I get an email from Martha, one of the girls from my old school. She moved a couple years ago, but we still keep in touch. I send her an email back, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving.

That’s pretty much the only time I talk to anyone besides my mom, Lisa, and Mikey.

The phone calls with Mikey are pretty simple. We tell stories, and we talk about family. On Saturday night, at the end of the show, Mikey stops in the middle of his story.

“I’ll have to tell the rest later, because I don’t have time to finish it now.” His voice gets quiet, almost worried. “You still going to church with me tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I tell him. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” He exhales, almost like he’s relieved that I haven’t changed my mind. Was he worried that I would do that?

After I hang up, I go to my closet and figure out what I’m going to wear. I haven’t been to church in so long, I don’t even know if I have any clothes that I could wear.

I rustle through my drawers and my closet for a few minutes, until I find something nice. I lay everything out on my bed, and I smile.

My black skirt, the one that Lisa got me for Christmas last year. It goes to my knees, so it’s not too short. Then I have my purple shirt, with the black around the neckline. I haven’t worn it in months.

For shoes, I’ll wear my mom’s black heels. I smile again, and move my outfit to the chair by the window. Set my alarm, and then I go downstairs for dinner.

My mom is the first to talk once we sit down with our food. “So, Amia, are you still going to church in the morning, with Mikey?”

I nod my head, and my dad stops chewing. “Mikey? Who is that? Have we met him?”

I roll my eyes. I’m annoyed that he’s even here at all, and then he goes and acts like he’s the caring father that I’ve never had. I’m about to tell him that it’s none of his business, but Lisa beats me to it.

“Who do you think it is? The only person that she talks to? You know, that one that’s on the radio station?” By looking at her face, I can tell that she’s annoyed. “And it doesn’t matter if you’ve met him or not. He’s taking her to church. He’s obviously not a thug.” I’m surprised that Lisa would stick up for me like that. I guess even though she’s okay with him being here, she’s not ready for him to step in and make parenting decisions.

My mom shakes her head a little bit, but I can’t decide if she’s frustrated with Lisa or my dad. Lisa looks over at me and I give her a small smile, a thank-you. My dad doesn’t say another word for the rest of the meal.

Mikey

 

When I look at the clock, it’s 7:15. I bolt out of bed and rush to throw some clothes on. I’m late. I’m really late. Luckily, I took my shower last night. I hurry up and get dressed, shave, and hop in the car at 7:32. I knock on her door at 7:40. I breathe a sigh of relief. Only ten minutes late.

Lisa opens the door. “Hi, Mikey,” she says. “Amia’s almost ready. This is like the one time that she’s ever been late.” 

I smile. “Thanks.” She leads me to the kitchen, where she’s eating cereal.

“Do you always get up this early on weekends?” She looks like she’s never been up this early in her life.

“Only on Sundays. When I was little, we lived in a different part of town, and mass was at seven. So this isn’t too bad.” I lean against the counter. “Don’t you go to church? Amia said that you’re the only one in the family who still does that.”

She smiles. “It doesn’t start until five in the evening. I can sleep in as late as I want.”

I hear footsteps, and I turn towards the doorway. Amia’s there, in a black skirt and purple shirt.

“Sorry for making you wait,” she says.

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. We have plenty of time. I just like to get there early, especially if you want to sit up front.”

We say goodbye to Lisa and head out the door. As we drive to the church, I explain a couple things. “There are lots of times when you stand, sit, or kneel. Just do what everyone else does, and you’ll be okay. And there’s communion, where you-.”

“Mikey. Focus on getting us there alive, and then you can tell me all of this. Okay?”

I look at her face, which is pale. Her hand is wrapped around the door handle so tight that her knuckles are white.

“Sorry,” I say. I’d had my head turned so that she could read my lips, so I wasn’t able to watch the road as well as I should have been.

In a couple minutes, I park the car in the church parking lot and we walk in through the big doors. Once we’re seated in a pew, I start whispering to her.

“Okay. So stand, sit, and kneel as we do. For communion, you can either stay here in the pew or you can go up with me. If you go up with me, you’ll get a blessing from Father. And you’ll walk like this,” I cross my arms, making an X across my chest, “to show that you aren’t receiving communion.”

She nods as I talk. “And, pretty much, just listen, enjoy, sing along with the songs.” I hand her a song book, flip to a page in the beginning. I realize that she might not actually sing, but she’ll probably want to read along with the lyrics instead of just standing there.

“I’ll let you know when we get to this prayer, and you can follow along with the readings here,” I flip to another page. “And all the songs are numbered.” I point to the sign up at the altar that tells which songs we’ll sing.

A couple minutes later, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around and see Joe with his mom, dad, and sister. “Where are your mom and dad?”

“They went to see my grandma and grandpa,” I answer. Joe nods once, and then motions to Amia.

“Who’s your friend?” He smiles. “You’ve never brought a girl to church before.”

“It’s Amia. The girl from the radio. The deaf one.”

“Oh.” His voice gets a little louder, now that he’s not concerned with her hearing our conversation. “So you guys are pretty close, huh?” I nod. “That’s cool.” He taps her on the shoulder and she turns around. She seems a little startled that anyone is behind us.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Joe reaches his hand over the back of the pew, and she shakes it, confused. “I’m Mikey’s cousin,” he explains. “And he’s kind of my best friend.” He leans in closer to her. “So, you know. Back off.”

She tries to smile a little. She looks at me, and I gently push Joe back. “Ignore him,” I tell her. “He’s kind of a spaz.” She’s more relaxed now, and I introduce her to the rest of my family.

“This is Mary, Joe’s little sister. And Aunt Ruth, and Uncle Henry.” They all nod as I whisper their names. “This is Amia.”

Aunt Ruth frowns. “Is this the girl that your mother told me about?” I roll my eyes. She shakes her head. “I can imagine how upset your mother will be about this.”

Uncle Henry puts a hand on her arm. “Let it go. It’s not your responsibility to take care of him.” He looks at me and winks. “Now, you just enjoy your time with your girl.”

I turn back around and Amia smiles at me, but it’s still a little confused. “Does he think that you are I are dating?”

I sigh. “I think they all do. Which means I’ll probably get lectured by my mom about you and-.”

“What? Does your mom have a problem with me? Did I do something wrong?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later. But mass is about to start.”

 

After communion, I pull out the kneeler, fold my hands, and bow my head. But I don’t really pray. I just think about Amia, how she seems to really be enjoying herself. All my other friends who have gone to church with me have commented on how boring it is. But she seems to really enjoy it. Of course I don’t think that means she’ll get baptized tomorrow, but still.

After the final song ends, we exit the building. I stop to talk to a few of my parents’ friends, shake hands with Father Steve. “This is Amia, that girl that I told you about,” I tell him.

He grabs her hand and smiles. “It’s so nice to meet you, Amia,” he says. “You’ve made quite the impression on this young man.”

As we walk to the car, she lightly punches my shoulder. “You told him about me?”

“Of course,” I say. “Father Steve is a close friend. I used to be an altar server, up until just a couple years ago. And he’s been over at our house for countless dinners. He knows my whole family. Plus, he’s a priest. Of course I told him about the girl whose life is full of miracles.”

Once we get in the car, she exhales, long and slow. “What did you think?” I ask her.

A small smile appears on her face. “I really liked it. A lot. I felt like… Once I was in there, everything, all my problems went away.” She talks about how, a couple times, she wasn’t able to tell what was being said, but it was still worth it. “Can I come again next week?”

I nod and smile. “Of course you can. But for now, do you want to go home, or do you want to go get breakfast?” I look at my watch. “It’s about 9:20.”

Her stomach chooses that moment to let out a deep growl. “Alright, breakfast. Where do you want to go?”

She shrugs. “Anywhere is fine with me. On one condition. You have to remember to tell me why your mom doesn’t like me.”

“Okay,” I sigh. I pull out of the parking lot and drive a few blocks down the street to a little diner.

We walk in and are seated at a booth next to a window. There are waitresses on roller skates and ‘50’s rock and roll comes through the speakers.

Picking up a menu, I say, “They have lots of milkshakes here. They’ve got caramel, vanilla, banana, chocolate, and a bunch of other ones. Go ahead and order one. I know it’s kinda early for lunch, but you won’t regret it.” She nods, and turns her attention to the menu.

After a few minutes, she puts the menu down. “I know what I want,” she says. Once I close my menu, she looks around at the rest of the restaurant. “This is a cool place.” She puts her hands on the table, palm facing down so that she can feel the vibrations. “What kind of music are they playing?”

I tell her and she nods, then folds her hands. “Are you going to tell me about your mom now?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a waitress skating over to our table. “After we order,” I tell Amia.

“Hello,” says the waitress. “Welcome. What can I get for you today?” We order, and after she leaves, I look at Amia. She’s waiting for my explanation.

“You really don’t want to know. It’s not anything that matters, and none of it is anything that you’ve done wrong.”

“No, Mikey. I need to know. You’re…” She hesitates, takes a deep breath. “You’re my best friend. And we’ve known each other for several months and I’ve never even met your mom. I think I have a right to know what people say about me.”

I shake my head. “Okay. But it’s totally ridiculous, irrational, and just plain rude for her to think this way.”

Her eyes are on my lips, concentrating. “She doesn’t like that you’re not only not Catholic, but you don’t go to church. And the other thing is that your parents are divorced. So she thinks that you have no morals or structure in your life and that you’re a bad influence.”

She nods, her face solemn as she takes it in. After a couple seconds, she smiles, and then starts laughing. “She’s gonna get a real wake-up call when you go off to college.” She shakes her head slowly. “You’ll have way worse people hanging around you than me. And she won’t be able to stop you then.”

My head is tilted to the side a little, and I smile at her. I had expected her to get defensive, or just not say anything at all. But, like she always does, she surprised me.

We talk for a while, and then the waitress comes with our food. Since it’s only 10 or so, the restaurant is pretty empty. As she sets our plates down, she starts a little conversation.

“How long have you guys been dating?”

Amia was looking at her plate, so she didn’t hear the questions. “Oh,” I say, “No, we’re just friends.”

She winks at me. “Don’t worry. You’ll be out of the friend zone eventually.” She glances over at Amia, who’s trying to figure out what she missed.

“When the waitress leaves, Amia kicks me under the table. “Why did she look at me like that?”

I shrug, even though she knows I’m lying. “She just asked if I wanted fry sauce.” Amia reaches for the bottle of fry sauce that’s sitting by the napkins.

“Really? Even though there’s a full bottle right here?” She’s trying to be stern, to keep an angry look on her face, but it doesn’t last. I make a funny face and she laughs.

“You’re a turd,” she says. I just smile.

Later on, I drop her off at home. “I had an awesome time,” she says. “I’m going with you next week.”

I nod in agreement. “Sounds good to me.” I watch as she gets out of the car and walks up the driveway.

She turns at the door and waves, and I wave back. As I’m pulling out into the street, I think about what the waitress said. Do we really look like a couple? Do we act like a couple?

Amia

 

At school on Monday, I keep thinking about mass, and how beautiful it was. I couldn’t hear the music or the prayers or the sermon, but it all calmed me down. There was an atmosphere of reverence surrounding everything they did. All day, I just think about next week, when I’ll go back.

That night when I call Mikey, we talk about it. “I didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, but I really enjoyed it. All the tradition that’s wrapped up in everything, all the people who really, truly believe in that church. And I felt so calm when I walked into the building, like I could really feel God’s presence.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Well, I’m so glad that you liked it. Most people just think that it’s boring.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell my mom that I enjoyed it so much. She’s worried that I’m going to become a nun or something. For some reason she’s really against Catholics, and I still haven’t talked to her about going again. But I really want to.”

“What was your favorite part about it?”

The sound comes through my right ear, where I hold the phone, instead of through the radio speaker. I take the phone from my face, hold it in front of me. “How…?” This is the second time that this has happened with Mikey. First it was one word, but this time I heard a full sentence. “I don’t…”

“Amia? Amia, are you still there?” This comes from the radio, not the phone. I slowly put the phone back up to my ear as he calls my name again.

“Um… yeah. I’m here. I, uh… Sorry. What did you ask me?” The words still echo in my head. I know exactly what he asked me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that sound out of my head. But I need an extra couple of seconds to gather my thoughts. How is that possible?

He sighs, but it’s more relief than frustration. “What was your favorite part about going to mass?”

“Oh. Um… I guess being part of something bigger? I… I don’t really know what the Catholic Church is all about, and I didn’t understand a lot of what was going on. But, uh, it’s nice to know that you’re participating in something that’s, um, so much bigger than you, even if you’re just a guest.”

Through the radio, I can hear how distracted I sound. I shake my head, try to clear all my thoughts.

Mikey must notice it too, because his next sentence is addressed to the listeners. “Okay, it’s time for some more music. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, Amia.”

He plays a song, something by Skillet. I know that he must have hung up, so I put the phone down. I lay back on my bed and close my eyes, listening to the music. I think about my hearing. Am I going to be able to hear everything someday? Or will it just be the radio, with a few exceptions? Will I lose it all?

The next day in first hour, Mikey taps my shoulder. “What happened yesterday? You kind of scared me. You sounded so distracted, like… I don’t know.”

I look around at the classroom that’s filling up. “I’ll tell you later. There are too many people here, and I don’t want them all to hear.”

He nods, then goes to his seat as Mr. Thomas comes in from the lab. I try to concentrate on electrons and blocks and dot notation, but several times I lose concentration. It doesn’t help that I can feel Mikey’s eyes on my back the entire time.

When class is over, I stand up and walk over to Mikey. “Come on,” he says. “I want to hear this.”

We find a spot in the hall where there aren’t many people. “Yesterday, I heard you. Not just on the radio. On the phone.”

It takes him a minute to register what I said. A smile breaks across his face. “Amia, that’s amazing! How did you…? I don’t get…” He stammers out a few more sentence fragments. “Have you told your mom?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I haven’t decided if I will or not. She’d overreact.”

He laughs. “Maybe she’d react just the right amount. To me, it seems like you’re underreacting.”

“If you think I’m underreacting now, just wait. Because… that’s not the first time that it’s happened. Remember when I went on the radio with you that day? I heard you then. Except that was one word. This was a whole sentence.”

His just stands there, not saying anything. “Close your mouth before a cow flies in,” I tell him, and then start walking down the hall towards my class.

He runs after me and gets in front of me. “Can you hear this?” he says, and I laugh.

“No, I can’t. It won’t happen like that. But I’ll tell you if it does happen again.” He nods. “Now you need to get to class. And I do too. I’m going to be late.”

I push past him down the hall. “Talk to you later,” I call over my shoulder.

For the rest of the day, I think about telling Mom and Lisa. Why haven’t I told them? I think about what would happen, how they would react. They would only blow it up and make it a bigger deal than it really is. Hearing one sentence? That doesn’t mean anything. Mom would make me go to more doctors, but they wouldn’t be able to tell me, just like they weren’t able to tell me anything before.

I finally decide not to tell them.

That night as I’m doing my homework, Lisa taps my shoulder. “We’re going to the store,” she says when I look at her. “Do you want to go with us or stay here and finish your homework?”

I think for a second. “I’ll go with you guys.” I grab a pair of shoes and hop into the car with Mom and Lisa.

Once we get there, my mom sends me to get some milk. While I’m walking toward the dairy section, I run into someone. “Hey,” he says. It takes me a minute to recognize who he is.

When I remember, I smile. “Hi, Joe. How are you?”

He holds up his milk and smiles. “Got my calcium to build nice, strong bones, so I’m good. How are you.”

“I’m good.”

“Are you coming to church with Mikey on Sunday?” I nod and tell him that I might even start going every week. “That’s cool. So how are you and Mikey doing?” He winks, and I blush.

“Um… we’re not… we aren’t together.”

He smiles and bobs his head up and down. “I know. I’m just teasing you. Mainly because I know that he likes you.”

How am I supposed to react to that? “Oh.” I look at the gallon of milk in my hand, and then back at Joe. “Well, I gotta go now. See you Sunday.” He waves goodbye as I walk away.

Mikey likes me? He doesn’t act like it. He just acts like my best friend. He doesn’t flirt with me, doesn’t try to make any moves. I decide to just ignore it. There’s no point in stressing over it.

The next day at school, I pay extra attention to Mikey. I search his face, watch his body language. I look for any signs that Joe spoke the truth.

When I find none, I’m surprised by the disappointment I feel.

Mikey

 

“Here’s a softer song, but I still think it’s pretty great. It’s about coming together, acknowledging the beauty of God, and becoming stronger through our faith. Might as well start now, because it can only get better. Here’s City on Our Knees, by Toby Mac.”

I hit the play button and lean back, loving the music and loving my job. Of course, it’s not a real job. My dad refuses to pay me for this. But I can turn this into a real job later, right?

I concentrate on the chorus, then the last few seconds. I click the next song, and then think about the last couple days.

Amia’s been looking closer when I talk, almost like she’s searching for something. Her eyes switch from watching my mouth move to looking into my eyes, at my hands, my feet. What is she searching for?

I also think about Sunday. I still have to talk to my parents about bringing Amia again. I sigh and lean forward, creating a playlist of songs.

A little while later, I lean into the mic. “Alright, now it’s time for a phone call from our regular, Miss Amia Chasor.” I press the button to answer her call, and I listen as she greets me and everyone else.

“So… did it happen again?” I ask.

She waits a second before answering. “No. It didn’t.” She seems disappointed.

“Are you going to tell your mom and Lisa about it?” I think she should, but it’s not my choice.

“No, I decided not to. They’d just make an even bigger deal out of it, you know? I’d have to go to four billion more doctors, and none of them would be able to figure out what had happened. Well, they wouldn’t find any scientific explanation for it. So it just doesn’t seem like something that would be worth all that time and money and broken heart. So I won’t tell them. Not unless it starts happening more and more, then I’ll tell them. But for now, no.”

I nod, wondering if it will happen again. Then, I look at the calendar. Three more days.

“So, you’re coming with me on Sunday, right?”

“Yes. I haven’t asked my mom yet, but I’m planning on going. I just don’t know if she’ll be very happy. She’s kinda one of those people who just… doesn’t like Catholics.”

I laugh. I don’t know why, because it’s not funny. “I have to talk to my parents too. Because they’re the kind of people who don’t really like anyone who isn’t Catholic.” I never expected that from them, that they could be so closed-minded and exclusive.

“Cool,” she says. That single word drips with sarcasm. “So, basically, our parents are going to do everything they can to make sure that we don’t go to church together. Makes sense, right?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah. Makes perfect sense.” Even though I try to not let it show, my parents’ disapproval of Amia frustrates me in more ways than just that she’s my friend and a good person. There’s a part of me that hopes that, eventually, maybe she’ll be more than just a friend. But if my parents hate her, and her mom hates me, it seems like that would just be more work and frustration than anything.

We talk for a few more minutes, and then I start playing songs again.

At 5:30, I get all my stuff together and walk out the door. My dad is waiting for me in the hall.

“What is that you wanted to talk to your mother and I about?” He sounds annoyed, tired. Maybe I should stop talking about my parents on the radio.

“I’ll tell you when you guys are together. It’ll be quicker and easier that way.”

He shakes his head. “Your mom’s not going to be home until pretty late. Can you just tell me?”

His forehead has a crease in it, and he looks deflated. It seems like he has quite a bit going on, so I tell him. There’s no point in causing more crap for him to deal with.

“Amia went to church with me on Sunday. And she wants to go again this weekend. I’m taking her no matter what. I just want to know if I’m allowed to sit with you guys or not.” I probably shouldn’t snap at him like that, but I can’t help it. I’m fed up with their condescending attitudes.

He rubs his temples. “Your aunt told us about that. Not that she wants to go again, but that you took her.” He sighs. “I don’t mind. I think it’s great. But your mom might not be so understanding. I’ll talk to her about it, but you have to talk to her too.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand why it would be a problem. Isn’t it good that she wants to come to church? That’s something that we should all be happy about, not something that we have to think hard about and consider.”

“Michael, I don’t want to hear about it right now. I have no problem with it. I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now, so I want you to let it go for right now. Understand?”

I nod. “Yeah. So, since mom won’t be home, do you want me to get some spaghetti going?”

He shakes his head. “No, I have some stuff that I need to take care of here.” He haphazardly points to his office. I know he must be tired. “Just go ahead and make whatever you want. I’ll just stop by the drive through on my way home.”

I leave him standing there and go to my car. That’s weird, I think. My parents never stay late at work on the same night. One of them is always with me. Not that I can’t take care of myself. But family is important to them.

I shrug it off and drive home. I dig through the fridge, and find nothing that sounds good. Grabbing my phone, I dial Joe’s number.

On the fourth ring, he answers. “What’s up?”

“What are you having for dinner?”

He makes a weird noise, like he’s choking on something. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“My parents are both still at work. Tell your mom that I’m coming over for dinner.”

“Okay. When are you leaving? We’re just having chicken noodle soup, and it’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

I grab my keys and start walking to the door. “Okay. I’m leaving right now. Tell them not to wait for me before eating.” I feel kind of bad for inviting myself over on such short notice, but I know that Aunt Ruth will mostly be glad to see me. It’s been a while since I went over there.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to their house, and they’re just sitting down when I walk through the door. I quickly gab a bowl, dish some soup, and sit down next to Uncle Henry. We all join hands and bow our heads. “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Joe digs in. I pick up my spoon and look into the bowl. “Is this Grandpa’s recipe?” Aunt Ruth nods. “Yeah! I made a good choice coming over here tonight. I’ll take this over frozen chicken nuggets any day.” My grandpa makes the best chicken noodle soup. Aunt Ruth and my mom are the only other ones who know the secret.

After a few minutes, Joe looks at me. “I saw Amia at the grocery store.” The smile on his face worries me.

“What did you say to her?”

He shrugs. “I just asked if she was coming to church on Sunday.”

“And what else did you say to her?”

He pretends to search his memory for something else he might have said. “I think that’s it.” I know that there was something more, simply because of the goofy grin on his face. But before I can say anything, Aunt Ruth joins the conversation.

“What is the story with her?” she asks. “Your mother told me a little about it, but she wasn’t sure on all of it either.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t want to tell them the whole story, every detail. I quickly decide what’s important and take a deep breath. “Well, she went deaf when she was six. Her aunt died, her dad left. She lost everything that year, which caused her to lose faith. A couple months ago, her sister was listening to my radio station, and Amia was able to hear it too. She called, and we talked. Then her mom put her in public school and it just so happened to be Capital High. I’m a TA for her first hour, and we just became friends.”

Mary’s head is tilted to the side. “Why can she hear the radio?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. The doctors couldn’t find anything. Her eardrums still have holes in them. The only explanation anyone can think of… is that it’s a miracle. That, for some reason, God wanted her to hear.”

No one says anything for a few seconds. “And she can only hear the radio?”

I consider telling them what she told me, about being able to hear me sometimes when I’m not on the radio. But instead, I simply nod. They don’t need to know that. “That’s one of the crazy things about it. She can only hear my station. That’s one of the reasons why I talk for so long with her, when the other callers only get a minute or so. She has no other time when she can hear someone talk to her. And it gives her a chance to hear her own voice.”

“Why doesn’t your mother like her?” asks Uncle Henry. “She sounds like a nice girl. Hardly a bad influence.”

I sigh. He’s right. For a second, I’m torn between defending my mom and sticking up for my friend. I decide to just tell them the truth and let them decide who’s right.

“One day she was having a bad say and I took her out of school. We just hung out and then I took her to the station, which is against my dad’s rules. Then I was arguing with them later. So I got in trouble and Mom said it was her fault because she’s a bad influence.”

“That’s bull,” says Joe. “I’ve only talked to her twice, but I can already tell that that girl is the nicest person I’ll ever meet. Your mom is just crazy.”

I don’t say anything, just look at my bowl. On the inside, I agree. But I’ve learned not to say anything bad about my mom in front of Aunt Ruth. I have a pretty short temper sometimes, but when it comes to her little sister, Aunt Ruth’s is even shorter.

We all talk for a while, and I help with the dishes. “I have to go,” I say, giving Aunt Ruth a hug. “I have some homework that I need to get done. Thanks for letting me come over.” I say my goodbyes and walk out the door.

When I get home, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table. “I thought you were going to be home late.” I look at the clock on the wall. It’s not even 7:30. She looks exhausted, but she gives me a weak smile.

“I thought I was going to be late too. But then Mr. Murphy died in his sleep. I just told everyone that I’d see them later and I left. I couldn’t handle it.”

I walk over to give her a hug. She’s known Mr. Murphy since she was a kid, and he was admitted to the hospital a few months ago. They spent three months trying to figure out what was wrong, and another month deciding that there was nothing they could do for him. So they just let him die, giving him painkillers so he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t have any living relatives, and my mom was the only one who visited him.

I stand by my mom, hugging her, for several minutes. Neither of us say anything. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt, and I can hear her sobs.

After a few minutes, my dad walks through the front door. He walks right over to us and grabs my mom, gently pulls her close to him.

“I just got your message. I’m so, so sorry.” He rubs his hand along her back, and her sobs calm down. I leave, figuring that my dad has it covered.

I go to my room, turn on my music, and forget about the rest of the world.

 

Amia

 

Finally, it’s Friday. I wake up, get dressed, and head to school, ready for the weekend.

After first hour, I talk to Mikey as we walk to our next classes. “Did you talk to your parents about Sunday? My mom said I could go. Of course, she said that after an argument that lasted over an hour.”

He looks kind of distracted when he answers me. “Yeah… my dad said he doesn’t care. But I didn’t ask my mom yet. This old man died yesterday, and she’s known him since she was a kid. I figured I should probably wait to ask her.”

I nod. “That’s probably a good idea. Let her know I’m sorry, and I hope she feels better.”

He just nods. “I will.” We’re at his class now, so we go our separate ways. I hope he’s okay.

 

When I get home, there’s an envelope with my name on it on the kitchen table. There’s no address, just my name. It looks a little worn-out, like it’s been around for quite some time. “Mom, do you know what this is for?” She comes into the room, looks at the envelope, and sits down in a chair.

“Sit down,” she tells me. I sit down and wait. I’m a little scared about what she’ll tell me. She looks sad and worried. “Do you remember much about your aunt?”

I shrug. “I remember that she was always singing and dancing. She always had a smile on her face.” My mom nods. She waits for me to say something else, but I can’t. Her smile and her singing voice are what I remember most about her. I remember other things too, but as far as I know, they were things that only happened once or twice. I always had fun with her, and she was one of my favorite people.

“Well, she was a very strong woman, and she loved God. We all stopped going to church when she was gone because… she’s really the only reason we ever went to begin with.” She shakes her head. “But that really doesn’t have much to do with the letter.”

She clears her throat. “When you and Lisa were born, she wrote you guys a letter. She was going to give them to you on your sixteenth birthdays. When she died, they were given to me, and I was supposed to give them to you.”

I keep my eyes on her as she points to the letter in my hand. “I would have given it to you on your birthday, but I didn’t know where it was.” She starts laughing. “I was so scared when I thought I lost it. But I finally found it.” She stands up and gives me a kiss on the top of the head. “I love you.” I stare at it, wondering how careless she had to have been to lose something so important. I want to be angry with her. What if she had never found it, and this was lost forever? This letter, these words from my aunt, would have been gone, and I never would have even known that they existed. But deep down, I know that being angry with her wouldn’t do any good. I have it now, and that’s all that matters.

I take the letter up to my room and open the envelope. I start to unfold it, so that I can see the top. All I can see is the date – August 4th – and my name. Her handwriting is pretty messy, with lots of letters running into the others. But it’s hers, so I don’t care. I unfold it a little more, but stop before I see any of the words. I can’t do this by myself.

I reach over and turn the radio on. After the song ends, I dial the number for the studio.

“Hey,” I hear through the radio. “How are you today, Amia?”

I take a deep breath. “Um… I’m good. I guess. I just got a letter from my aunt.”

“I thought your aunt was dead.” His answer is quick, but confused.

“She is. My mom told me that on the day I was born, she wrote me a letter that she was supposed to give me when I turned sixteen. My mom just gave it to me now.”

“What does it say?”

I shrug, more for my benefit than to answer him. I’m sitting on my bed, legs crossed, the letter in my lap. “I haven’t read it yet. I don’t think I can do it alone.” When I say it out loud, I want to cringe. I sound so helpless, like I’m nothing but a pitiful little girl.

“Well, you’re not alone now.” I instantly relax, and I feel a smile on my face. Even though he’s not actually here, I feel a lot less alone, just with that one sentence from him. “Are you ready to open it?”

I flip the letter over a couple times. “I’m ready.” But I don’t move. The letter remains folded in my lap.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” His voice pushed me along. It gives me the strength I need to unfold it.

“’My Amia,’” I read. “’You are such a strong, beautiful baby. I know that as you get older, your beauty and strength will stay with you, and there is nothing that you won’t be able to do.

“’You won’t get this until you are a teenager, and I hope it’s not too late. I don’t know what will happen in the next several years, and I hope that nothing takes away that sparkle in your eyes, the smile on your lips. I hope that you remain child-like in your faith, even throughout the years when you’re supposed to know everything. I wish nothing but the best for you, and I pray that nothing happens in your life to take away your happiness’” I take a deep breath. I can feel the tears coming.

“’I can’t wait to give this to you, to see-.’” I stop again as the tears slide down my face. “’To see you grow up into the beautiful young lady that I know you will be.’” I take another deep breath. “Mikey, I can’t… I can’t finish it. I just… I miss her too much. Nothing has turned out the way she wanted it to. And it feels wrong for me to read this when she’s not here.” This letter wasn’t meant to be something that I read as I sit alone on my bed, after she’s been dead for ten years.

The radio is silent for a few seconds. The silence is so long that, for a moment, I get scared that I can’t hear anything anymore. Then, I hear Mikey’s voice. “She wrote it for you to read when you were a teenager. These are her thoughts on the day that you were born, and she wrote them down so that you can read them, no matter what. Even if she’s not here. This is for you.”

I take a minute to compose myself. “I have to go. I can’t…” I break down again, take the phone away from my ear. I press the end button as my tears drop onto my hands.

“This isn’t officially a Christian song, but I don’t think anyone will mind me playing it. I know that there’s at least one of our listeners who needs to hear it. Here’s Rascal Flatts with Stand.”

I put my phone on the desk and the letter in the drawer. I was not ready to read that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

I go lay on my bed and curl up, listening to the radio.

Mikey takes a couple more calls in between songs, and I listen to all of them.

“Hi, this is Jenna. I just want to tell Amia to stay strong, and know that she can do anything, as long as she walks with God.”

“I’m McKayla. Amia, just know that we love you, and that we hate to see you sad.  Cheer up, say a little prayer, and just relax for a while. You’re strong, and you can do anything.”

“My name’s Brad. My aunt died of cancer when I was ten, and she left tons of letters that she wrote for all of my family. At first, it was hard to read them. But when you’re ready, Amia, you’ll be able to. Don’t be afraid of that piece of her. And no matter what happens, keep your faith. Because with that, you can do anything. Anything at all.”

They all have song suggestions, and I try to pay extra attention to each word. I know that these songs were chosen for me. The words of the listeners just make me cry even harder.

After the show is over, Lisa comes into my room and sits on my bed. “When Mom gave me my letter,” she says, “I didn’t read it for four months. I felt like it was wrong for me to read it when she’s been gone for so long.”

Her hands are in her lap and she takes a deep breath. “But, then I finally decided to go ahead and read it. And it was a strange feeling, thinking that each word had been chosen just for me. And I made it to about halfway down the page before breaking down.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish by telling you all of this. I guess… just wait. Wait until you’re ready. And it’ll be easier. The words that she chose for you will mean more if you’re ready to read them.”

I sit up and wrap my arms around my sister’s shoulders.

“I just miss her so much, Lisa. I can’t… She was the person who I looked up to the most. I know that I was only six, but I loved her. We were close. And when she died, she took everything. She took my hearing, my dad. And because of that, I lost any foundation that would lead me to have faith in God. I shouldn’t have had to lose any of that.”

“I know,” she says, in a calming, soothing voice. “I miss her too.”

After a couple minutes, Mom comes into my room. “Honey,” she says. “How are you feeling?” I just shrug. “Well, there’s someone here to see you. Why don’t you go wash your face, and then come downstairs?” I nod, but I’m confused. Who’s here to see me?

Mikey

 

As soon as the clock hits 5:30, I’m out the door. I stop by the store, grab some hot cocoa. I remember her telling me that her aunt would make hot cocoa when she was sad. Maybe this will cheer her up.

I finally pull up in front of Amia’s house. The kitchen light is on, and I can see her mom at the sink. I grab the can of powdered cocoa mix from the passenger seat and head to the door. I knock twice, and her mom comes to the door.

“Oh. Hi, Mikey,” she says. “How are you?”

I nod my head a little bit. “I’m good. Um… it Amia here? She was really upset and I just wanted to check on her.”

She notices the can in my hand. “Is that hot chocolate?”

“Yeah. She said that when she was sad, her aunt would make her some.” I look down at it. “Um… I guess I didn’t really think it through all the way. I don’t have anything to make it with. I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

She opens the door wider and steps aside. “Come on in,” she says. “She’s up in her room. I’ll get you some milk and a pot and go get her while you get it started.”

She has a smile on her face as I walk past her into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and a cabinet and pulls out milk and a pot. “Here you go. I’ll be right back.”

I turn the stove on and pour some milk into the pot. Now, the only thing to do is wait.

After a couple minutes, Amia comes down the stairs, followed by her mom and Lisa. I can tell that she’s been crying.

“Mikey? What are you doing here?”

I shrug. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I uh… I brought you some hot cocoa.”

She steps towards me and wraps her arms around my torso. She holds on, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders. I feel her body shudder as she takes a deep breath. After a couple more seconds, she lets go and looks into the pot. I haven’t put the chocolate in yet. She turns around to look at me. “Thank you, Mikey. Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing,” I say. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, and you’re not spending your Friday night alone in your room crying. You can still cry, if you need to. But you won’t be alone.”

She hugs me again. “Thank you so much.” This hug lasts longer, and when she pulls away, I don’t want to let her go.

A few minutes later, we all have a mug of hot cocoa. Lisa gives Amia a hug, and says she has to go to her room. “I’m behind in all my online classes,” she explains as she leaves the kitchen. “Thank you for doing this for her, Mikey.”

After she’s gone, we all talk for a while. I talk to Amia’s mom about what she does for a living, and she asks me about my plans after high school.

“I’m not really sure,” I say. “My mom and dad ask me all the time, since I’m graduating in May. But I don’t know what I want to do, so it will be hard for me to decide where I want to go.”

She just nods. She stays for a few more minutes, then decides that she’s going to go do a few things in her room.

And then it’s just Amia and I. It’s silent for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she says. “You have no idea how much this has helped me.”

I just shrug. I don’t feel like I did anything spectacular. “I just did what anyone else would do. I came to make sure you’re alright. And I remembered what you said about her making you hot cocoa, so I stopped by the store and grabbed some. It’s nothing. Really.”

She nods slowly. “You don’t think that you did much. But you did. Before you showed up, I couldn’t find a single good thing about today. But now? I’ve been reminded that I have family and friends who love me. What more could I want?” She looks at her mug for a second, and then back at me. “And tonight is just a small sample of what you’ve done for me. You’ve made me a happier person, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

 

When our mugs are empty, I take them to the sink and turn to look at her. “What do you want to do now?” she asks.

“Honestly? I hadn’t even thought past knocking on your door.”

Right then, both of our stomachs growl. She puts her hand over her stomach. “Did you hear that?”

I laugh, nodding. “Yeah. I heard mine too.”

“We should probably eat something, then,” she says. She thinks for a minute. “I have an idea.”

She runs up the stairs and comes back a couple minutes later with a purse. “I’m going to take you out for dinner.” Without waiting for an answer, she goes outside.

By the time I get there, she’s waiting in my car, in the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I get close.

“I’m gonna take you for a ride,” she says.

I just shake my head. “Amia, you can’t drive my car. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to drive if you can’t hear. I know it’s illegal to drive with headphones in.”

She just smiles at me, sticks her arm out the window. “Come on,” she says. “Give me the keys and get in. It’ll be fun.”

I open the door and motion for her to get out. When she doesn’t, I shake my head again. “Amia, get out of the car now.” I don’t understand why she’s doing this. “You’re going to get us both in trouble or injured or killed if you drive. I’m not going to let you drive my car.” My face starts to heat up, and I know that it’s red at this point.

She knows that I’m serious, and she slowly gets out. “I’m sorry, Mikey, it was just a joke. I wasn’t really going to drive your car. You put me in a good mood and I…” She pauses, looks up at the sky. “I don’t really know what I was trying to do. I’m sorry.” She walks around to the other side of the car, and I slide in. Of course she was joking.

The drive there is silent, except for Amia giving me directions. After about twenty minutes, I pull into the parking lot of a restaurant. It’s a small red building with a green tin roof. The sign has a picture of a big grizzly bear running away.

Once I park, I turn to face her. “Amia, I’m sorry. About earlier. I didn’t realize that you were just joking. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.”

She nods her head. “I know.” She shrugs. “I don’t really know why I did it, it wasn’t funny. I didn’t plan it, it just sort of happened.” She looks at the restaurant and smiles. “But that’s done and over. Let’s go inside. This place is really good.”

I turn the car off and head inside, and following Amia. There’s a jukebox in the corner of the room, but it’s not playing anything. It doesn’t even look like it’s turned on. By the cash register is a glass case filled with donuts and pie, and there are only about ten tables in the entire building.

We sit down at a table and wait for a waitress to come over to us. She gives us our menus, comes back a few minutes later to take our order. Once she leaves, I lean back in my seat. “How do you know about this place?” I’ve lived in this city my whole life, and I’ve never heard of it.

“It’s just been one of the places that my family always goes to. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about this place.”

I nod, and it’s quiet for a minute. Not an awkward silence, but an okay one. Then, I remember what Joe said.

“So, uh… I heard that you saw Joe at the store.” She nods. “What did he say to you?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

“It does matter,” I insist. “I know my cousin. And I know that he said something that I wouldn’t want him to have said, or you guys would be telling me what it was.” Joe knows me better than anyone, and he knows how to read a situation pretty well. I doubt that my developing crush on Amia has gone unnoticed by him, even if I do my best to hide it around her. I don’t want to mess up our friendship, and it doesn’t seem like she liked me that way.

She sighs. “Mikey, it really doesn’t matter. If your school day is anything like mine, then you’ve probably already heard it. Like, a billion times.”

I nod, instantly knowing what she’s talking about. And it seems pretty clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not a good sign. I decide to change the subject, get my mind off of my idiot cousin and his quest to embarrass me. “Speaking of school, how is it at our school? With the whole ‘I-can’t-hear-a-thing’ thing that you got going on.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s hard. The aides are helpful, but it’s still difficult. And the teachers try their best to help me out, but it’s hard on them too. Not really fair to any of us.”

I nod. “Yeah, it seems kind of ridiculous to put all that extra stress on everyone.”

She nods slowly. “I think, for next year, I’ll just take online classes. That is, if I can’t convince my mom to let me go back to my old school. Because this way… my grades are terrible. My highest is an 81, and I’ve always had straight As.”

The waitress comes and sets our food on the table. “Can I get you two anything else?”

“No, thank you.” She leaves, and I turn my attention back to Amia.

“I’m gonna try to talk to my mom about it, see if she’s still expecting me to magically hear again.” She just stares at her plate and doesn’t say anything for several seconds. “Why is life so difficult?”

I feel like it was a rhetorical question, but I try to answer anyway. “Life is always going to be hard. No matter what. But if you put your faith in God, and get your strength from Him, then you will always be able to handle anything that comes your way. No matter what, He’ll always be there when you need him.” It sounds cheesy, but it’s all I got.

She smiles. “It’s funny, because when bad things happen to people, they always blame God. They turn away and lose faith. That’s what my entire family did, except for Lisa. It’s just a big cycle of bad things.”

“That’s why I’m so happy that I have the foundation that I have,” I say. “My parents ensured that I never had to go without God in my life. I know that He’s always there for me. I can’t imagine going through something tough without God by my side.”

She looks down at the table, and her voice sounds sad. “I hope nothing ever happens to you that makes you lose your faith. To me, that’s who you are. I can’t imagine you without your faith.”

We finish our dinner, pay the bill, and head out to the car. “Where are we going now?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows. “I was thinking we should go home.”

I shake my head. “Nope. It’s a Friday night. You’ve had a hard day. I am taking you somewhere, whether you like it or not.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

I roll my eyes, but we’re both smiling. “I guess. But it’s not kidnapping if you want to go. So do you want to go somewhere?”

“What do you have in mind?”

I get in the car and put the key in the ignition. “I don’t know. I think there’s a party going on somewhere. At Alex’s or Mark’s.” I send a quick text message to see where it is.

“Are you serious?” she asks. “A party? That’s so unoriginal.”

I shrug. “It’s better than siting in your house moping and missing your aunt, right? We don’t have to go if you don’t want. I just thought it would be fun.”

She thinks for a second. “Alright. Let’s go.” She smiles, the uncertainty obvious in her expression. “It’ll be fun, right?”

I check my phone and find out that the party is at Mark’s house. I put the car in gear and we head off down the road.

 

Amia

 

We pull up to the house, and I’m speechless. It’s a big house. And there are more people here than I’ve ever seen in one house before.

Mikey comes over to my side and opens the door for me. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes still on the house. “This house is huge, Mikey.”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s pretty big. Mark’s parents have money. They both work, and they’re doctors or lawyers or something. Good people, but very concerned with money.”

I just shake my head. I can’t get over how big it is. There’s a four car garage, the house is three stories. My whole house could fit in this driveway.

We walk through the front door, where two guys are collecting money. Mikey hands one of them a five-dollar bill, and the guy stops us when we try to move on.

“It’s five each.” He’s glaring at Mikey, and Mikey just glares right back. He looks annoyed.

“Jake, I’m driving home. No drinking. So I’m only paying for her.”

Jake just rolls his eyes. “Take your little girlfriend and get in the house.” He looks at me for a second, grins, and then looks back at Mikey. “Better hold on to her, she might get stolen.” His tone almost implies that something like that has happened before. Not that I’m his girlfriend. Of course, I don’t think I’d mind being his girlfriend.

I shake my head again, clearing my mind of these thoughts. Mikey’s face is getting red, and he’s clenching his fists. He looked like he’s seriously considering punching this guy. He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the house. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Mikey, what was all that about? You two looked like you were going to kill each other.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I want you to have fun tonight.” Mikey’s grown up with a lot of the guys that we go to school with, and he’s basically friends with everyone. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that he would also have enemies. If, of course, that’s what this is. He leads me into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

I almost say no. I’m not really into the drinking and drugs. But I think about the rest of my day, and I nod. The hot chocolate helped, but maybe something a little stronger will help even more. He hands me a red plastic cup and I just stare at if for a minute. My nose wrinkles. Just the smell of it is disgusting. I take a deep breath, and then I take a drink of it. It’s warm, and obviously cheap. Not good at all. But tonight, I don’t care.

I follow Mikey around as he talks to people he knows. I try to follow all of their conversations, but with all the people around, it’s hard to focus on one mouth at a time.

Every once in a while, Mikey will try to bring me into the conversation, but it doesn’t last long. I don’t know most of these people, so Mikey introduces me to them. I smile and nod, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to have a conversation. I kind of recognize some people from school, but not by name. It doesn’t take long for me to feel like I’m all alone here, and I start to wish we hadn’t come.

After a while, my cup is empty. I’ve been slowly sipping it to give me something to do, and it doesn’t taste nearly as bad as that first drink. “I’m gonna go get some more,” I say to him. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” My throat is really dry as I walk back to the kitchen. I think about getting some water instead of more beer, but I shake my head. Nothing’s going to happen from having two cups of cheap beer, right?

As I enter the kitchen, I feel like I can relax a little. It’s much less crowded, much less busy in here. There’s a couple over in the corner, talking about something. Two girls stand by the fridge, but they stop talking when I walk in.

“Hey,” says the red head. “You came with Mikey, right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

She smiles. “That’s what I thought. Are you guys going out?” I shake my head. Another one of these guys? “Why not? You guys would be such a cute couple. You’re so pretty, and you seem super nice. And he’s… well, he’s Mikey. You know.” She’s facing me straight-on so I can see her lips clearly. Usually, when I first talk to someone, they forget that I need to watch their lips.

I look down at my still-empty cup. “We’re just friends.” I look back up, and she’s sharing a knowing look with the other girl.

“Well, I just think you’d make a cute couple. But if you want it, you’ll have to make the move. Mikey won’t do it. He’ll be too scared of ruining your friendship.” She sighs, and looks at the other girl, almost as if for support. “Mikey and I went to the same school since kindergarten, and we used to go to the same church. I used to know him really well. Hopefully you’ll have better luck with him than I did.”

As she walks out of the kitchen, she briefly puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Wait,” I say. She turns around. “What’s your name?”

She smiles. “Brittany. See you around, Amia.” She turns around again.

“One more thing,” I say. She faces me, laughing. “You’re sure he likes me?” There’s a pit in my stomach, and after what Joe said, I have to get confirmation. Even from an old girlfriend, or whatever she is.

She smiles. “Like I said, we knew each other really well. And he definitely likes you.” I nod my head. “But Amia? Don’t hurt him. I haven’t talked to him in a long time, but I still care about him. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I won’t,” I say. “He’s my best friend. I’d never hurt him. Thanks, for… this.” She smiles, then turns around and walks back into the crowd.

I start to fill up my cup, and then just leave it on the counter. I’m not so thirsty anymore. It takes me about ten minutes to find Mikey.

“Woah,” he says when he sees me. “Took you a while. Everything alright?”

I nod. “Yeah, I was just talking to someone. And then it took me a long time to find you.”

He looks around the room. “Yeah, I can see how you’d have trouble finding me. Our whole school’s gotta be here.” I look around for myself. Maybe not the whole school, but a good portion of it.

Mikey and I decide to walk around some more, and as we reach the outside of the crowd, he turns to me again. “Are you having fun?”

I smile. “I actually am,” I say. I wasn’t earlier, but the conversation with Brittany has lifted my mood considerably.

“Good. Want to go talk to some more people?” I nod my head. Why not? He looks around for a second, chooses a direction, and heads off. I follow him, leaving very little space in between us.

He finally stops once he sees someone he knows. Once he stops, I take one step to the side so I’m not behind him, and then slide my hand into his.

He looks at me, questioning. Double checking that it was on purpose, I guess. I nod my head once, and his hand tightens around mine.

“This is Amia,” he says to the other people. He introduces them to me, and I immediately forget their names.

“You’re that deaf girl, right?” asks one of the girls.

I nod. “Yeah.”

She gasps, and a huge smiles splits her face. "Oh my gosh. You're, like... famous. You were in newspapers and magazines and the news. I can't believe I'm talking to a celebrity!" I think back to those weeks with reporters following me, camping out on my lawn, invading my privacy. I’m sure this girl doesn’t realize all that. I never read any of it, I never wanted any part of it. Most of the material that they got was from “anonymous sources” anyway, so I didn’t really care to see what was being said about me. But whatever they said, it must not have been too harsh.
     "Matt! Matt!" the girl says, getting the attention of someone standing next to her. "Matt, this is Amia Chasor." He looks confused, trying to remember why my name is important. The girl gives a little huff, and says, "The girl from the radio? She's deaf, but can hear that one station? I showed you all the newspapers and stuff? Remember?"
      He nods. "Oh, yeah, yeah. I know. Hi, Amia." But his face doesn't show any recognition. 
     "Hi," I say, then look at Mikey. He just smiles. 
     "Amber," he says to the girl, "how's your brother doing? Where is he again?"
     She smiles a proud smile. "He's doing well. He's in New York right now, for school. But he's coming home soon for Christmas break. It's really good, because I miss him. We were practically inseparable when we were little, and this is the first semester that he hasn't been here."
     Mikey faces me and explains, "Her brother graduated last year. My aunt used to babysit Amber and her brother, so we sort of grew up together. We all played together almost every Saturday." Once again, I’m reminded of how many people Mikey knows, and how many people he’s known for a long time. Which makes me think of Brittany again, and what she said. And she must have been at least a little right. I look down at our hands, clasped together. It feels comfortable, even familiar.
     Now, back in the circle, Amber gives Matt a frustrated look. She looks back to me and says, "He still doesn't remember who you are. I've showed him every article and news broadcast that there ever was about you, and he still doesn't remember." She steps to my side and links arms with me. "But he's not important anyway. Don't take it personally. Sometimes, it seems like he doesn't even remember me, and we've been dating for two years."
     I look at Matt. His slouched shoulders and look of slight confusion definitely makes him look like he's not able to remember much. Or maybe he's just drunk.
     We talk to them for a few more minutes, and then they go to talk to other people. Mikey leads me to other people, choosing smaller groups than when we first got here, so it's easier to follow the conversation. After a while, I look at the clock on the wall and see that it's almost midnight. "Wow," I say. "I should probably call my mom. She'll want to know where I am and that I'm alright." I consider texting her, but figure that she would probably rather have a phone call. However, I know that if she gets a call from my number, she’ll automatically think it’s an emergency, because why would a deaf person make a phone call?

Mikey hands me his cell phone. I dial the number, but I don’t press send yet.

“Let’s go somewhere where there’s not so much noise.” We make our way to the kitchen, which is just as empty as it was earlier.

I hand him the phone as I press send. After a few seconds, Mikey says, “Hi, this is Mikey.” A pause. “Yeah, I still have her with me. She’s standing right here. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you earlier. I hadn’t planned on being out this late.”

Our fingers are still intertwined, and he squeezes my hand as he listens to my mom. His thumb moves in circles against the back of my hand. “Is there a time when you want her home? No? Okay. I’ll try not to keep her out too much longer. And I promise that nothing will happen to her.” He smiles at me. “Okay. If you need to get ahold of her, this is my cell. Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

He hangs up and puts the phone in his pocket. “She doesn’t care when you get home, as long as you’re not wasted or high.” He laughs. “We’re okay on that end. You didn’t seem to enjoy the beer much.”

I shake my head. “No. It didn’t taste very good. And it was warm.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s how it usually is.” He looks around the kitchen, which is starting to fill up with people. “What do you want to do? Stay here? Go home? Find somewhere else to go?”

I shrug. I really don’t care, as long as I get to spend some time with Mikey. It’s weird how much my mind was in denial of how much I like Mikey. I wouldn’t even admit it to myself. What was I afraid of?

“We could go to my house, and watch a movie,” I say. “We have a ton of them. Everything from horror to chick flick to action to documentary.”

I watch as he starts laughing. His shoulders shake, his mouth splits open, revealing his teeth, and his eyes squint. "We should definitely watch a documentary," he says. "That's the only thing I can think of doing on a Friday night."
      I give him a little shove. "I didn't mean we should watch one. I was trying to demonstrate the true variety of genres that we own." I smile, and he leads me through the kitchen and out the door. They have different guys manning the door now, and they smile and wave at Mikey as he walks by.

Mikey opens my door for me, then walks around to the other side. We don’t talk during the car ride, and we keep quiet as we walk into the house.

“I have to tell my mom that we’re here,” I say. “Pick out a movie.” I point to the shelves with the movies. I go down the hall and knock on my mom’s door, then open it slowly. “Mom? I’m home. We’re gonna watch a movie.”

In the light streaming in from the hallway, I watch her nod, then roll over. I shut the door and go back out to the living room. Mikey chose a chick flick, which makes me laugh. I put it in the DVD player and we go sit on the couch.

The volume is down all the way and the subtitles are on.

Mikey sits at the end of the couch and I sit next to him. Now that I’m home, watching a movie that I’ve seen dozens of times, the events of the day come creeping back. Feeling someone next to me, feeling Mikey next to me, is comforting. “Thanks for making me feel better,” I say. “I would have just been bawling my eyes out all night if you hadn’t come by.”

He nods. “Well, it’s the least I can do. You’re my best friend. I wish I could make it so that you never hurt again. You have a beautiful smile, and your eyes get super bright and really pretty when you’re happy. I don’t like not seeing that.”

I smile. “Well, you always do the right thing. I don’t know how you do it, but you do.”

He doesn’t say anything, but looks down at our hands. “This, the hand holding… that’s not just because of the beer, is it?”

I laugh. “Mikey, I had one cup. I’m fine.”

He shrugs. “I just didn’t know. I know some people who get drunk after a couple sips.” He sighs. “Well maybe not drunk, but still. You’re my best friend. I just don’t want this to be a one night thing that makes the rest of our friendship all awkward. You know?”

I nod. “I don’t know, Mikey. It seems like the whole universe wants us to be together. They’ve all told us that. So do I want this because I want it, or because it will make everyone else happy?” The last thing I want is for one or both of us to end up with a broken heart. He’s really too sweet for someone to date him just because he’s handsome, or because everyone wants him to date. “All I know is that you’re my best friend. I feel so comfortable around you, and you make me happy. I can be open with you, tell you all the personal details of my life. I’ve never felt so safe sharing all that stuff with anyone else.”

“Let’s take it slow then. We’re not going out. We’re just friends. But I’m just your friend who’s taking you on a date Sunday night.” His statement makes me laugh.

“Sounds good to me.” I smile and snuggle closer to him. “Now, shut up so I can watch this movie.”

We turn our heads to the screen, and I eventually fall asleep.

 

I wake up with the sun in my eyes and Mom and Lisa looking down at me. I feel Mikey move, which means he never left. “Shit,” I whisper. It surprises my mom, since I never cuss, especially in front of her.

I sit up and shake Mikey’s shoulder. “Mikey,” I say. “You have to go home. It’s morning and I don’t think your mom is going to be too happy.”

He opens his eyes and sees my mom’s face. “Looks like yours doesn’t like it too much either.”

Mikey

 

I dial my mom's number as I climb into my car. My only thought is that she's going to be livid. 
    "Michael? Michael, are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you? Why didn't you come home last night? Are you hurt? Do you need us to come get you?" It all comes out in a rush, so fast I can barely understand the words that she's saying. She keeps going, hurriedly asking questions that I know she's not going to like the answers to. 
    "Mom, please calm down. There's nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly fine. I promise. No one's hurt. I stayed the night at my friend's house. I'm sorry. I know I should have called." I called Amia's mom. Why didn't I think to call my own? "I'm on my way home. But you don't have to worry. I'm okay."
    She's calmer now, but it's a scary calm. Now that she knows I'm okay, it's time to be mad. "You worried me sick, Michael. I called you all night. I was up waiting for you all night. I called you and called you, and all I got was your voicemail. Why didn't you answer your phone?"
    "I must not have heard it go off," I tell her. "I'm sorry."
    She gives me a little half laugh, the one that tells me I'm in big trouble. "Oh, no you're not. You aren't sorry now. But you will be." Click. She's pissed. Of course, she has a right to be. I put the phone down, focus on the road. Why didn't I call her?

    I pull into the driveway and take a deep breath. I put my forehead on the steering wheel, breathing deeply for a few seconds. I know that they’re going to be angry. I have to remain calm. Not argue with them. I take one last deep breath and walk into my house. My mom and dad sit on the couch, not saying a word. They each have a cup of coffee on the table in front of them, but it doesn't look like either of them has taken a drink. 
    "Sit down. Now." My dad's voice, deep and loud, shakes. A scowl on his face, he glares at me. My mom's hands encompass both of his, steadying them. He's pissed. 
    I sit down in the chair opposite them and wait. For a few seconds, no one says anything. They just stare at me. Mom looks hurt, disappointed, cast aside and beaten down. Dad radiates anger. They both look exhausted. Mom speaks first. 
    "Michael. You have to call and tell us where you are. If you are not home, we need to know where you are. Especially if you do not plan on coming home until after sunrise the next morning. You need to communicate with us. That is the reason why we got you the phone in the first place. Because of your blatant disregard for the rules that your father and I have set, you are grounded until New Year's." Whenever Mom gets really mad, she stops using contractions. She speaks very slowly, enunciating every syllable, leaving none out, emphasizing every "not,” sounding more and more hurt with each word.
    I quickly do the math. Until New Year's? That's almost three weeks. It wouldn't be so bad, but half of that is over Christmas Break. No school, nothing to do all day. I'll be extremely bored. Which, I guess, is the whole point of grounding your kid.
    My dad comes in now. He isn't shaking anymore, but I can still hear the anger in his short, clipped words. "You can keep the radio. It's good for you. No partying. No hanging out. No cell phone. You get enough gas money for the places you need to go, no more. School. The station. Home. Nowhere else. Understand?"
    I nod. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. This won't happen again. I promise. I just fell asleep on the couch, and before I fell asleep it was pretty loud, so I couldn't hear my phone. I really am sorry."
    "We were about to call the police, Michael. Your father convinced me not to, in case your phone was dead and you had crashed at a friend's house. But you should have called us! You could have b-b-been in an a-a-accident or m-m-murdered or..." She starts to cry now, which of course only makes me feel worse. Why didn't I call?
    "Mom," I say. "Mom, I'm safe. you don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm here." I stand up and walk to her. "Mom, it's okay." My arms go around her shoulders right as she starts to shake. 
    "P-p-please do not e-ever do that t-t-to me ag-g-gain," she sobs. And I just hold her. It's the worst form of punishment in the world, seeing your mother cry. I've only seen her cry twice. Once when my grandpa died, and once when she broke most of the bones in her hand. She's strong. She doesn't cry. But I managed to break her. Why didn't I call?

Later, I'm at the station creating a playlist for the afternoon. I take a few calls, the whole time just waiting for Amia to call. At around 5, I finally hear her voice. 
    "It's about time," I joke. She just laughs, and says she's had a busy day. "Me too," I tell her. "Lots of extra chores now. And uh... I'm grounded. For the rest of the year. So we'll have to reschedule our plans."
    "Oh. New Year's? That's three weeks from now."
    "Yeah. I'm sorry. But you're still welcome to go to church with us tomorrow. I talked to my parents about it. We'll be riding with my parents."
    She sighs, but it's not exactly sad. I don't quite understand what it is. "Alright." It's quiet for a few seconds. "I gotta go now," she says. "One of my punishments is more family time. With the whole family. Even Dad-io." She sighs again. "I have to go down there now and have dinner and pretend like I don't hate every minute of it."
    "Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow morning then?"
    "Yeah," she says. "I'll see you in the morning."
    When I get home, my mom and dad are already sitting at the dinner table. Usually they sit next to each other, but tonight they face each other from opposite sides of our small square table. I grab a plate a sit down in the chair between them. No one talks much during the meal, and my mom goes to bed as soon as she's done eating. I look at my dad. "Is everything alright?"
    He nods. "She's just tired. She didn't get any sleep last night." He gives me a look, and I nod slowly. 
    "I'm sorry about that. I really am."
    He nods again. "I know you are. And you should be." He takes his plate up to the sink and then walks down the hall to the bedroom. I stand up and get started cleaning the kitchen.

When I'm done with the kitchen, I go up to my room and put my headphones in. I try to relax, try to push everything out of out of my mind. I fall asleep pretty early, and my alarm wakes me up at 6:30. When we go pick up Amia, she's waiting on her front porch. "Ready?" I ask, and she stands up and follows me to the car. 
    "Hi," she says as she ducks into the car. "I'm Amia."
    My mom turns around and looks at her, a fake smile on her face. "Hi, Amia! It's so great to meet you. We're excited to have with us today."
    My dad smiles into the mirror. "Hi, Amia. Nice to meet you." I'm not sure if she was able to see what he was saying, so I repeat his words to her. 
    My mom is turned around in her seat so that she can talk to Amia. Her ability to fake her feelings amazes me. "Are you planning on attending mass every week with us?"
    "Yes, I'd like to. It's all so beautiful. The songs, the stained glass, and I loved the sermon. What did Mikey call it? The homily? It was just all so beautiful to me." My mom smiles, as if she brought a lost sheep back home to its shepherd. Then she turns around, and the rest of the drive is silent. As we take our seats inside the church, Amia takes out the missal and finds the prayers. 
    Joe, Mary, Aunt Ruth, and Uncle Henry slide into the pew behind us. Amia turns and waves at Joe, then goes back to the missal. Joe looks at me and smiles. 
    "You two are sitting pretty close, don’tcha think?" I look at Amia, notice her leg touching mine. I just shrug, and he laughs. "I knew it. It's just a matter of time now, you'll be down on your knee, slipping a giant diamond onto her ring finger."
    I shake my head. "We haven't even gone on a date," I say. "You're getting a little ahead of yourself."
    The smile on his face disappears as his mom glares at him. "Sorry," he whispers. I turn around to face the altar right as the priest walks down the center aisle. 
    After the service is over, we proceed towards the exit. My parents stop to talk to everyone, so Amia and I walk over to the side while we wait. Joe follows us.
    Once we find a nice sunny spot to stand in, Amia takes a step closer to my side and slips her hand into mine. Joe doesn't miss any of this, and he raises his eyebrows at me. 
    "I thought you said you weren't going out," he says.
    "We're not," says Amia. "Yet. He was supposed to take me on a date tonight, to see how things go. But then he got grounded, so we'll have to wait until after New Year's."
    Joe smiles, and then frowns at me. "Why can't I get that kind of honesty from you?"
    I just shrug. "I just don't get why you care so much if we're dating."
    He steps back, quiet for a minute. Then he nods, as if confirming something. "Yep. That's it. You guys just look so good together, that's all," he says. "And obviously, you get along well. It would be cruel to yourselves if you didn't date."
    Amia laughs. "Cruel? Don't you think that's a tad bit dramatic?"
    He shakes his head. "Me? Dramatic? Never." He drags it out, making a big show with hand and arm gestures. He smiles, and then says, "Why would you ever think that I'm dramatic?" Mary comes over to us and taps him on the shoulder. 
    "Joe, we're ready to go. Mom and Dad are leaving. Unless you want to walk, you better get your butt over to the car." 
    He looks back at us. "Guess I better go," he says. "I'll see you guys later."
    Once he leaves, I look at Amia. "Does it bug you that everyone wants us to go out?"
    She shrugs. "I guess. It doesn't bother me so much that they think that, but the fact that they talk about it so much kind of bugs me. You know?"
    I nod. "That makes sense. I just don't understand why they care." My mom and dad come over then, and we all walk back to the car. Amia, to my surprise, doesn't drop my hand as we meet up with my parents. We hold hands all the way to her house, and she gives me a long hug on her front porch. When I get back into the car, my mom turns around in her seat. 
    "I didn't realize that you two were so close."
    "Are you talking about holding hands? The hug?" She doesn't move. Doesn't nod, doesn't say anything. She just stares at me. "She's not my girlfriend. We're gonna see where it goes. Go on a couple dates, see how we are as a couple. If it doesn't work out, we'll just be friends again. It's nothing serious."
    She doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Then, "Well...." and silence once again. She turns back around to face the windshield. When I ask her what she means by that, she just ignores me. 
    "Okay," I mumble to myself.
    When we get home, I start on the list of chores that I've been given. I clean the guest bedroom, clean the cars, I sweep and mop and dust and scour for a few hours, and then I go try to do my homework. The whole time, I think about Amia. 
    I always thought that there was something special about her, felt like we shouldn't just be friends. But I didn't think she felt the same. She never acted like it. 
    As I set the table for dinner, I push it out of my mind. No use thinking about it now, right?

Amia

 

The next few weeks go by excruciatingly slow. I only talk to Mikey at school and on the radio, and at church. But when we get out of school for two weeks, I go crazy. I’m not even allowed to text him. I still call the radio each day, but with nothing to do for the rest of the time, I drive my mom insane too. 
    "Amia, just go somewhere. Call one of your other friends. I'm tired of you hanging around the house all day." I just look at her for a few seconds, amazed. "Oh," she says after a minute. "Oops. Don't you have any of their emails?"
    I shake my head. "Mom, I don't talk to people too much, other than Mikey."
    "Why? Mikey can't be the only nice person at your school. You need to be more social." 
    I just shake my head. "It's not a matter of not being social. I'm overwhelmed. I don't have time to talk to other people. I spend advisory and lunch getting help from the teachers, and all of class time I have to pay close attention. It sucks. It's hard."
    Her face softens. "Why haven't you said anything to me?"
    I just shake my head. "You have other stuff to worry about. I can handle this. It's hard, but I'm okay. I have Bs and Cs. I'll survive." I get up and walk to my room, and she doesn't follow. 

    On Christmas day, my dad comes over. It all seems so backwards to me, but no one else seems to share my feelings. We all open our presents and have a big dinner and try to act like a family. From the outside, it might look like it. But it doesn't feel like a family at all. 
    In fact, because I was forced to put up with it all, I spend the next few days pouting. I know it's not the most mature way to handle things, but I just can't deal with it all. 
    And finally, it's New Year's Eve. I'm walking around my kitchen, looking for something to make for lunch, and Lisa walks past me to the front door. 
    In a couple seconds, she comes back to the table, Mikey walking behind her. "Hi," he says. 

   “Mikey!” I cross the distance between us and wrap my arms around him, hugging him close. His arms come across my back, instantly relaxing me. "What are you doing here? You're not grounded anymore?"
    He smiles. "I got them to let me off a day early." He leans against the counter and watches as I pull out the grape jelly from the fridge.
    "Want a sandwich?" I ask him. “I was just going to make one for myself.” He shakes his head. 
    "I have to leave soon. I just came by to tell you not to make any plans for tonight. You're coming with me."
    I stop fumbling around the kitchen and focus just on him. "Where are we going? My mom's still kind of mad about the last party. I don't get what the deal is. She was never like this with Lisa." I wave my hand over to her, sitting at the table, still in her jammies. 
    She stands up to put her plate in the sink. "It's because you can't hear. She feels like you've already gone through enough in your lifetime, and she's more protective of you because of that. Plus," she adds, grinning, "Mom didn't know about most of the parties I went to." I can’t help but smile at that. Even though Lisa was the only one who still wanted to go to church all those years, she wasn’t an innocent little angel.
    "Well," says Mikey, "this is just at my aunt and uncle's house. Lots of adults will be there to chaperone. I promise." He's still leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He seems relaxed, and has a small smile on his face. I can't help but think that he really is a handsome boy.
    "I'll ask my mom," I say. "And I'll let you know... somehow. Will you be on the radio at all today?" He told me that he usually isn't in on holidays, but I'm not sure if they consider this a holiday.
    He nods. "Yeah, my usual time. So just call on there. And I'll come pick you up around seven, and then we'll head over there."
    I nod. "Okay." He pushes off the counter and leaves, and I go sit at the table next to Lisa. "How do you know that that's why mom is so over-protective of me, with everything, when she never was with you?"
    "First of all, I know Mom. I know how she thinks. And I was just talking to her about it the other day. And that's what she told me."

    That night Mikey picks me up around seven. I say good-bye to Mom and Lisa, who are going somewhere with my dad tonight. As we're driving down the road, Mikey takes a deep breath. 
    "It feels so good not to be stuck in the house anymore. the last week and a half has been the worst few days of my life."
    I laugh. "Maybe next time, you should call your mom and tell her where you are." The rest of the drive is quiet, so that he can keep his eyes on the road. 
   Once we get there, he comes over to my side and opens my door for me. He leads me to the front door and up the stairs into the crowd. 
    The house isn't full yet, but I don't know anyone here. Mikey leads me down a hallway, knocks on a door. When there's no answer, he barges in. 
    Joe stands in the middle of the room, pulls his shirt down over his head as we burst through the door. "Woah, hey! What the heck, Mikey?" he shouts. His hair looks wet, like he just got out of the shower.
    Mikey just shrugs. "You told me to come find you once we got here. Well... we're here."
    Joe's only reply is a snort. "Yeah, I can see that." His gaze shifts a few inches over, to my face, and he smiles. "Hi, Amia. How are you doing?"
    "Good," I say. "I'm glad to actually see people other than my mom and sister." 
    Just then, Mary comes into the room. "Joe, Mom wants you in the kitchen." 
    He sighs. "Meet me out on the back porch, okay?" he says to us, and then follows his sister out into the hall. 
    We follow him part of the way, but once we get to the living room area, we head for the back door. We're the only ones out on the porch. I walk up to the railing that surrounds it and look across the back yard. It's dark, but the porch light lets me see a line of trees against the back fence, a tree in the in the middle of the yard with some type of fort thing attached to it. There's a sandbox in one spot, an old swing set in another. "This looks like a really cool yard to have as a kid."
    I feel Mikey stand next to me. His arm brushes against mine. "It was. I used to come over here all the time. We'd have so much fun with the cherry tree." He points to the tree with the fort.
    Then, he laughs. "We stayed away from the sandbox, though. Mary used to bury her dirty diapers in there." 
    I feel footsteps coming towards us, and turn around to see Joe. He's just finishing up a sentence, but I don't catch what it was. 
    He comes up on my other side by the rail. "Have you guys had a date yet? A real one?"
    I look at Mikey, wondering if he's going to answer. "Does this count as a date?"
    I look to Joe for the answer. "I think it does. A date doesn't have to be dinner and a movie, does it?"
    I link my arm with Mikey's. "Then it's a date."
    As the night goes on, more people show up to the party. The adults mostly stay inside, except for a couple that come out for a smoke. The back porch fills up with teenagers, and I prepare myself for wave after wave of introductions. 
    I meet more cousins, family friends, friends of friends, friends of cousins. There are only about thirty people out here, but everyone is connected in a different way. At least I'm not the only one who only knows a couple people.
    Most of the people, though, know who I am. Either they listen to the radio, or they have heard about me in magazines and newspapers. 
    I spend most of the night talking to people about my hearing, because that's what they all ask about. As I move from person to person, I'm surprised at how interested they all are in my story. 
    By 11:45, most people have gone inside to watch the ball drop on the big TV in the living room. There are a few of us that stay outside in the cold air, huddled against each other for warmth. Mikey and I stand in the corner talking to Joe. We're talking about our futures, what we want to do, if we want to have kids. "I love kids," Joe tells us, "and everyone tells me that I'd be a good dad. Some people tell me that I should become a priest, because of how strong I am in my faith." He says this sentence with a blush, showing his humility. I've learned that Joe likes to joke around a lot, which makes his true personality a little surprising at times. "But I really want kids. I'll just raise them in the Church."
    I nod my head, smiling. "Not many guys have a goal of making a bunch of kids," I say.
    He just laughs. "Well... it's what I want to do. I guess I'm not most guys."
    I look at Mikey, who's been mostly quiet for this conversation. "What do you want to do?" I ask him. 
    "I'm not sure yet," he answers. "Definitely college, but I don't know what I want to study. And after that? Who knows. I might get married. Maybe I'll become a priest. Maybe I'll just be single. I don't know yet."
    Joe hits him on the shoulder. "You better figure that out, because you're running out of time." He takes a couple steps back. "I'm gonna go inside now. It's cold out. I'll be back later, after midnight." As he slides the sliding glass door shut, he winks at us. "Have fun, you two."
    I roll my eyes and look back at Mikey, who seems closer than he was a minute ago. Oh well. I step even closer and wrap my arms around his neck. 
    "Thanks for inviting me," I say. "I would have been either at my house alone, or out somewhere with my family. And I'm sick of my family right now." 
    He laughs. "I was about to strangle my parents by the time they ungrounded me. I know I should have called them, but they were breathing down my neck for the last three weeks." 
    I rest my head against his chest for a couple minutes, waiting for this year to end. After a while, Mikey shifts a little bit, and I look up at him. I see him form the words "seven, six, five, four, three." At two, he bends down so that his lips meet mine. 
    It's a soft kiss, warm against the December air. It only lasts a couple seconds before I feel something cold on my cheek. I pull away and see snowflakes floating through the air. I separate myself from Mikey, spin around with my head tipped back and mouth open to catch the snow.
    Mikey grabs my arm, pulls me back into him, smiling. As I lean against him, I hear him say, "Happy New Year, Amia."

Mikey

 

When I drop Amia off at home, I don't want to let her go. I don't want to drop her off at her house, and go home to my house with my parents. Even though they let me off a night early, I have the feeling it's not because they're not still mad, but because they wanted to go out and have a good time tonight with their friends too. 
     I pull up to her house, and she doesn't get out right away. She's looking down at her hands, and I can see a small smile on her face. I wonder what she's thinking. Finally, she lifts her head and looks at me. 
     "I had fun tonight," she says. "I'm glad that your parents let you off a night early." I start to reply, but she doesn't let me. "You have changed my life, Mikey. You've brought God back into my life. I still have some doubts, and I'm still not sure what I believe. But I believe that he's there, and that was your doing. I haven't enjoyed myself with anyone since I was six- after I went deaf everyone just treated me differently, even the kids at my school. But you make me feel like a normal person again. Thank you, Mikey, for everything."
    She leans over, gives me a quick kiss, and gets out of the car. I sit there, shocked. I didn't realize that she credited me with all that. 
    I wait until I see her go back inside before I pull out onto the road. It's still snowing, just barely, but the past couple hours have caused quite a build-up of snow. Since we hardly ever get snow here, I drive extra carefully. I get home safely, and find that my parents still aren't home. There's a message on the answering machine, so I check it. It's my mom, saying that they're going to stay at my aunt and uncle's house tonight. "I'm going to help them clean up from the party, and your father fell asleep shortly after the ball dropped. We'll see you tomorrow. Love you." As I erase the message, I notice that her voice seemed sad, heavy. She sounded perfectly sober, but almost like she'd been crying. 
    I push all that out of my mind and go up to my room, try to sleep. But I lay awake for a couple more hours, staring at my ceiling. For a while I think about Amia, and then I start to think about what I want to do with my life. It's my senior year, and it's about time that I at least have a general idea of what I want to do. Right?
    Eventually I drift off to sleep, and wake up the next morning long after the sun has come up.

The next few days until school starts are pretty uneventful. I have my radio show, I hang out with Amia once. On the Sunday before school starts, Amia comes to church with us again. After mass, Amia and I go out to brunch while my parents go home. 
    Once we sit down at a booth and order, we make small conversation. "Are you ready for school tomorrow?" I ask her. 
    She shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, these last couple weeks have been so relaxed compared to school. With school, all the teachers are just... I mean they try their hardest, they really do. But it's just difficult to learn when you can't hear what's going on." She takes a deep breath, and then mumbles, "I mean it would be different if they were like you..."
    I laugh. "I don't think that's how it works. If I was up there teaching, it's not like you'd magically be able to hear me. I mean unless I was on the radio." She just looks at me, her face emotionless. For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, neither of us saying anything. Then, it hits me. “Have you been able to hear more of what I’m saying?”
    She nods. "I can hear you, Mikey. The other night, I heard you tell me 'Happy new year,' even though I wasn't facing you when you said it. And today I've heard every word you've said." 
    I was leaning my elbows on the table, but now I lean back against the booth, suddenly feeling about three times my weight. I just stare at her, not sure how to react. She looks down at her hands, almost looking ashamed. 
    "Amia," I say. "That's... um...” She still has her head facing down, but she nods anyway, acknowledging that she heard me. "Woah. This is... well..." I stammer, the words not coming to me. "This is... Amia, this is amazing!"
    "I thought that it meant my ears really were beginning to heal, even though the doctor said it wasn't going to happen. But it's only you, Mikey. I can't hear anything else. I can hear the radio, and you. I can't hear the traffic outside the window. I can't hear people talking to each other. I can't hear chairs scooting across the floor when people get up from their tables. I can't hear any of that. It's complete silence, until you start talking." She looks up at me again, and I see a couple tears about ready to fall. 
    "Amia, come here." I get up and move to her side of the booth, wrap my arm around her shoulder. "This is a good thing. It means that either you're healing, or God's working some wonders on your life."
    She starts laughing. "I thought we already established that, didn't we?" I feel her shoulders shake against my side, and her laughter goes on for several seconds. She straightens up, moves my arm from her shoulder. "I'll be alright. It's just frustrating sometimes. I'll focus on one thing, and try so hard to hear it, and it just doesn't come. It's like starving a kid for ten years and then telling them they can have a crumb of bread, and nothing more." She wipes a finger across her eyes, and it comes away wet. 
    "I... I don't know what to say, Amia. This is... I mean..." I just drift off, and she laughs again. 
    "Don't worry about it. Please don't let it change anything. Just keep giving me the crumbs, and it'll be enough. I guess I need to work on being grateful for what I have, instead of complaining about what I don't have. Especially given the circumstances." 
    She smiles, and I notice her beauty in a new way. Of course she is physically beautiful. I’ve thought so since the day I met her. But her personality, her new-found faith, shine through and give her a radiance that you don't see in very many people. I feel butterflies in my stomach, just from looking at her. 

“Let’s change the subject,” I say. “Ask me anything that you want to know.”

She thinks for a minute, and then smiles. “I’m not very good at this kind of stuff. I never know what to ask.” I don’t say anything, just wait. “Fine,” she says. “Why do you like me?”

The question takes me by surprise. I guess I expected a funny question, something hypothetical or from when I was a little kid. I take a moment to think about my answer.

“I’m not sure,” I say, and she scoffs. “No, it’s not like that, but it just… I mean I was obviously interested in being your friend because you were new and you could hear my radio station and then you show up at my school, I figured it was God telling me that we were meant to meet each other.” As I talk, I play with her hands on the table. “But then I got to know you, and I just… I really started to like you. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind.” I sigh. “I guess… I don’t know. I just really enjoy being with you, and not just in a friendly way. I don’t really think I have a reason for why that is, it just is, you know?”

She thinks about my answer for a second, and then nods. “Okay. Now you ask me something.”

“Okay,” I say, thinking for a second. “At that party, what made you decide to hold my hand?”

“I actually ran into an old friend of yours,” she says. “She told me that you guys had known each other for a long time, and she could tell that you liked me. But, she also said that you wouldn’t want to do something that could accidentally ruin our friendship, so you wouldn’t do anything unless you were absolutely sure that I liked you back.” She shrugs. “I guess you aren’t quite as confident as you seem. But I didn’t really know how to convey that message without just… doing something.”

“What old friend?” I can’t think of anyone that would have been to that party that would know me well enough to feel comfortable actually telling Amia all that. Or even knowing all that.

“Her name was Brittany,” she says. “Red hair, really pretty actually.” Brittany. I lean back in the booth, and intertwine my fingers with Amia’s. Brittany was there? “How do you guys know each other?”

“Um, we used to go to the same church, and so we met in Sunday school. I don’t really remember why out of the whole group of kids, we ended up being friends. But we were best friends. And then eighth grade came along, and we decided that we’d try dating.” I laugh, remembering the conversation. “And it was exactly that. It’s not that we particularly liked each other that way. We just were good friends and felt like everyone else was pairing off. And going and finding someone we actually liked would just be too much effort, so we decided it would be best to just date each other.” She laughs, which makes me laugh. “I know, it’s ridiculous. Eighth grade logic.” I shake my head. I had pretty much forgotten all of that until now.

“She was my first kiss. We dated up until the middle of sophomore year, and by then we actually had developed real feelings for each other.”

“What happened?” she asks.

I sigh. “Well, she moved across town, started going to a different school. And then she started hanging out with Jake, that guy that was at the party. And then they started dating.”

She leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mikey,” she says. She sounds like she really means it. It’s been a long time since I saw or talked about Brittany. And it reminds me that I have a whole lot of memories and history before Amia came along. We don’t usually talk about that kind of stuff together. I just wrap my arm tighter around her shoulders, and then the waitress brings us our food.

 

I pull up to her driveway, and she turns to face me. "Thanks for taking me out," she says. She has a smile on her face, and I smile back at her. "And thanks for not being totally weirded out by the fact that I can hear you."
    I laugh. "I don't think it's fully registered yet. We'll see how I am by the time I get home." She laughs too, and then unstraps her seatbelt. 
    "I should probably go inside now. I have to get all my stuff ready for tomorrow, and apparently tonight is family game night." She rolls her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that man being around so much."
    I reach for her hand. "Hey. Just don't worry about him. Be nice to him, but you don't have to become his best friend. And try to understand where your mom is coming from. It would be like if your aunt came back to life and everyone criticized you for spending time with her because she'll probably just die on you again." She nods her head. "And maybe he really has changed. Maybe he deserves a second chance."
    She smiles and leans toward me. "Thanks, Mikey. You're the best." We share a quick kiss, and then she pops the door open. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Amia

 

The next month and a half fly by, and Mikey and I get even closer. I continue being able to hear Mikey talk, and it doesn't go away like I thought it would. It doesn’t take long for the whole school to find out that we’re a couple now, and it seems like people pay more attention to me than they did before.

As Valentine's Day approaches, Lisa keeps bugging me. 
    "What are your plans?" she asks. I just shrug. I'm sitting at the breakfast bar doing homework. "Well it's like tomorrow. You have to have something planned." She's standing across from me, leaning her elbows on the counter, and she looks right into my eyes. 
    "Lisa, I don't know," I say. "We're hanging out, but I don't know what we're doing. It's not a huge deal, it's just another day." I gather all my papers into a pile and stand up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be finishing my homework in my room." She rolls her eyes, disappointed that I didn't have some elaborate plan to describe. 
    Mikey and I decided that we were just going to do something small- neither of us saw the point in going all out with the teddy bears and chocolates and flowers. 
    When I get to my room, I turn on the radio and close my eyes. I let the sound surround me, and I treat it as if it's going to be the last thing that I ever hear. Eventually I fall asleep, still in my clothes, with my homework scattered on the bed around me. 

Of course in the morning, I regret not finishing my homework. I rush to get it done, and I get to school a minute before the bell. Somehow, I’m still there before Mikey is. At the end of class, I walk over to Mikey, who looks concerned. "Are you okay?" I ask.
    "Yeah," he says, and shakes his head, as if to clear away some thoughts. "I'm just tired." I think about his response, and how it really just means that he's not really sure what's wrong. "By the way, I won't be on the radio today. My mom and dad said that I need to come straight home, because they need to talk to me about something." 
    "Oh, that's alright. Are we still hanging out?" He nods, and then puts his arm around my shoulder. He starts to smile. 
    "Of course. I'll text you tonight and talk about what time I'll pick you up, and all that stuff." We're at the Spanish classroom now, and he hugs me good-bye. "I'll see you later."

I get home from school and I see my dad's truck sitting in the driveway. I let out a sigh, and then push through the front door. I hear my mom laughing from the living room, and head that way. She's sitting on the couch with my dad, and Lisa sits on the chair in the living room. "Hey," she says when she sees me. 
    "Why aren't you at work?" I ask her. Usually Lisa isn't at home until about an hour after I get done with school. 
    "I'm working tonight instead. It's going to be crazy. We have so many reservations. I have to leave in..." She checks her phone. "Fifteen minutes. And apparently Mom has something to talk to us about."
    With that, we both turn to face her. She blushes, looks at my dad, and then looks back at us. "Well, I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come out and say it. This morning... your dad proposed!" She thrusts her left hand in our direction. 
    Lisa says something that I can't see, but I don't say anything. Lisa gets up to examine the ring, and I remain planted in my seat. What? 
    My mom finally notices that I'm not getting excited, and she seems surprised. Why would I be excited about this? "Amia, did you hear me?" 
    I just stare at her, wondering what the heck just happened. She realizes her mistake, and her face changes. "Amia, I'm so sorry," she starts. "I just... I want you to be excited for me-"
    "Excited? Mom! This guy left you! He was gone for ten years! And he comes back for a few months and you're just okay with all this? You've already forgiven him for the ten years of abandonment? Did you forget that first year? How hard you took it? He left when we needed him most, and comes back when things are starting to get better. How could you just let him in like this? How could you agree to marry him again?" It all comes out in a rush, and then I'm just standing there, tears streaming down my face. I see my mom start to say something, but I look down at the ground so that I won't know what she says. 
    In a few seconds, I feel hands on my shoulders, gently moving me towards the hallway. I look up and see that it's Lisa. My mom is huddled up against my dad, crying. 
    Lisa takes me into the bathroom and gets me a cool wash cloth. "Amia," she says. "You need to let this go. You need to move on. We all have. Why can't you do the same?" 
    I shake my head. "No, you guys haven't moved on. You just ignored the pain and forgot the last ten years, and now we're right back where we started. That's not moving on." 
    "It is moving on. It's not moving on to someone else, but it's moving past the pain. Not dwelling on it anymore. Forgiving." She puts a bit of emphasis on that last word, but I just shake my head. "I know that you lost more than we did that year," she says. "But that's not all his fault. Yeah, he did leave. But it's not his fault that his sister died. And it's not his fault that you lost your hearing." 
    I sit down on the toilet lid and look up at her. "I just... I don't understand how you guys do it." 
    She wipes a couple tears from my eyes. "Can you at least try to forgive him? Try to be happy for them? When was the last time you saw Mom this happy? She deserves a second chance. They both do. Their relationship does." I nod, and watch as she slips out of the bathroom. 

About a half hour later, I'm still sitting in the bathroom. After about ten minutes of moping, I realized that I need to get over myself. After about five more minutes of gathering motivation, I washed my face, changed my clothes, and now I'm putting some make up on. I don't usually wear a lot of make up, just a little bit of mascara. Tonight I put a little extra on. Not only to cover up any traces of my fit earlier, but also because I want to look nice for Mikey. 
    Lisa pokes her head in and gives me a once-over. "Mikey just called, and said he's leaving his house." She watches my reflection in the mirror as I run the brush through my hair one more time. "Is everything okay between you too? He sounded kind of angry. Or at least frustrated." 
    I stop the brush mid-stroke. "Um... I don't think there's anything wrong. He seemed okay this morning. A little distracted, but he definitely wasn't mad at me." I remember him saying that he had to talk to his parents, so he wouldn't be on the radio, but I don't say anything to Lisa. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
    I finish getting ready in the bathroom, and then I go put my shoes on. I grab a purse and head downstairs. By the time I get to the bottom, I see my dad's back, heading towards the front door. This ought to be good.
    I follow him to the door, and Mikey is waiting outside. Even though we told each other we weren't going to get each other anything, he stands with a bouquet of roses. I instantly feel bad, because I got him nothing. My dad is saying something to him, but I can't tell what it is. Mikey answers with, "Yes, sir, I'll have her home by nine thirty." I look at the clock on the wall, and it's a quarter to five. "We're just going to dinner, and we might stop by the park or something. I promise no parties." He sees me standing a few feet back, and he smiles. 

“These are for you,” he says, holding the bouquet out towards me.

“Thank you, Mikey,” I say, taking them and stepping in for a hug. “They’re beautiful. I’ll go put them in a vase.” He follows me into the kitchen, where I pull a vase out of the cupboard above the fridge. My dad follows us too, his arms crossed over his chest. I try to just ignore him. Once the flowers are in the vase, I turn to Mikey. “Let’s go.”

At the door, Mikey turns around to face my dad again. He extends his hand, and my dad shakes it. "Good night, sir. Have a good night."
   "See you later," I say, and then lead Mikey to his car. After a few steps, I look back, and the door is shut. 
    Mikey lets out a sigh as we reach his car. The pleasant attitude he had when he was talking to my dad has melted away. I see right away what Lisa meant when she said he seemed frustrated. Given his normal self, I’m surprised that he was able to hide it so well when we were around my dad. "Mikey, are you okay?" 
    He looks at me, smiles a little, and leans in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm okay. I'll tell you everything when we get to the restaurant." He opens my door for me, and I get in. We drive to the restaurant without saying anything, and the silence continues until after we've ordered our food. 
    I look around after the waitress leaves, waiting for him to start talking. The restaurant isn't a super nice place, but it's not a dive. It's comfortable. I'm glad he chose this place. 
    Finally, he starts talking. "So my parents were waiting for me when I got home. I thought I was on trial or something, by the way they were sitting and staring at me." He sucks in air through his teeth. His jaw tightens, and he blinks several times in a row, trying to keep back the tears. "But it wasn't about me at all. It's about them." He was looking at his hands, but now he looks at me. He stares into my eyes for a second before continuing. "They're getting a divorce."

Mikey

 

    

    As I say it, I want to punch something. How could this happen? How could I not see it coming? Looking back, I can see some clues. Both of them working more, the dinnertime conversations being reduced considerably. Several times, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear them arguing. They stopped showing any affection for each other. But even with all of this, I can't believe it.
    I look at Amia, and see the hurt in her eyes. Except this time, it’s not her own hurt; it’s mine, mirrored in her eyes. "Oh, Mikey," she breathes. "I'm so sorry. Did they say why?"
    I shake my head. "Nope. When I asked, they said it was none of my business. That it doesn't concern me." I let out a short, angry laugh. "Right. Because my parents splitting up doesn't have anything to do with me. It doesn’t affect me at all." She reaches out and puts her hands on top of mine. "I just... I never thought I'd be in this situation, you know?"

“Mikey, you know that they love you, right?” She holds my gaze searching for the answer before I can say it.

“Yes, I know that they love me. But they’re supposed to love each other. They took vows to love each other forever, until they died. Not to be happy together, not to always enjoy every second of their marriage. But to love each other, through the good times and bad, and love each other enough to work through all of the bad stuff.” I hang my head, shaking it slowly. “Maybe if I had just caused less trouble last semester, or paid more attention to them and not been so self-absorbed, or if I –“

“Woah, woah, woah,” she says, cutting me off. She looks almost like she’s disappointed in me. “Michael Levis. Listen to me right now. Parents don’t get a divorce because their son, who gets good grades and stays out of trouble, ditches school one day and goes to one party. Parents don’t get a divorce when their kids ditch school every day and parties all the time. This divorce has nothing to do with anything that you did or didn’t do. You couldn’t have stopped this any more than the six-year-old me could have stopped my dad from walking out.”

She stops talking when I shake my head. She squeezes my hands. “Mikey, look at me.” I look up at her, and I can tell by the look on her face that she means business. “Mikey, this is not your fault. You can grieve, you can be hurt, you can be sad. But I will not let you blame this on yourself.”
I sigh. She’s right. Of course she is. “I know,” I say. “I don’t actually blame myself. I just need some sort of justification or explanation. I wish they'd tell me the reason for it."

“Do you really want that, though?” she asks. “You’re already hurt, and for a while you’re already going to see your parents differently, until you’ve had time. Finding out the details of why they’re getting a divorce just means that you have to blame someone. It means that you have to choose sides. And I know that you love both of your parents.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a good point,” I say. She’s right. I do want answers, but I don’t want to feel like I have to take sides over who’s wrong and who’s right. Maybe in a few years I’ll be ready for that, but not right now. Right now, I just have to get used to this. My parents are getting a divorce.

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. We just sit there, both of us staring at our hands. I wonder what she's thinking about. 
    "Well, how was your day?" I ask her, trying to change the subject. 
    She hesitates, trying to decide something. Finally, she sighs. "Well, my parents announced that they're getting married. Again. My dad proposed this morning." 
    I can't keep the laugh in. "So my family falls apart, and yours gets back together. And neither of us are happy about it." 
    She laughs too, and it's just the sound that I needed to hear. "Yeah, it seems pretty dumb. I just don't want to see my mom get hurt again. If it hadn't been for my newfound needy-ness when Dad left, I don't know what would have happened to her. I swear the only thing that kept her going was that I needed a whole new level of nurturing, so her instincts kicked in until she kind of got over it." She pauses and wrinkles her nose. "Or at least, I thought she was over him. But then he shows up one day and everything's fine." She shakes her head. 
    "I'm trying to be happy for them. Especially my mom. She deserves happiness. She deserves affection and attention and a husband. I just don't know if returning to her ex-husband who just up and left ten years ago is the answer." 
    "Is that something I should do? Be happy for them?” I ask. “I never understand if divorce is supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing. I mean... I know it's a bad thing. And it doesn't make sense. When you're married, you become one. One body. After you're one, how do you separate into two again?" I glance out the window. "But at the same time, it's a second chance, right? A blank page, a new start. They obviously aren't happy, so here's an opportunity for them to actually become happy again. So should I try to be happy for them?"
    She shrugs. "I don't know. I know for my mom it was a bad thing. And I don't know if my dad had a good time or not, and I don't really care. But if it's a mutual thing..." She shrugs again. "I'm sorry, Mikey. No one should have to be put through this. It's a horrible and unnatural thing for your parents to just split up like that."
    The waitress comes by with our food, and we drop the conversation. Instead of talking about our parents, we start talking about school. 
    "I don't know what I'm gonna do next year," she says at one point. "It seems kind of pointless to keep going to school with normal people who can, like, actually hear. And next year, you won't be there. And I don't really talk to anyone else. My mom and I have talked about it a lot. She even asked if I wanted to go back this year, but I don’t want to change in the middle of the year." She pauses to load her fork with salad, making an effort to get a little bit of everything. One piece of lettuce, an olive, a piece of tomato, a piece of chicken.
    "It definitely sounds like it would be easier to go back to your old school. It would be better for your grades, and you know more people there." 
    She laughs. "Yeah, well, not really anymore. I haven't talked to them in a long time. They got kind of weird about my hearing, and since we don't ever see each other, and the only way we can communicate is through email, we all just kind of stopped talking. I don't know if it would be easy or not to go back. At least not socially. Academically, it would be way easy. But where are you going? Have you decided?"
    "No," I say, shaking my head. "I've applied at all kinds of places, and I've been accepted at the state universities, and a couple others. But I just have no idea, and I don't even know what I want to do."
    She doesn't say anything, and I don't have anything else to say. For a couple minutes, it's quiet as we finish our food. When we're done, the waitress comes over to get our plates. "Will you guys be staying for desert?"
    I can tell that Amia didn't know what she said, so I repeat the question to her. She says no, so I ask for the check. As we're leaving the restaurant, Amia grabs my hand and swings my arm around her shoulder, and wraps her other arm around my waist. I laugh, and pull her as close to my side as I can. 

We go to the park after that, which is pretty much deserted. I look at my watch, and it's just after 6:30. We head for the swing sets, not saying anything. She sits down and I start to push her, and she goes higher and higher.
    After a few minutes, I stop pushing her and she starts to slow down. I watch her in the air, concentrating on some spot in the distance. When she finally stops, she looks disappointed. 
    "Are you alright?" I ask her. She just nods, but she doesn't exactly look okay. After a couple seconds she shakes her head quickly, clearing her thoughts. 
    "I'm okay. I just... I've never been able to jump off the swings. I've always wanted to, but I just can't ever do it." I start laughing, and she smiles. "I know, it sounds dumb. Most kids are jumping off the swing when they're like two. And I'm obviously a little older than two. But I could never bring myself to do it. I'm too afraid of getting hurt." 
    "Sounds like everything else in your life too." As soon as I say it, I regret it. It wasn't really mean, but it was unnecessary. 
    "What do you mean?" 

“Never mind,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, tell me,” she says.
    "Well, think about it," I say, reluctant. "Especially with your dad. Everyone else has forgiven him, but you're always focused on the worst case scenario." I shrug, looking down at the ground. "If everyone just based their decisions on the worst thing that could happen, then there wouldn't be a point to anything and nothing would ever get done. People wouldn't take risks, and everyone would just be an untrusting mess." 
    "It always comes back to him, doesn't it?" she says. 
    "Amia, just try to get along with him. You have this great opportunity to be part of a whole family again. Don't think of it like a chance to get your heart broken again. Take it as a chance to rebuild your broken relationships, to have unity again." Her shoulders go up and down slowly as she takes a deep breath. "My family is falling apart now, and I wish so much that I could have what you have." 
    She shakes her head, laughing. "You might still get this eventually. Remember that my dad left ten years ago. And your parents might change their minds. The divorce process is long and involved. They have to spend a lot of time together working out this and that and everything else. They might end up forgetting about the divorce." 
    "Let's hope so." 
    I look at the sky, but there aren't any stars. It was cloudy all day, and they were expecting rain. In a few minutes, I feel rain on my cheek. Slowly at first, but then it starts pouring. I can barely hear Amia's laugh over the roar of the rain. She stands up and dances around, and I go to join her. After a few circles, I bump right into her, and we grab onto each other to keep from falling down. 
    She's still laughing as she holds onto my arms. "I love the rain," she says. 
    I don't say anything. I just watch her, still holding onto me, as she tips her head back to catch the rain drops. Her hair is flat against her scalp, and her clothes cling to her body. Without saying anything, I grab her face and press her lips against mine. She's startled at first, but then she relaxes. She wraps her arms around my neck instead of holding onto my arms, and we stay like that for several seconds, the rain rushing down our pressed-together faces. Finally, she steps back. She tries to keep her eyes open, but it's hard with all the rain. 
    Her eyes are bright, even in the night. She wipes her hand across her face, getting rid of some of the water. I shake out my hair, doing the same. I pull her towards me again, kiss her on the forehead. "Amia," I whisper. It's so quiet that I can barely hear myself, so I don't know if she can hear me. "I think I love you." 
    She doesn't move or react in any way, so I assume she just didn't hear me. I hug her tighter as the rain comes down around us, but I don't repeat it. 
    Despite my speech about taking risks, I can't bring myself to say it again, loud enough to be heard. I'm afraid of what she might say. 

 

    The next few weeks, I'm not myself. The only time where I even remotely feel like myself is when I'm at mass. It's like stepping through the church doors is the only way to clear my head. I can tell that Amia and my parents are starting to worry about me. 
    One day, I'm sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework when my dad comes in. "Hey, Mikey," he says. "Can I talk to you?"
    I put down my pencil and lift my head. "Yeah," I say. "What's up?"
    "I noticed that you really have not been yourself lately," he says. "Now, I completely understand why. I know it has a lot to do with your mom and I. And I know I'm probably not your favorite person right now. But maybe I can help clarify some things for you, or something. Would it help you if you knew the reasons for the divorce?" I can tell that he’s hesitant, and that he really doesn’t want to tell me all the details.
    I remember what Amia said, and shake my head. "No, I don't think so. That just means that there's one person who gets more blame than the other, and then I pick sides. I think it's easier when I can just be equally mad at both of you." 
    "That's fair," he says. We’ve had lots of conversations about this by now, and most of them ended in screaming matches, usually where my dad and I separate ourselves so nothing physical happens.
    "It's just weird. I always looked at kids with divorced parents and just wondered how they went through life, how they functioned as if everything was fine. And now I have to figure all that out on my own."
    "Well, not on your own. You have plenty of people to help you through this. You have Joe, and Amia. And I know I'm part of the problem, but I'm here if you need to talk, and so is your mother. And you can always talk to God." I give him a weird look, and he laughs. "I know, I know. I'm not really in a position to be talking to you about keeping up on your prayers. But this whole situation all stems from your mom and I taking God out of our relationship. We went to church, but we didn't let Him into our relationship, and things started to fall apart. Then we thought we could fix things ourselves, that we didn't need help." To himself, he says, "Boy, were we wrong." 
    "Well if you know the problem, why can't you fix it? Why are you just giving up?" He shakes his head and starts to say something, but I cut in. "Isn't that the whole point of identifying where you went wrong? So you can correct the mistake? Not just give up and say 'oh, well?'" My voice gets louder as more words come out.
    "Damn it, Mikey, it's not that simple!" he yells across the table. He pauses for a moment, and then says in a much gentler voice, "It's not that simple. I wish it was. I don't enjoy getting a divorce. It doesn't make me happy to tear my family apart. But..." He sighs. "There are some things that you don't understand, and I pray to God that you never have to understand."
    He folds his hands in front of him. "I talked to Father the other day, and he said that you're welcome to go in and talk to him any time. He'll probably be more helpful than I am."
    I close my binder and stack my books, making a lot of noise with them. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind. For now, I'm going to go do homework." When I get to the door, he calls my name. 
    "Mikey?" I stop and turn to face him. He's sitting slumped at the table, looking defeated. "I love you. You know that, right? Your mom and I both do. This whole thing has nothing to do with you. I just want to make sure you know."
    I feel all the muscles in my body relax, and my face goes from a scowl to an almost smile. "Yeah, I know. Love you too, Dad."

Amia

 

The next few weeks, every time I think about Mikey I feel a smile creep onto my face. I hear those words, soft and barely audible amidst the rain. “I think I love you.” He loves me. I don’t think he meant for me to hear it, so I don’t say anything. But when I’m alone, I allow myself to think about it, to remember.

And I need to remember that, because that’s the last day when Mikey was my Mikey. I start to get really worried about him. He’s distant now, consumed with his parents’ divorce. It’s as if he doesn’t know who he is anymore. He doesn't ever laugh and he hardly ever smiles. I want to be able to help him, but nothing I do seems to work. 
    Over spring break, he goes to talk to the priest for a few days. After each conversation with Father Steve, Mikey comes over and talks to me. I can tell that it's helping him, and not just for a few hours after his talks. By the Friday of spring break, he's almost back to his normal self. He asked Joe to cover for him at the station, so that he could spend the afternoon with me.
    "When you go talk to Father Steve, what do you guys talk about?" I ask him. We're sitting on my living room floor, playing a game of Uno. I place a card down, and he studies his hand. 
    "We talk about everything, really. Sometimes we talk about my parents. Sometimes we talk about his parents. They got divorced when he was a junior, so he kind of understands. Of course, no two situations are going to be exactly the same, but he gets me." He puts down a card. "But sometimes we talk about other things. Life, the Church. Sometimes we talk about you, too."
    I look up from my cards at him. "Really? What do you say about me?"
    His cheeks get a little pink. Is he blushing? "Well, he knows your story because I told him about it last fall. So we just talk about your hearing sometimes. And how you can hear me even when I'm not on the radio, because that’s kind of a big deal." His voice gets deep and "proper" sounding, with a touch of an English accent. "And of course he wanted to make sure my intentions are honorable."
    I laugh. "That just sounds a little bit awkward." He nods a little bit, which makes me laugh more. "Well, I'm glad you've been talking to him. You're getting back to normal. And that's good, because I missed the real you. Seeing you like that, so depressed, just..." I shake my head. "It just made me sad." I don’t mention the hint of jealousy that I feel, since he really hasn’t talked to me about any of this since he told me on Valentine’s Day.
    He nods slowly. "Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just don't understand, I guess. I mean about them. About their problems that they know how to fix, but refuse to. But Father seems to understand those things. He's done quite a bit of counseling over the years. Apparently my parents went to him last year. They met with him like once a week for a couple months. But I guess it didn't work all the way." He slaps down his last card. "I'm out."
    "What?" I yell. "No, you never said 'Uno!' You have to draw two cards." I look at the four cards still in my hand. 
    "No, because you never caught me at it," he says casually, already moving on from the game. He starts to stand up, ending the discussion, and I watch as he stretches. "Do you know what time it is?" he asks. 
    I look at the clock on the wall. "It's about 5:30. My family should be getting home soon. I guess my dad is making chili." I gather the cards up and put them on the coffee table. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" As soon as I ask the question, I realize that we've never had dinner with each other's families. 
    He seems to realize the same thing, based on his facial expression. "Sure," he says. "Let me just call my mom and dad and let them know, so they aren't expecting me." 

At dinner that night, my mom has a huge smile on her face. "I'm so glad that you could join us, Mikey," she says. "How have you been lately?"
    He shrugs. "I've been a lot better. I'm sure Amia's told you, but I've been a little depressed lately. But the last week I've been getting back to my normal self." He smiles, as if to prove that he's okay. 
    "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that," Mom says, and then she looks down at her bowl. "How's the chili?"
    He smiles. "Oh, it's wonderful." He turns to my dad. "You make a mean chili."
    My dad takes a bite before answering. "It's actually my dad's recipe. I just follow the directions. But I'm glad you like it."
    "So Mikey," my mom says. "You're a senior, right?" He nods. "What do you plan on doing next year? I know I've asked you this before, but you didn't really know then."
    Only I see his smile waver for a second. "I'm actually still not sure. I've applied at lots of places, but I don't know where I'm going. And I haven't figured out what I want to do for a career." He laughs. "I'm kind of running out of time, but I just don't know. There are so many possibilities, and I'm just scared of making the wrong choice and being miserable. There's nothing that pops out at me and makes me think, 'Yeah, that's what I really want to do.'" 
    We spend a few more minutes talking about Mikey's future, and when my mom finally changes the subject, he looks deflated. I know that he's already stressed about it, and he doesn't like the constant reminders that he has no plan. I grab his hand, intertwine my fingers with his. While everyone else goes on talking, he turns his head to look at me. He smiles and sits up a little straighter. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, and then I smile too. I could stay like this forever- our shoulders barely touching, our hands grasping each other, our eyes locked. 

After dinner, I walk Mikey out to his car. "Thanks for coming," I say. 
    "Yeah, thanks for inviting me. It was a lot better than the awkward silence at home."
    "How are they doing?" I ask. "I mean, I know they're getting a divorce. But like... how is that whole situation working out?"
    He rolls his eyes. "I honestly don't know. They don't hate each other, so at least I'm not constantly caught in the middle of an argument. But they don't really talk and they're just... indifferent, I guess. They just don't seem to care about anything. Dad's been staying in the guest room, but he’s been looking for apartments.” 
    I nod. "I'm sorry, Mikey." I step towards him and wrap him in a hug, and his arms come around my shoulders, holding me against him. My heart aches for him, and I wish that I could fix all this. There's nothing I wouldn't do, if I knew it meant making his pain stop.
    "I'm okay," he says. "People go through this all the time. If everyone else can do it, then I can too." I close my eyes, my head resting against his chest. I try to hear his heartbeat, but nothing comes. I feel his chin resting on the top of my head, and we stand like that for a few minutes. "Thanks for dinner," he finally says, pulling away. "But I should probably go."
    "Okay. I'll see you later." I stretch up towards his face until I feel his lips on mine. "Goodnight, Michael."

The next day is Saturday, and he comes over to my house at about eleven in the morning. Lucky for him, I'm usually up around 7, even on the weekends. If he were dating Lisa, he'd be out of luck. "Come on," he says as he comes to the living room, where I'm reading a book. 
    I look up at him, confused. He's got a smile on his face, and I'm not sure what he's talking about. Did we make plans for today? "What?" I ask him. 
    "Joe called me a few minutes ago. We're gonna go to lunch with him and Miranda." I look at the clock on the wall. Despite sounding so anxious to leave, he sits down next to me on the couch. 
    "Mikey, I'm not even dressed." Even though I got up several hours ago, I didn't actually get up. My hair is still a mess and I'm in my pajamas. He grabs my hand, which makes me lose my place in my book. 
    "Please," he says. His eyes plead with mine, and then I start to stand up. 
    "Fine," I say. "But I'm taking my time getting ready." 
    Despite saying that, I do my best to hurry and get ready. I throw my hair up into a pony tail, and throw on some jeans and a t-shirt. I took a shower the night before, so at least I don't have to worry about that. I throw some deodorant on, grab my purse, and head back to the living room. 
    My mom's in the kitchen, and I stop to tell her where we're going. "When will you be back?" she asks. 
    I shrug. "I don't know," I say. "We're just going to go out to lunch, and I don't know what we're doing after that. I'll have Mikey call you if we decide to go on some cool adventure or something." She smiles, and gives me a little shove. 
    "Alright, have fun. Just call me and let me know if you'll be here for dinner." I give her a hug, and then head to the door, where Mikey's waiting. 
    "Ready?" he asks, and we head out the door. 

When we get to the restaurant, we spot Joe and Miranda sitting at a booth. They're sitting on the same side, and Mikey and I climb into the other side. 
    "Hey, it's about time," says Joe, and Miranda rolls her eyes. "What took you so long? I called you like an hour ago."
     Mikey points at me, and it's my turn to roll my eyes. "I was not dressed when Mikey arrived at my house. I wasn't expecting spontaneous double dates."
    "Well, you should know better. Next time, you better not keep me waiting." 
    The waitress comes by then, and takes our drink orders. For the next few minutes, no one says anything as we all look at the menu. After we've all ordered, Joe looks at Mikey. "So dude. How have you been? You haven't really talked to me much in the last few weeks."
    "Well, I haven't really had time. With school and the radio and all that..." he trails off, and glances over at me. 
    "You had all that going on before. I'm worried about you. I know you're going through a lot right now, but you don't need to cut your friends off." I watch Joe's face as it switches from frustrated to concerned and back again.
    "Well, I've been talking to Father a lot. He keeps telling me that it's no problem, that's what he's there for, and all that. But I'm still waiting for him to send my parents a bill, make them pay for my therapy sessions." His hand gets tighter around mine. "But it's been helping me. It's still not a good thing that's going on, but I feel better than I did when they first told me."
    Joe nods his head. "Okay, man. I just want to make sure you're alright." He takes a drink of his water, and then looks at me. "And how have you been, Miss Amia?"
    I smile. "I've been good. This last week has been nice. But I'm not really looking forward to going back to school after tomorrow." I laugh. "But I don't know if I'd ever be ready to go back to school." 
    He nods. "Same here. I can't wait until the end of May. Then we have the whole summer to do whatever we want to do."
    "Yeah, but then comes college," says Miranda. I've only met her a few times, but I've learned that she doesn't say much. She's very quiet, and only talks when she has to. Of course, this makes her and Joe a weird couple. "And with college comes adulthood, and responsibility, and bills, and all the opportunities to mess up."
    "At least you know what you want to do," says Mikey. "I have about two months to make up my mind, and I haven't even begun to narrow the list down. I have all these possibilities laid out on the table, and I can't eliminate any of them."
    "Now, that's not true," says Joe, smiling. "You know you aren't going to be a pop star." To me, he says, "He's a terrible singer. And you're not going to be a house wife. But you also probably won't be a rocket scientist. And you know prostitution's out."
    I close my eyes as Mikey laughs. I love that sound. Not just because I can hear it, but because it's beautiful. I can't imagine anything sounding better than his laugh, and I can't imagine anything feeling better than him. I lean my shoulder against his, my eyes still closed. He's not laughing anymore (it wasn't that funny), but I just want to be closer to him. 
    I love you, I want to say to him. I am in love with you, I want to yell. I want you. 
    But of course I say none of those things. Instead, I focus on the way he feels now, at this moment. I match my breaths with his, and for a minute, I forget that he's not the only thing in the world.

 

 After lunch, Joe says he has to get Miranda home. "I got permission to take her out to lunch, but she has to go babysit her little brother and sister."
    Standing out by Mikey’s car, he grabs my hand and smiles at me. "So where do you wanna go now?"
    "I don't know," I shrug. "Can we go somewhere? It doesn't have to be something big, but I've been in my house pretty much nonstop for the last week, and I want to go somewhere." 
    "Well... do you just want to go to my house? We can just hang out for a while." I’ve never been to his house, because his mom doesn’t like me, and I don’t want to do anything that would make things worse. "My mom and dad aren't home right now, so you don't have to worry about making any conversation with them."
    I think about it for a second, and then I nod. "Sounds good to me. Now I can see all the embarrassing baby pictures you have on your walls," I say as I duck into the car. 

An hour later, we're sitting on his couch watching a movie. As soon as we got here, I went straight to the movie cabinet, searching for one that I’d never seen before.
    Now, he has his arm around my shoulders, and I’m laying my head against his chest. 
    "This is nice," I mumble. "We should just stay like this forever." He hugs me closer to him, and I can’t help but smile. It just feels so good, with his arms wrapped around me. When I’m with Mikey, I feel safe. I know that he’s not going to hurt me. I close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to preserve this feeling in my memory. I want it to be cemented into my brain, so that when he's not around, I can remember it. I can be at home.

Mikey

 

A little while later, we're laying down on the couch. Her back is against my chest, and my arm is slung across her waist. Her hand covers mine, holding it against her stomach. The movie is starting to wrap up, but I'm not paying much attention to it. I can feel her against me, I can smell her hair. I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else.
    "Mikey?" She says my name like a question, and I never know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. 
    "Yeah," I breathe into the back of her neck.
    "Can I... Can I be honest with you for a second?" What's going on? 
    "Of course," I tell her. My voice is low, soft. Even I can barely hear it. 
    She hesitates. I feel her take a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Well..." A minute ago, I would have told you that there was no space between my chest and her back, that we were as close as we could be. But she somehow finds a way to push herself closer to me, and her hand presses my hand tighter against her stomach. "I think..." she starts again, and then stops. 
    I press my face against the back of her neck. "You think what?" I ask. 
  "I love you," she whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear. She holds her breath, waiting for my reaction. 
    I tighten my arm around her waist. "I love you too, Amia." Now that I've said it out loud, loud enough for her to actually hear me, I feel like all the air's been let out of my lungs. I wonder if she feels the same way. 
    For the next few minutes, neither of us says anything. The movie ends, but I don't want to get up to change it. We watch the credits roll, and eventually the screen goes back to the menu at the beginning of the disc. "We should probably take that out," I say, but make no effort to move.
    "Mm-hmm," she says, but she doesn't move either. She sounds sleepy, and I feel her body relax completely.
    "I can take care of it later," I say. I close my eyes, try to enjoy this time that I have with her.

 

I wake up to the alarm on my phone ringing. It's 3:15. I have fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to be on the air. I have fifteen minutes to get up, take Amia home, and get to the station. I start to sit up, which wakes her up as well. "Sorry," I say to her. "But I have to take you home. I have to get to the station."
    She nods and rubs her eyes. "That's okay," she says. "It's probably time for me to go home anyway, since I didn't tell my mom when I'd be back or where I'd be going."
    We head out to my car, and I take her home. When we get to her driveway, she leans across the center console. "I love you," she says again, louder this time than it was earlier. I love the sound of that. She has a smile on her face, and her eyes are brighter than I've seen them in a long time. 
    "I love you too," I answer back. She closes the few inches in between us and kisses me good-bye. Long before I'm ready, she ends the kiss. 
     "Have a good rest of your day," she says, and then gets out. I wait until she gets into the house before I drive away.

Over the next couple months, I spend a lot of time at church. Accepting the fact that my parents are getting a divorce is hard, especially because I keep having to explain myself. Even spending time with Amia, even though I love her, can be exhausting. One night when I’m at her house, she asks me how I'm doing. "I'm worried about you," she says, running her fingers through my hair. "You're taking this way harder than anyone I know. Divorce happens, Mikey. I know it's hard, but it's not the end of the world. I'm worried that you think it is."

"Well, it's different for me," I said. "My parents weren't just married by law. Marriage in the Church is a sacrament, and sacraments can't just be undone like that." I sigh. "It's like... when you're married in the Church, it's a commitment to your spouse, but also to God and the congregation. It's a promise, and they just broke that promise. They let down the entire Church body." 

I can tell by her face that she doesn't quite understand. "I know that it seems like they're letting the whole world down. And I'm not trying to justify their divorce, because it's completely tearing apart your family. But out of all the people who I've seen go through a divorce, or a parents' divorce, you're the one who's the most beat up about it. And it worries me. They're not letting the entire world down, just themselves and you. But you're strong. You'll get through this. It's not like they're suddenly terrible people. They're still your parents, and they still love you. They're still the same people they've always been."

I shake my head a little. "But they're not the same. In marriage, you become one. You become one and you can’t just go back to being two separate people again.”

She frowns. "Well... but when you get married, you don't actually become one. That's just something people say. It's not like you morph into one person. They still have separate bodies, personalities, genes, all that stuff. They’re not the same person."

"Well, not physically," I say, trying not to get annoyed. "But spiritually, you are one. And you can't just break apart. And my parents, of all people, should know this. They know that it's not that easy."

She scoots away from me a little bit and takes my hand in both of hers. "Mikey, everything's going to be okay. Okay?" I give her a small nod. "You will get through this. Your parents aren't betraying you, or betraying God, or betraying each other. They just changed. They aren't the same people anymore, and they don't love each other anymore. But it will be okay." 

I feel my face getting hot again. Why can’t she accept that we have different views on this? Why can’t she understand that this is a big deal to me, a bigger deal than it was to her when her parents split up? “Of course you wouldn’t understand,” I snap at her.

She pulls away from me. “Excuse me? Of course I wouldn’t understand? Why? Because I’m not part of your perfect little religion with its perfect people? Because I didn’t get all the way until my senior year of high school, when it’s only going to matter for a few more months, before my parents decided to get a divorce? That in my experience, marriage doesn’t mean anything because you can still walk out on someone just as easily? I wouldn’t understand because my family’s not perfect, my life isn’t perfect. So excuse me for not thinking that your parents getting a divorce is the end of the world.”

She starts to get up, and I say, “Amia, you know that that’s not what I meant.” I feel all the muscles in my body tense up. “We believe different things about marriage. And I’ve lived eighteen years believing that my parents are outstanding examples of what a real marriage looks like. I apologize for not just accepting that and throwing my parents a party. Excuse me for being upset when everything I thought I knew bursts into flames.” Sarcasm drips from my words, and I’m practically yelling.

She shakes her head, and looks like she’s about to cry. “This is not the end of the world, Mikey. You don’t think all this was hard for me to go through? Funerals and doctor appointments and not being able to hear. Can you imagine being six years old, all excited to grow up and have independence and experience all these great things, and then have doctors tell you that there’s a huge part of those experiences that you’ll never have again? I did think the world was going to end. I couldn’t hear, so what was even the point? And then my dad left. And I knew, I was certain, that that was the end.”

She takes a deep breath. “But it wasn’t. Life goes on, Mikey. Life always goes on. You’ve had a pretty damn painless life so far.”

She gets up off the couch and heads for her bedroom, but then stops to turn around. “And I’m sick of you yelling at me and getting mad at me for trying to help you. If you want to yell, yell at your parents. They’re the ones that are doing this to you, not me. So stop taking it out on me.”

I watch as she walks up the stairs and into her room, and then I let myself out. On the way home, I think about everything that she said.

And on one hand, she's right. They aren't doing this to hurt me, to turn their backs to me. Plus, I need to man up a little bit. It's not the end of the world. And it's not like they suddenly hate each other. Right?

When you spend your whole life with the perfect family, and then one day it's broken, and you have no explanation, though, it's hard. Especially when you've been raised to believe that, in the context of the true meaning of marriage, divorce can't really exist. 

But it's hard to explain that to people. So most of the time, I just don't. I spend most of my free time either in Adoration or talking to Father. Because he understands. 

As I spend more time with Father, I get a couple extra volunteer opportunities. I go with him to visit people on the outside of town, especially the older members of the parish who can't make it to mass that often. I go with him to the hospital, talk to the elderly there as well. While at the hospital, I also listen to Father speak to sick children and their families, and it brings me an unfamiliar feeling. 

As I trail behind Father, watching him perform his various duties, I can't help but feel at peace and at home. Like my problems don't matter anymore. Because, yeah, my parents might be getting a divorce. But this family has a six-year-old who just died from cancer. And this couple has been trying for years to have children, with no results. The list goes on of people who are going through extremely difficult times. I discover that I'm actually pretty good at finding the right things to say to make them feel better. For the first time, I've found something that gives me complete joy. 

One day, I talk to Father about it. "It's my senior year, and I have no idea what I even want to do the rest of my life. I don't know what kind of career I want. Every time I think I find something, I get a chance to try it out and it doesn't feel right. But this, this feels right."

He smiles. "I have noticed a change in you the last few weeks. You do seem happier, and like you're coping better with your parents' divorce. Have you considered the priesthood?"

I laugh. "Well, when I was like four, I thought it sounded cool." He smiles again. "But I haven't really given it much thought since then."

"I think it's something that you should consider," he says. "I've been a priest for more than thirty years, and there's not been a single second where I've regretted my decision. It was difficult, when I first started out, because I had to leave behind the most beautiful girl in the world. I often wondered, the first few months, why God would let me fall in love with someone, if I was called to the priesthood. But since then, I've realized that loving her has helped me to better fulfill my duties. I know what it's like to love. To have my heart broken. I have compassion, I understand what it's like to be in a relationship. And I know how beautiful it is when you find your true calling, even though it may hurt at first."

I nod. I don't usually talk to him about Amia, but I know that he knows about our relationship. Does he really think I might be called to the priesthood? I don't necessarily believe that I am going to marry Amia. But I just always assumed that I'd get married someday. And being with Amia... the feeling of being so close to someone, the feeling I get in my chest when I see her, when I get to take her into my arms... I can't imagine letting go of that forever.

"You obviously don't have to make a decision right now," he says, seeing the panicked look on my face. "But pray about it. Let God speak to you, reveal to you His plan. Because whether it's marriage or holy orders, His plan will be infinitely better than your plan." He looks up at the clock. "Well, I should get going. I have an appointment in about twenty minutes, and I have to get things ready." He stands up as I do, walks me to the door. "You'll find your calling, Michael. You just have to open your eyes and your heart."

 

The next time I see Amia, things are different. I want her, more than I've ever wanted her before. But the conversation with Father is stuck in my head, and I hold back. She notices almost right away, asks me if everything is okay. 

"Yeah, I'm great," I say. "I just missed you. I haven't really seen you in a few days."

She hugs me tight. "I missed you too. We don't see each other that often anymore." For a moment, she looks really sad. "You're always busy. But you seem happier now." She gives me a quick kiss. "You know I love you, right?"

I nod and smile. "Of course I do. And I love you too." I kiss her this time, and neither of us pull away. 

Despite what Father said, I have to ask. Why would God give me someone like Amia, let me experience this kind of love, if I was called to be a priest? 

As she hugs me tighter, I answer my own question. 

He wouldn't.

Amia

 

For the next couple months after spring break, nothing can bring me down. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his arm across my waist, his breath on the back of my neck. I hear his voice, telling me that he loves me. 

I don't see Mikey very often in that time. He stays pretty busy, between school, the radio, and his visits with Father Steve. They become close, and I try not to get jealous. Still, I can't help but think sometimes that every hour he spends over there is an hour that he's choosing not to spend with me. I don't say this to him, though, because I know that that's not how he thinks of it. Besides, just because he told me he loves me doesn't mean that he has to spend every second of every day with me. 

I see that being with the priest makes him happy, and that makes me happy. I don't like seeing him all depressed. I just wish that I could give him that happiness, that he didn't have to run off to the church all the time. Despite all that, I still catch myself smiling about him all the time. The rare times that we are together, he’s less distracted, so when he’s with me I get all of his attention.

As the end of the school year nears, my time with Mikey becomes even more precious. I don't know where he'll be next year, or even in six months. I can feel my time with Mikey coming to an end, and it honestly scares me. If he goes off to college, he won't be on the radio anymore. Will I even want to listen? Will I even be able to hear it? And he won't be around to talk to me, so I won't be able to hear his voice.  

After these last several months, I couldn't imagine going back to complete silence all the time. It wouldn't be fair. I’m not ready for it.

 I try not to think about these things, but sometimes I can't help it.

 

The week before graduation, Mikey and I don’t spend a whole lot of time together. I spend a lot of time studying for finals, but Mikey doesn’t have any more studying to do. The seniors take their finals early, and he has graduation practice next week while I take my finals. Which means that I won’t see him in the halls anymore.

By that Friday, though, he’s done with his tests. He comes over that night, and I take a break from studying. We go up into my room and sit on my floor, with our backs against the side of the bed. We face the open door, but no one’s home. We start talking about what we’ve been up to this last week, since I haven’t even been calling to talk to him on the radio. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Father Steve,” he says. “We even went out to dinner last night, nothing fancy, but just to talk. He’s been helping me a lot.”

“Yeah, you seem to really enjoy him,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He leans away from me, frowning. “Amia, are you jealous of the time that I’ve been spending with Father?”

Maybe it’s the worries about what’s going to happen in the next few weeks, and maybe it’s just me being tired from school and studying. For some reason, it seems like a very stupid question. “Well wouldn’t you be jealous if I was choosing to spend all my time with someone else besides you?”

He shakes his head, and he moves his hands from his lap onto the floor. “You can not be serious. What do you want me to do? Sit around here, depressed, while you study for tests when I’ve already taken mine? I’m not supposed to go see the guy who helps me think through things and feel better about the mess that my life has become, all because you’re jealous? He’s not some girl that I’m dating behind your back. He’s a priest.”

His voice isn’t loud, but I can tell he’s trying to hold back his anger. Still, for some reason, I just can’t let it go. “Why won’t you let me help you? Why can’t you tell me the stuff that you tell him, instead of running off all the time? We’re in a relationship. I love you, Mikey, I want to help you. Why won’t you let me?”

He quickly stands up and looks down at me. “Because you don’t help!” he yells. Then, quieter, calmer, he continues, “When I talk to you, you just tell me to get over it. You don’t acknowledge how big of a deal this is to me. And that doesn’t help me at all.” He starts walking out, and I get up and follow him.

“Mikey, wait!” He turns around to face me at the front door, and his face is red. He’s clenching his fists, gritting his teeth.

“No, Amia. This isn’t about you. This is about me. And I’m just doing what I need to do in order to get better. And having you get all angry and jealous for absolutely no good reason is not going to make me get better. I love you, Amia, I really do. And I wish that talking to you about everything made me feel better. But it doesn’t. Goodnight, Amia.”

He turns and walks out the door, slamming it behind him. I feel it in the floor, and I cover my face with my hands. Why did I have to say anything?

 

As I get ready for bed, I think about how much of a gift Mikey has been. He has made me so happy, and brought me closer to God. I still don't rely on God as much as Mikey does, but I've come a long way in the past eight or nine months. And I owe it all to him. So why do I have to go and ruin things?

I lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to get to sleep. But my thoughts keep me from even feeling tired. They all involve Mikey, which makes me roll my eyes. It’s like he’s the only thing I even care about in my life. It's times like this that I wish I had a girlfriend, someone who I could talk to and gush with about Mikey. 

A few minutes later, I get out of bed and go across the hall to Lisa's room. I knock softly as I push the door open. "Lisa?" 

She's sitting on her bed reading a book. She looks up at me and smiles. "Hey, sis," she says. "What's up?"

I step into her room, push the door shut behind me. "I just can't sleep, and need someone to talk to." As I walk to the foot of her bed, she looks concerned. "It's nothing bad," I say. "Actually, it's all good. I just have all these thoughts and emotions built up that I have no one to talk to about."

"Oooh, boy talk?” She asks, and I nod. “Hit me, girl!" 

I laugh, then sit criss-cross on her bed. "I just... I don't know," I say, smiling. "I guess now that I have someone to talk to, I don't really know what I want to say." 

She smiles at me. "Well, let's see. We can talk about... Oh! Tell me about your first kiss. I don't think I've heard that story yet."

I nod. "Well, it's not really much of a story, but I guess I'll tell you." Now that I think about it, this is kind of weird. As I tell her, I feel myself blush. "We were just at his cousin's New Year's Eve party, and we were outside, and it started to snow, and we... kissed?" 

She laughs. "Wow, you're really not good at this, are you?" I shake my head. I've always been one to kind of hide my affection when we're in public, and talking about it feels strange. But also... like it could be fun. "You have to tell it differently. You have to say... 'As he grabbed me in his arms, the world around me seemed to disappear. I could vaguely hear the people around me counting down to the new year. His eyes locked onto mine, and I couldn't look away. As his lips touched mine, the icy flakes cooled down our hot embrace.' Wasn't that much more interesting?"

I'm cracking up, shaking my head. "Maybe more interesting, Lisa," I say, "but it wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all." 

She's laughing too. "Well then tell me how it really was.”

I nod. "Okay, okay. Well, first of all, I didn't hear anyone counting down. I didn't hear anything. Because, you know." 

She laughs. "Yeah, sorry." 

"But..." I hesitate. Up until now, I haven't told her or my mom that I can hear Mikey. "You have to promise that you won't say anything to Mom, because she'll make a huge deal out of it. And it'll start more stuff and more doctor's visits and it'll just be miserable. So don't tell her."

She nods and looks slightly concerned, but also excited. "I won't tell her. I promise. Just tell me!"

"Well... I can hear him. When he talks. Not just on the radio. It started out really slowly, and I couldn't hear everything that he said. But we were just out on the porch, and then I saw him mouth the numbers. And then, he just... he just kissed me. And it was just... it was warm. And then it started snowing, so I pushed him aside and caught some snowflakes on my tongue." This makes her laugh. "And then he grabbed me and hugged me and said 'Happy New Year, Amia.'" 

"Aw," she says, smiling. "That’s so sweet.” She stops smiling and looks serious. "Now let's talk about the important part of that," she says. "You can hear him? Even when he's not on the radio?" I nod. "Oh my gosh! Amia! Why didn't you tell me? That is so cool! God has big plans for you two!" 

"I can hear everything he says now. It started out as just like... a sound here or there, and then words, and then sentences, and now I can hear it all. And it's such a relief!"

We talk for a couple more hours. Once I get started, it just keeps coming. I tell her about some of the conversations we have, about the way he makes me feel. I talk about how awesome it is to have faith in God again, and how Mikey inspires me to draw closer to Him. I also talk about how I'm still a little worried about him. But mostly, I tell her about how great it is to feel loved, and to have someone who I can love.

After a while, my mom comes in. "You girls need to get to sleep," she says. "You can continue this gab fest tomorrow." She has a smile on her face, and I know she's glad that we're having this talk. It's been a while since Lisa and I have really talked for more than a few minutes.

As I get up to go back to my room, Lisa grabs my hand. "I'm glad you're happy, Amia. You deserve it. I'm glad you finally found it."

I smile back at her. "Me too," I say. "Me too."

 

The next day, all I can seem to think about is Mikey. 

I begin to picture us a few years from now. We're both graduated, both going to college, and still madly in love. People compliment us all the time, tell us what a beautiful story we have. Fast forward a few more years, and we have a few kids running around the house. White picket fence, a dog, the perfect marriage, the perfect life. 

I've always wanted a family of my own, but I've always been terrified that I'll end up like my parents. Well, like my mom was for so many years. Single, raising two kids, full time job, no support or contact whatsoever from her ex-husband. Since I was a little kid, I've been terrified that I'll end up just like my parents. 

When I think about a future with Mikey, I'm not scared at all. We've both learn from our parents' mistakes. We'd be stronger than they were. I'm confident that, if Mikey and I do stay together for the next year or two, we'll be together forever. 

Part of me is still cautious. After all, we're still in high school. The chances of us sticking together are pretty slim. But I'm confident that we could make it. I love him. And he loves me. What more could we need?

 

The next day around noon, he comes over. "Hey," he says, walking into my room. I set aside my notes that I was studying, and he sits on the edge of my bed. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

I stop him. “No, Mikey, it was my fault. I shouldn’t be jealous, and I shouldn’t have said anything. I know that you’re just trying to make sense of everything, and I’m sorry for not being more understanding.”

He nods, but neither of us say anything else for about a minute. Then, “So… I wanted to talk to you about next weekend. My parents and I had this trip planned. We were going to go to California, go to the beach, hang out for a few days. Well, my mom doesn't want to go now, because... well, you know." I see the now-familiar look of hurt in his eyes, but it's not nearly as bad as it used to be. "My dad suggested that I ask you if you want to come with us."

I look down at my lap. I wasn't expecting this. A weekend away with my boyfriend, romantic walks on the beach, getting away from all the drama with my parents, all the drama with his parents... A whole weekend where he's all mine, and he can't slink off to go hang out with the priest? I can't help the smile from forming on my lips. 

Before I can say anything, he keeps going. "I know your parents might not be particularly thrilled by the thought of you spending a couple nights away with your boyfriend. But my dad will be there the whole time, and he said if they want to talk to him in person he'd be more than happy to talk to them and reassure them that you will be in good hands. We already have a reservation for this room, which is why we can't just cancel. And it would just be Saturday night, and..."

I start laughing, and he stops. "What?"

"You. You're just a funny guy." I smile up at him, and he just looks confused. "I would love to go. I don't know how easy it will be to convince my parents, but I would love to go with you." 

He smiles, then leans over to kiss my cheek. "I gotta go, but I'll talk to you about it later, okay? I was sent on an errand for groceries, and stopped to tell you on the way.” As I watch him leave, I can’t help smile. There’s a grocery store right down the street from his house. I’m definitely not “on the way.”

Mikey

 

As graduation approaches, I start to get a permanent pit inside my stomach. I don't know what will happen after this summer. I don't know where I'll be, if I'm going to college or just straight into the workforce. And I don't know where I'll stand with Amia. She still has a whole year left of school. Who knows where that year will take me?

I feel better once my dad convinces her mom to let her come on the trip. It's going to be nice to get to be with her for a couple days, to be away from the drama with her parents and with my parents. And maybe we'll figure out what the future holds for us. I don't want to let her go. I can picture us being together for the rest of our lives. So why is this one year causing me so much distress?

I stand in my room, getting ready for graduation. My cap and gown are hanging on the closet door and my tie is thrown over the back of my desk chair. I examine my reflection in the mirror, not quite sure what to think. This school year has been amazing. I finished at the top of my class, I've had so many great memories. And I fell in love with an amazing girl. It was also the year that my parents announced that they're getting a divorce. And the last year I had to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. This next year, I know, will be awesome. I'll be on my own, no longer in the middle of Mom and Dad. I'll have independence, can become self-sufficient. Whether I go to college or not, I'll be starting the next chapter in my life, as cheesy as that sounds. 

I don't feel ready. I don't feel like it's really time for me to graduate from high school. But I know that it is time, that there's nothing left for me to do but walk across that stage and receive my diploma. 

I couldn't be more nervous.

I couldn't be more excited.

 

I finish getting ready and head to the school. We're all a bit nervous, a bit excited, and a bit confused about where the last eighteen years of our life went. 

Finally, the teachers wrangle us up into our line, get us ready to walk across the football field. The ceremony blurs by, and after about an hour and a half, it's over. Our principal steps up to the mic, looks at the crowd, and then at us. "I now present the graduated class..." The rest of her sentence is drowned out by the cheers of the couple thousand people in the stadium. Our senior song starts, and we start the procession off the field.

Joe claps his hand on my shoulder as we walk to the spot where we agreed to meet our parents. "Dude, we did it! We're done! Can you believe it?"

I shake my head. "It's crazy."

I can’t believe it. I’m actually done.

 

The next morning, I finish putting a few things into my suitcase. My toothbrush, phone charger, and a couple other last minute necessities. I head downstairs, give my mom a hug. 

"Have fun, honey," she says, and squeezes me extra tight. "And, you know, behave." She gives me a look, the same look she's given me any time she remembers that I'm taking Amia on my trip. 

I sigh, tired of having this same conversation. "Mom, I promise you nothing will happen. Dad will be there the entire time. And besides. You can trust me. You've raised me well. And you can trust her. I promise." She nods and finally releases me.

I walk outside, and my dad's car is idling at the curb. I put my bag in the trunk, and hop into the car. "Are you ready?" he asks, and then puts the car into drive, and we head to Amia's house. It's about a six hour drive, and it's 6:30 now. I didn't get much sleep last night, so I hope I manage to stay awake for the rest of the day. We'll hit the beach just in time for lunch, and have all of the afternoon and evening to ourselves. I've already called and made a reservation for tonight at a restaurant where Mom and Dad always went. It overlooks the beach, and I figure afterwards we can take a walk back to the hotel. It'll be a nice, relaxing day with my girl. 

We pull up to her house, and I go to her door. As I step onto the porch, the door swings open and she comes out. "Are you ready?"

She smiles and lets out a small yawn. "Yeah, I'm ready, but I didn't get much sleep last night. Mom and Dad gave me a huge lecture about behaving, and how they'll be keeping in contact with your dad all weekend to make sure that we're not doing anything we aren't supposed to be doing." We're at the car now, so I open her door and as she says hi to my dad, I put her suitcase in the trunk. "Good morning," I hear her say to my dad. I slide into the back seat next to her and she continues her story. "And then finally, they let me go to sleep and then Lisa came into my room and told me that I shouldn't worry about Mom and Dad, that she got away with a lot of stuff and Mom never found out. Then, despite my protests, she insisted on describing to me all the stuff she's gotten away with. She called it girl talk. I call it sleep deprivation." She lays her head on my shoulder.

"So, do you mind if I try to sleep on the way there?" I've never been more thankful for someone else not getting enough sleep. Within ten minutes, we're both dead to the world.

 

I wake up at about noon, and Amia's head is still on my shoulder. I make eye contact with my dad in the mirror. "Get a nice nap?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, rolling my neck. Slumping over like I was for the last five hours wasn't a very good idea. "Sorry for falling asleep on you. With last night, I just didn't get much sleep."

After a few minutes, Amia wakes up. "Feel better?" I ask, and she nods.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Usually I'm okay without tons of sleep. But man I was tired." She laughs, a noise that I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing. I can't wait for this weekend to officially get started, for us to get out of the car and get to explore the boardwalk for the afternoon.

When we finally get to the hotel, we put our stuff in the room. Amia goes into the bathroom to change into her bathing suit, and my dad takes out his wallet. "Hey, Mikey, I know you have money in your account, but I don't want you to have to spend it all this weekend." He pulls out two fifties, presses them into my hand.

"Dad, you don't have to-"

"I know I don't. But I want to. I know that these last few months have been tough on you."

"And you think throwing money at me is going to make up for it?" Under the surface, I know that that's not what he's trying to do. I don't know why I'm getting upset about it. I shouldn't be doing anything that could possibly ruin this weekend.

"No, Mikey, you know that's not what I mean by this.” He looks me in the eye, and his voice is stern. He means business. “I’m not going to fight with you today. I just want to make sure you're having a good time, and I'm your dad. This is one of the things that dads are supposed to do for their kids. And I know this isn't going to make up for everything that's been going on. But it's something that I want to do for you."

I sigh as I put the money into my wallet. "I'm sorry," I say. "Thank you. I'm sorry for being so difficult." 

The bathroom door opens and Amia walks out. She smiles at me, then grabs a baseball cap, flip flops, and a beach towel out of her bag. "Are you going to get changed?" she asks me, pointing to my jeans and sweatshirt. "I don't know if I want to be seen with the dumb tourist who was too stupid to wear climate-appropriate apparel." 

"Well. I guess you can just leave then." But I grab my bag and head into the bathroom. I come back out a few minutes later in my swim trunks and a t-shirt. "Let's hit the beach," I say.

 

We get down the wooden stairs to the beach, which is pretty packed with people. I didn't expect anything less, even though I wish there were fewer people.

We lay our towels down on the sand, and sit down to face the water. I know that we probably won’t go in, though. Amia hasn’t willingly entered a body of water since she was still wearing floaties.

"So what's your dad doing all weekend?" she asks after a couple minutes. "He's not wandering around all alone, is he?"

I shake my head. "No, he's got a few frat brothers that live here. We haven't come here in a few years, so it's been a while since he saw them. He'll probably go see them, catch up with them." 

"Oh, that'll be nice." She leans back on the towel and closes her eyes in the sun. "I just didn't want him to be all alone all weekend. I still kind of feel bad for crashing your family weekend. You and your dad could have gone out and had a fun weekend together." 

I grab her hand, silently admiring her thoughtfulness. "Well, I don't think what he has in mind for this weekend is something he'd want his underage son tagging along for. He's with his frat buddies, remember?”

"So you guys just brought me along so he could get rid of you. I see how it is," she says, joking. 

"Yeah, well, you know, I don't really like you at all. All my other friends were busy, so I got stuck with you. But rest assured, you were my last resort."

 

After hanging out on the beach for a few hours, we head back to the hotel to change. Our reservation is at seven, and we leave the hotel at about 6:30. She looks beautiful. It takes us about twenty minutes to walk to the restaurant, and the waiter leads us to a table on the balcony that overlooks the beach. It's an Italian restaurant, and the smell of fresh bread and garlic fills the entire building.

"This place is amazing," she says, looking at the water. "Have you been here before?"

"Yeah, we usually come here whenever we come down here. It's pretty good. I've never had anything that I didn't like. Of course, I always get the spaghetti, so what do you expect?" She lets out a small laugh, and then takes a drink of her water.

 She glances at the menu, and nods when she finds what she wants. "Chicken alfredo," she says. "You can't go wrong with that." 

The rest of the dinner passes quickly. After we pay, she grabs my hand and we walk outside, onto the beach. She takes her shoes off so that she can feel the sand between her toes, and I try not to laugh at how cliché she sounds when she says it. We take our time getting back to the hotel, and we even find a nice bench to sit on and visit for a while.

At about ten, we finally get back to the hotel room. There's a note from my dad on the night stand saying that he met up with his friends and doesn't know what time he'll be back. "P.S.- Behave," I read out loud, and she laughs. 

"You know, I'm getting this weird feeling that our parents want us to behave.”

 

About an hour later, we're sitting on the bed watching a movie. She has her head on my shoulder, and an arm around my waist. She shifts a little, so that she's looking at me instead of the TV. "Thanks for bringing me along," she says. "And for dinner. And just for everything you've done for me." She lifts herself up a little bit, and kisses me gently on the cheek. "You are one amazing guy, Michael Levis." 

She kisses me on the lips, and I'm a little surprised. She almost never kisses me first. In the several months since our first kiss, I’ve almost always been the one to kiss her first. 

After a few minutes, the surprise has long worn off, and something doesn't feel right. There's this girl, this beautiful, wonderful girl, and I love her- I really, really do. And here she is, kissing me. Everything should feel right. Everything should be right. Why isn't this right?

Her hand that's on my stomach moves, dragging my shirt and leaving a small sliver of skin exposed. When her hand touches it, it sends electricity coursing through my body. My skin is hot under her hand. But somehow, something is still wrong.

And it's not my parents' voices in the back of my head, telling me that I should stop, before things get carried away. 

It's something much bigger.

It's not a voice telling me not to let it go any farther. It's a calling, telling me that I should stop completely. 

That this isn't my purpose. 

That my path is going to lead me somewhere very different. 

 

This all happens in about two seconds, me figuring out what's wrong. I gently push her away, sit up straighter, and turn so that I'm facing her. I feel my heart breaking, and I know that maybe this isn't the best time to do this. But I know that it has to be done eventually. And if I don't tell her now, then she'll notice that I'm acting weird and it'll turn into a fight that will just cause more hurt. 

I feel my heart breaking, but I also know that this is the right thing. Amidst the pain is relief, because I've finally figured it out.

I sit in silence for a minute, staring at my hands in my lap, and when I look up, she's concerned. She's more than concerned. She's completely freaked out. 

"Amia, I have to talk to you about something." I gently grab her wrists and pull them toward me, and she lifts her face so that her eyes meet mine." She already has tears streaming down her cheeks, and I want to pull her into my arms and forget about this, carry on like it never happened. 

But I can't. 

"I want you to know that I love you,” I say, not knowing how else to start this off. “Nothing will ever change that. I have fallen completely in love with you. And that makes this so hard for me." I take a deep breath. "My whole life, it's kind of been a joke that I'll grow up to be a priest. It's the running joke at all family events. It's been constant. I always did my best to ignore it, because I never felt like being a priest was for me. I never felt like that's what God had planned for me.

"But these last few months, I've gotten closer to Father. I've learned more about the priesthood, and more about myself. And I've started to consider that maybe that is for me. Maybe that is what God wants for me." The tears keep streaming down her face, and she gently shakes her head. 

"I don't know for sure. But I really need you to understand this. It has nothing to do with you. I love you so much, Amia. And when you touch me, when you kiss me, even when you look at me, my body reacts so strongly. But my heart is telling me that it isn't right. Not anymore. We... we have to break up. I need to take time to discern, and I need to not have one foot in both doors. I need to make sure this is real. And it's not fair for me to drag you along while I do that."

Amia

 

I want to cry. I want to scream and yell and punch something and complain about how the world isn't fair. But I can't. I can't focus on what Mikey just told me. I can't register what it means, it won't soak into my skin. 

Because the second he stops talking, I can hear. 

1. Can. Hear. 

I hear the whir of the AC unit underneath the window, and someone talking in the hallway. I hear the bed creak when I shift my weight, and hear the faint sound that his thumb makes as it draws circles on the back of my hand. 

I can hear. 

I go to the window, and slide it open. I hear traffic, two stories down. Cars running, driving down the road. I hear people on the sidewalk, and countless other sounds that blend together to form the sound of the city. 

I can hear. 

"Mikey," I say, and I can hear my own voice. I can hear my own voice. It's higher pitched than it sounds when I would hear it over the radio. "Mikey, I can hear." He jumps up from the bed, comes over to me. And I can hear his soft footsteps on the carpet. 

"What do you mean? Like, you can hear everything?" I nod, and he wraps me into a hug. When he pulls away, his face is practically split in half by a giant smile. Hidden behind the smile, in his eyes, is pain; it’s exciting news, but it’s not enough to make him forget what he just decided. "Amia, that's so great!" 

I walk over to my bag, pull out my sweatshirt. "Can we go to the beach? Please?" Without waiting for him to answer, I slip my feet into my flip flops and grab the door key. He's still standing by the window, watching me. "Come on, Mikey," I plead. "I want to hear the waves. I want to listen to all the sounds." Now, before this goes away.  This whole time, I've been waiting for silence to once again envelope me, to surround me and suck me back into itself. I can't help but think that this is all temporary, that all this hearing business is going to end just as suddenly as it started. 

He grabs his shoes and sweatshirt, and we head out the door. I hear the elevator ding, hear the click as he presses the button for the lobby. I hear the doors slide open, and I hear my flip flops flip and flop against my feet. 

I can hear.

A couple times, Mikey tries to talk, but I shush him. For the last few months, his voice was all I could hear, all I thought I wanted to hear. But I never imagined that the whole world of sounds would once again be available to me. I want to soak it all in, to bask in the glory of it all. 

We get down to the beach, and I sit down in the cold sand, close my eyes, and listen. I'm terrified by the huge expanse of open water before me, but I'm completely in awe at the sound of the waves, coming to a gentle end just before they hit my feet. 

Mikey drops down beside me, and out of habit I lean my head on his shoulder. 

"I can hear, Mikey," I whisper. "I can hear. And it's wonderful. It's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced in my life." He doesn't say anything, and we sit in silence for several minutes. 

Well, not silence. Because I. Can. Hear. 

 

"Can we talk about what you said in there?" I ask quietly. We’ve been sitting out here for about ten minutes, and it's finally setting in, what he said. It's registering, and I feel a pit in my stomach. My chest is physically hurting, and there's a lump in my throat. My face feels all crusty from the tears that dried to it earlier, but I know that more are just going to start coming soon. 

He clears his throat, grabs my hand in his. "Yeah, of course," he says, holding back his own tears. 

"How long have you felt like this?" What I really mean, of course, is, "How long have you been leading me on?" Before he has a chance to answer, I keep going. "Mikey, I could see us being together forever. It sounds cliché and super dumb, meeting the man you'll marry when you're sixteen. But I can't help it. I was over here day-dreaming about what we'll name our kids, and you're planning homilies. Why didn't you say something sooner?"

He sighs and his thumb starts making the circle on my hand once again. "Honestly, it hasn't been long at all. Just recently, Father suggested that I might be called to the priesthood. I thought about it for about a day, until I saw you again. And I thought that I knew for sure that God wouldn't do that to me, make me fall in love with such an amazing girl just to send me to a life of celibacy. I thought that I for sure ruled that out."

Another deep breath. "But tonight, something just felt different. I still have all the same feelings about you, please know that I'm not using this as an excuse just to wimp out on dumping you. It just felt... I don't know, off, I guess. And I never expected something like this would be so physically painful. But I just know that it's the right thing to do."

I want him to ask me to wait, to give him a few months to get things sorted out. That he'll probably realize it was nothing, that of course he's not going to be a priest. He just needs some time to make absolutely sure. "Wait for me." Three little words. I can hear everything now, but all I want to hear is those words.

But I know that he won't say them. Because that wouldn't be fair to me. And he knows that. All it would do is push off the pain. I could deal with this broken heart later, hold onto the false hope that he'll come back to me. I could stay in my perfect bubble, where I have the perfect boyfriend, for a little bit longer. And not have to deal with this now. 

For another few minutes, neither of us speaks. We sit in the dark, leaning against each other, listening to each other breathe (I can hear him breathe. Not just speak. But I can hear the air entering and exiting his body. I can hear it). 

"How... Why..." I stop myself, take a deep breath. "What is the next step?"

"Well, I'm probably going to keep meeting with Father. He's the vocational director for our parish, the guy we're supposed to go to when we have these kinds of questions. And he'll pray with me and counsel me and help me open up my heart and my life to God's will, and to discern what God's will truly is in my life."

"Is it something that you want to do?"

He takes a deep breath in, but doesn't let it out right away. "I don't really know." He squeezes my hand tighter. "Right now, I just want to ignore this, and be with you and enjoy our time together. Right now, I wish I would have at least waited to do this until after we were back home, and at least avoided an awkward six-hour car ride." I laugh a little. That's something I love about him. Even in moments like this, he says something that makes me smile. As if the only thing on my mind right now is the awkward car ride. 

"But that's why I need to take a step back from us. If I don't figure this out now, I might not figure it out until it's too late."

"But what do you want to do with your life? Do you want to be a priest? I mean, this is your life, isn't it? Do what you want to do." I know I'm not helping him out. But I just want this pain to stop. I want him to tell me that I'm right, this was all a mistake, that he's not going anywhere, certainly not to the priesthood. That the only place he's going is back to the room so we can make out a little more before his dad comes back.

"Yeah, but it's not quite like that.” Normally, this kind of conversation would probably end up in Mikey getting mad and us arguing about it. But he just seems so deflated, like he doesn’t have it in him to get angry right now. “God gave everything for me. He gave His Son, He gave His life. He created me, and my purpose on this earth is do God's will in every way that I can. He gives us free will. And with that, we can choose to follow His will or go with our own. With my free will, I'm choosing to at least figure out what God's will is for me. That's what I'm choosing to do with my life."

Even though it's not what I want to hear, I can't help but admire his love for his Faith, his dedication to his God. I don't know if I'll ever reach that level. Maybe it really is a good thing that we're breaking up. I would just bring him down.

Wait. What am I saying? This is not a good thing. This is heartbreak and sadness and crusty eyes from crying all night long. 

Worst start to a summer. Ever. 

 

Hours later, I'm lying under the covers, unable to sleep. How could this happen? What is even going on in my life? 

I stay up all night, tossing and turning. So many things are running through my mind. About Mikey. About hearing again. Are they connected? I mean, they have to be, right? How could they not be?

I finally start to drift off around five, still just as confused.

 

Around ten, Mikey gently shakes me awake. "Hey, Amia," he says. There's something different about the way he looks. He looks... sad. Oh. So it wasn't a dream. "You want to head down and get some breakfast? They close it all down in half an hour."

I get up and quickly get dressed, and we head down to first floor together. The elevator ride is awkward, with an awkward amount of space between us. This feels so… wrong. Once we get to the cafeteria, I grab a bagel and some yogurt, and Mikey pours some batter into the waffle iron. 

I sit down at a table next to Mr. Levis. He looks at me for a couple seconds, then says quietly, "How are you this morning?" 

I sigh. "Did Mikey already talk to you?"

He nods. "We've been down here for the last two hours talking about it. He just wants to do what's right."

I sigh, and watch him transfer the waffle onto a paper plate. He drowns it in syrup, and grabs a fork. "I know. I just wish this wasn't what he thought was the right thing. But I guess I'm being selfish, right?"

Mikey pulls out a chair and I listen to it scrape against the floor. The room is pretty empty, but there are still the general sounds of a cafeteria. People slurping their drinks, scraping their spoons against the plastic yogurt cups. The sounds that people take for granted, that people find annoying. But I don't care. I can hear.

After a few minutes, Mr. Levis grabs our attention. “Now, I know the original plan was to hang out all of today. But in light of recent events, uh, I thought maybe you guys might want to head home now. You’re welcome to stay and hang out more if you’d like. But I can also take you home if that would make you feel better.” He glances back and forth between us. In his eyes, I can see compassion and heart ache. I obviously don’t have kids, but I know that it must be hard to see your son go through all of the pain that Mikey’s been through lately.

When we go up to the room, I grab my bag, which is pretty much already packed. I put my flip flops on, and Mikey gathers his stuff and is ready as well. When we get to the lobby, Mikey and I take the bags and the car keys and go out to bring the car around. We're on the road in about five minutes. Luckily it's a Sunday morning, so traffic is pretty light, and it doesn't take us long to get out of the city. 

Shortly after we get on the road, I pull my book out of my bag. I brought it for emergency awkward silences, and I'm so glad that I did. We make it back in five and a half hours, and Mr. Levis drives straight to his apartment. "Mikey, go ahead and take her home. I thought you guys might have a little something more you want to say in private. Just bring the car back." He turns around to face me. "Thanks for coming with us, Amia. I know this wasn't the trip you hoped it'd be. But I hope you still had some fun." He gets out of the car, and Mikey walks around to the driver's side. I consider staying in the back, but I figure that that would just be even more awkward. 

Once we get to my house, he turns the car off and leans his head against the steering wheel. "I'm so sorry, Amia," he says. "You believe me, right?"

I nod. "Of course, Mikey. I still don't understand all of it, but I'm not mad at you. Well, I'm a little mad at you. But I still love you and I still care about you and I know that this is something that you think you have to do. So I'll try to be supportive."

He looks over at me and smiles. "I love you, Amia."

"I love you too, Mikey." It’s said with sadness, with the pain that comes with an unnecessary broken heart. We both lean over the center console for a hug. I look out the car window and sigh. "I guess I better go in and tell the news about... well, everything." I lean forward and rest my head on the dash board. 

"You haven't told them yet? About any of it?"

I shake my head. "It's not really something that I want to talk about over the phone. 'Hey guys, my boyfriend dumped me and I can hear again. Surprise!' No way." I sigh. "Besides, I wanted some peace time before I got sucked back into my mom's storm. If I tell her I can hear, it'll be like August all over again. The doctors, the pastors." I shake my head. "And, I'm sure, the reporters. I just want to give myself a little time before I have to deal with all of that."

He nods, pulls me in for another hug. "Okay. Just give me a call if you need anything." 

I look at my house again, take another deep breath. "See you later, Mikey." 

 

Three days later, I've barely moved from my bed. I get up to go to the bathroom, and once or twice a day to get a snack. I don't feel like eating. I don't feel like showering or doing anything. 

It seems ridiculous. this is just another teenage break up. It was bound to happen eventually, right?

But this isn't just an ordinary break up. He made me hear again. For months, his voice was literally the only thing I could hear. Doesn't that mean something? How can he think that that doesn't mean we're meant to be together?

Every once in a while I hear my phone vibrate against the dresser, but I don't check to see who texted me. My mom comes to check on me several times a day, and I just tell her that I don't feel good. "Maybe I ate some bad food or something," I tell her. 

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, Mom comes in and sits on my bed. "Amia, we need to talk. What's wrong?" I consider lying. I could tell her that Mikey and I had sex, and I'm regretting it. She'd be pissed, but that's better than the truth. I only consider that for about half a second, before I realize how ridiculous a lie like that would be, considering the truth.

No. I'll have to tell her eventually. 

"Mikey broke up with me." My voice cracks at the end, and I start crying again. I thought I was all out of tears. She pulls me in close to her, and I sob against her chest. "He broke up with me. And then..." I take a big, shaky breath. "Then I was able to hear. Everything. I could hear everything."

Mikey

 

For the next several days, I don't hear from Amia at all. I think about her a lot, send her a couple texts. I know we're not a couple anymore, but I really am not ready to let go of our friendship. But I know she needs her time, her space, so I try not to overdo it. She'll respond to me when she's ready. 

At the radio station, I go about life as normal. I pretend like nothing has changed. I pray that none of the callers talk about her. I pray that one of the callers will be her. 

Finally, Thursday night, I get a call from her on my cell phone. I'm sitting on the couch watching TV, and I jump up when I see her name on my screen. 

"Amia. Hi." I'm standing in the middle of my living room, and my mom gives me a weird look. I go into my bedroom, shut my door. I don't know what this conversation will hold, and I don't want an audience. 

"Hi, Mikey." Her voice, so familiar, so soft, breaks my heart. "I talked to my mom yesterday. I told her everything that happened. This morning, we went to see the doctor again. Just like last time, he couldn't find any reason why I should be able to hear. My ear drums are still just as damaged as they were when I was six. I shouldn't be able to hear a single thing. But I can hear everything."

Despite the confusion that she must be feeling, I can hear the smile in her voice as she says that last sentence. She can hear everything. It's a feeling that I can never even come close to knowing. I smile myself, because of how great that is for her. She can hear. 

"We asked them to keep it down, not to tell anyone about any of this. I don't want it to get out, and have to deal with all the reporters and everything again. But I wanted to let you know that it is out there, and there's a chance that you'll wake up in the morning to reporters on your lawn. God, I hope not. I didn't mention anything about you at all, so hopefully if word gets out they'll leave you alone and just torment me."

"So what's the next step? Are you going to stay at the school, or transfer somewhere?"

"Well, Mom and I talked about that today. I'm going to stay at school. I don't want somewhere completely new. I know some of the students there, and I know the teachers. I know that going to the old school will mean I don't get a fresh start. But we talked about it. School doesn't start for another two and a half months, right? So by the time I get there, when people find out I can hear everything, it'll just be old news. It won't be news. It'll be something that's been going on for several months. And since those kids were already used to going to school with the freak who can suddenly hear the radio after being completely deaf, they shouldn't have trouble adjusting to the freak who can hear everything after being completely deaf. With a new batch of kids, the minute they found out about my story, they'd be all over me, and wouldn't leave me alone about it. So we decided that that's the best thing to do."

I nod. "Sounds like you guys have thought it all out. It probably feels good to at least have a plan. And school should be easier now, since you can hear everything. Right?"

"Yeah, it'll be a lot easier."

It's silent for a minute. "So... how have you been? Other than the appointment?"

She sighs, and I instantly regret asking that question. I should have said something else. Anything else. "Well, not so great. I've basically been laying in my bed the entire time. This morning was my first shower since... well, since early Saturday morning, I guess." She pauses. "Wow. That's disgusting. I am one disgusting human being. No wonder you broke up with me." She laughs a little, so that I know she's just joking. 

"I've basically just been waiting in bed, not responding to anything or anyone. I turn on the radio at 3:30, and then turn it off once you're done. You'd think I would be out doing all the things and hearing all the sounds. But it's so hard to peel myself out of bed even to go to the bathroom."

"I'm sorry," I say softly. I hate knowing that I've caused her this pain. 

"I just..." She stops. "Mikey, you made me hear. You came into my life and in less than a year I regained all of my hearing. It all started with you. This miracle, this, whatever you want to call it. It all started with you. For so long, your voice was all that I heard. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Doesn't that seem like a sign? You're the one always talking about how God still cares, still interacts with us. Doesn't it seem like he's telling us that we need to be together?"

I sigh. "Amia, I can't tell you how much it hurts me to do this."

"Then don't do it!" Her voice is raised, and I feel my face getting hot. 

"Amia, it's not like that. I don't want to do it. But I have to do what I think is right."

"And this is right? Causing us both all this heart break? This is what you think God wants for us? Why would He want that?"

"Amia, stop!" I'm not yelling, but I say it with enough force that she shuts up. "I'm not going to discuss this with you. I can't just sit here and ignore what my heart is telling me. I need to follow this, see if it leads anywhere. Stop making this about you. This isn't about you." 

Instead of replying, she hangs up the phone. I sigh, frustrated at myself for doing that. Why did I have to be so harsh?

My mom knocks on my door, comes in. "Is everything okay?"

I nod my head. "Yeah, just..." I sigh. "No, Mom, everything's not okay. I feel like my life is falling apart. My parents are getting a divorce and my girlfriend is mad at me." I shake my head. "No, she's not my girlfriend. I made sure of that. I'm the one who broke up with her, remember? But I didn't want to. I just felt like I had to." By now, I'm talking more to myself than to my mom. "I just don't know anything."

She comes over and wraps me into a hug. "Honey, I'm sorry. I wish I could fix everything for you. I'm so sorry for all the pain that I've caused you. So incredibly sorry."

I shake my head. "I know." I hug her back. "I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix things."

She nods her head, and then squeezes me tighter. “I know, honey. And in life there are some things that you just won’t be able to fix. I think that you made the right decision, and you guys will both have to come to accept that.”

I slowly pull away from her. “Yeah, but you hate Amia. You always have. So of course you’d think that breaking up with her is the right thing to do.”

She shakes her head, and I can see the sadness in her eyes. It’s something I’ve come to recognize much too easily. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I didn’t know when the best time was, and I know that you’ve been angry at your dad and I. But I want to apologize for how I’ve acted towards Amia. I really haven’t been welcoming, and I was much too quick to judge. Obviously her parents’ problems were not her fault, and they don’t automatically make her a delinquent. I’m sorry for treating her like she was. It was not the Christian thing to do, and I hope that both of you will be able to forgive me.”

I look at her, surprised. I had no idea she felt that way now. I just sort of avoided talking about Amia the last several months because I knew she didn’t like her. “I can forgive you, Mom,” I say. “You were trying to look out for me. That still doesn’t excuse it, but I appreciate the apology.”

She smiles at me. “I see the good that she’s done for you, and I can tell that you’ve done good for her as well. You’ve helped her build a relationship with God, and that’s something that will carry her through this life and into the next. And you’ve experienced what it’s like to truly love someone, even when it hurts to do so. And she seems to make you happy.” She sighs. “I really hope that this works out for you, and of course I would love for you to become a priest. But I would not be devastated if you discerned that that wasn’t your calling, and ended up back with Amia. And I’m not saying that you guys would automatically get married or anything. But she really is a nice girl, and I hope you’ll keep her around, priesthood or not.”

 

The next day, I go meet with Father Steve. He opens his office door and I step inside. I haven't talked to him since the brief conversation we had when I went to mass on Sunday night. 

"Come in, Mikey," he says, and I sit in the familiar chair. "So tell me more about what happened. On Sunday you just told me that you needed to talk to me, that the weekend trip didn't work out the way you expected."

I nod. "Yeah, that's the simplest version I could think of." I launch into the story, and after I'm done he doesn't say anything right away.

"Well, I think you made the right decision. This is something that will dictate the rest of your life, and you need to make sure that you're unbiased when you make it. 

He sighs. "But you also have to be careful with Amia. I know you care about her, and don't want this to be the end of your friendship. So try your best to make her understand. Be patient with her, because remember that she's going through a broken heart just like you are. Only she's going to be angry at you, and it's going to take her a while to accept this and be okay with it. And of course there's a delicate balance. You need to be there for her, help her heal, but be careful not to lead her on. That will just cause more pain for her later on."

 

Over the next few weeks, I think hard about what Father said. I don't talk to Amia too much, but when we do talk, she gradually seems less and less angry at me. I don't know if she actually understands everything yet, but she doesn't seem mad. She's still the person I want to talk to first when something happens, not that much happens to me.

Joe tries to make plans with me several times, but I just have no motivation to go anywhere. If I go anywhere, I want to go somewhere with her. Since spending all my time with her is just about the opposite of what I should be doing, I spend a lot of time in the Adoration chapel at my church, looking for answers. The more time I spend thinking about it, the better I feel about this decision. 

I'm still not over her. God, no. Of course not. But as the days pass, I become more and more confident that I was right to let her go. That holding on to her would have simply made everything worse. 

Several weeks into summer, I call Amia and ask if we can hang out. We agree to meet at the playground that's near her house, and I'm waiting on the swing set when she comes walking up. I stand up to meet her, and wrap her into a hug. It feels so nice, so natural, so familiar to have her in my arms again. But I know I can't get carried away. We're just friends. Meeting to hang out, as friends. 

We spend the next two hours talking, catching up on all that we've missed in each other's lives these last few weeks. We tell each other stories about our families, and we laugh about old memories. It feels like it's been forever since I saw her. 

After a while, the conversation becomes a little more serious. “I don’t know if you’ll care, but I finally read the rest of the letter. I needed something to distract myself from thinking about you.”

“Of course I care,” I say. “I know that that’s something that you were having a hard time with, and it’s something that’s really important to you. I’m glad that you were finally about to read it, even if it was just something to distract you from me.” It’s quiet for a few more minutes. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?” I ask. She seems to be troubled by something. It could just be the break-up, or it could be something else.

"Well, my mom finally set a date for her wedding,” she says.

"Well, that's... exciting?" She laughs, shaking her head. 

"Yeah, I guess. She seems really happy. And he's been loyal and a good guy, I guess. And I mean if he wants to marry her, he's obviously changed from when he left us ten years ago." She looks down at the ground, shakes her head. "I just can't let go of all the hurt he caused me. All the anger that's been sitting, festering, for ten years. And everyone keeps telling me that he's changed, that I need to be the bigger person and just move on, forgive him. But I just can't. I can't let go of it. I've tried."

I reach my hand out and grab hers. We're still on separate swings, so there's considerable distance between us. But her hand in mine always comforted me, and I hope my hand has the same effect on her. I feel my muscles relax as her hand folds into mine.

"And then everything with you has just left me completely confused. Today has been probably the best day since our trip, and that's only because I knew all morning that I'd get to see you. It sounds pathetic, I know. That it's been, what, three weeks? And you're still basically all I can think about?" I don’t say anything, but I know exactly how she feels.

She laughs. "Except that would be so much easier. But then I have this whole hearing situation. I can't describe to you how completely strange all of this is to me. I can hear the sprinklers in the morning, and the fridge buzzing. I can hear the TV! I don't have to imagine what people's voices sound like anymore. I can hear music. I can hear all the little noises that I've never been able to hear before. And I can't get over that. I can't have a regular conversation because I'm too busy thinking about my dad or you or wondering how the heck I can hear."

I squeeze her hand, and she looks up at me. "Amia, I really, really am sorry. I'm sorry that so much of this pain is caused by me. And I'm sorry about the things that aren't surrounded by me. I'm so sorry that you're going through all of this."

She shrugs, and wipes a few tears off her face. "I'll be okay," she says. "It's getting better, it really is. It's not nearly as bad as it was. And school will be starting in a little more than a month, so that'll keep me busy and give me something else to think about. I'll be great." She wipes her face again. 

"But how are you? How are things with you?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, things have been going okay." I don't want to have to look at her and tell her this. "I think I did the right thing. Every day, I just feel more secure in the knowledge that I'm being called to the priesthood. Father Steve has been meeting with me a lot, helping me figure things out. And I've been spending a lot of time in prayer. And I feel like, as much as it hurts, I did the right thing. Holding off would have just caused us both even more pain."

She smiles at me. "I'm happy to hear that. I really am. I'm glad that you're finding your way."

Amia

 

My Amia,

You are such a strong, beautiful baby. I know that as you get older, your beauty and strength will stay with you, and there is nothing that you won’t be able to do.

You won’t get this until you are a teenager, and I hope it’s not too late. I don’t know what will happen in the next several years, and I hope that nothing takes away that sparkle in your eyes, the smile on your lips. I hope that you remain child-like in your faith, even throughout the years when you’re supposed to know everything. I wish nothing but the best for you, and I pray that nothing happens in your life to take away your happiness.

I can’t wait to give this to you, to see you grow up into the beautiful young lady that I know you will be.

I don’t know what kinds of things will have happened in your life by the time you’re sixteen, but I want to share a few things with you that would have been very helpful to me at that age.

You’ll be driving soon, and it’s hard to stay grounded with the new-found freedom. Remember that you still have to drive the speed limit, even if your mom isn’t in the car. And it’s your responsibility to make sure the car always has gas. You’re on your own now, so don’t make your mom come bring you gas when you’re on your way to school. Or work. Or a party. Or whatever it is.

Go to all the school dances. If you don’t have a date, go with your friends. Take the opportunity to look like a rock star and get out of the house. You’re only in high school once, and the real world doesn’t have homecoming dances or prom. Take advantage of it while you can.

Take lots of pictures.

When chocolate is offered, always accept it. No exceptions.

Always try to do the right thing. Sometimes it’ll be hard to tell what that is, and it usually won’t be the easiest path. But always try to do the right thing.

Never be embarrassed to sing along with your favorite song. Whether you’re with your friends, in a group of complete strangers, or anything in between, always sing along. Don’t ever let any social circumstances come in between you and your jam.

When you have a boyfriend, don’t assign your relationship a song. It may be the first song you ever danced to. It may seemingly fit your situation perfectly. I don’t care. If that song becomes “our song,” you guys will break up and you will forever hate that song.

The golden rule. Treat people how you want to be treated. Always. It doesn’t matter how rude they are to you, or how much you can’t stand them. Take the high road. Always.

Forgive. It’s easier to be happy when you aren’t holding grudges all the time.

Always be yourself. It may take some time to figure out who “yourself” is, but that’s okay. Once you figure it out, don’t let anyone tell you that you should be any other way.

You are beautiful, and you are loved. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

You’re only a day old, but I already love you so much. And I already know that I am so incredibly blessed to have you in my life. I love you, Amia.

“I plead with you – never, ever give up on hope, never doubt, never tire, and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.” – Pope John Paul II

Happy birthday.

 

I look at her name, scribbled carelessly at the bottom. She had no idea just how important this letter would be to be.

I fold the letter, noticing the worn creases from being folded and unfolded. I’ve read this letter a lot recently. It’s no longer a burden, it’s no longer a sad reminder of my aunt who isn’t here. Instead, it now serves as a compass. A guide as I go through life. A reminder that my aunt is always with me, always watching over me and steering me in the right direction. Today, I really need that.

 

I sit down next to Samantha and she flashes me a smile. It's the end of September, and she's the editor of the school newspaper. She and I had a class last year, and we've gotten pretty close these last several weeks. Yesterday she asked me if she could write an article about my story. I agreed, because it's just the school newspaper. Besides, I can trust Samantha. I know she won't try to turn this into a huge deal and sell me out to anyone. 

"Thanks so much, again, for letting me do this. We haven't really had anything exciting happen in the last couple weeks, so I thought your story would be perfect."

She opens her notebook, which has several questions written out on it, and pulls out her phone. "Is it okay if I record this? Just in case I need to go back to get your exact words or something." I nod. "Okay, great. And you know, you can totally read it before we publish it, just so that I know you agree with how I put everything and all that. I want to make sure that this in no way affects our friendship." 

I smile. As far as journalists and reporters go, I haven't had very positive experiences. But Samantha is a good friend.

"Okay. Let's get started. So, your story started when you were six, right? Tell me about the accident."

I take a deep breath. "I was in the car with my aunt, who was basically my best friend in the world. I mean, I was only six, but we spent a lot of time together. The only thing that I remember is looking out the window and then we were off the bridge, going into the water. My aunt reached back and undid my seatbelt, and then rolled down the window. The next thing I remember, I was sitting in the back of an ambulance, soaking wet. Once the shock wore off, I was in the worst pain of my life. The change in pressure had caused both of my ear drums to burst, leaving me completely deaf in both ears. Several years later, I read about it in the old newspaper reports, and read that the truck beside us tried to move into our lane without checking to see if anyone was in his blind spot. I also read that I apparently swam out of the car and some person who had pulled over helped pull me out of the water. But as a six-year-old, I couldn't swim."

She's frantically writing in her notebook. "Okay, okay. And..." she writes the final letter, then looks back up at me. "If I understand correctly, people sometimes recover from that kind of injury?"

I nod. "Yeah, that's what the doctors said. Depending on the severity of the injury, people sometimes regain some or all of their hearing. But a lot of times, it's permanent. My ears never showed any signs of healing up, so I had resigned myself to being deaf for the rest of my life."

She smiles as she writes all this down. "Fast forward ten years, to August last year. What happened?"

I laugh. "Well, I was sitting in the car with my older sister. She was listening to a Christian radio station, and suddenly I was able to year the song. It was Amazing Grace. And I thought for sure I was going to wake up any minute and realize that it was all just a dream. But then the song changed, to one that I had never heard before. I had heard Amazing Grace as a child, so it made sense to be able to dream about that. But to make up a song while you're dreaming? Not likely." I smile, remembering that day. I had been so confused. "I sat there for like two whole minutes without saying anything, waiting for it to go away. Not because I wanted it to go away, of course. But I was expecting it to. It didn't make any sense."

"And what did the doctors say about that?"

I think back, to the many meetings with new doctors, each one claiming to be able to figure out what had happened. "None of them could figure out what it was. According to the state of my ear drums, I shouldn't be able to hear a single sound. And besides that, even if my ear drums had healed, there's no explanation for why I was only able to hear the one radio station."

She smiles. "Do you have a theory about that?"

I laugh. "Well, I've had countless people tell me that it's a miracle. At the time that this all happened, I wasn't really in a place where I believed in miracles, or even God, really. I wasn't out there claiming to be an atheist. I just didn't know. I just had a lot of reasons to believe that I was on my own, and no reasons to believe that there's some spiritual being controlling the world. But now, I've come to accept that this has to be a miracle." I blush, and she laughs. "Of course, I still don't say that out loud very often. For some reason, I just always feel like it's be bragging." I do an overly dramatic hair flip and use my best Valley Girl voice. "I'm just, like, so cool, like God performed a miracle on me." Samantha is laughing now, which makes me laugh too. "But there's no other explanation for it. And I definitely do believe in God now, so it's easier to accept that this is a miracle. Although I'm still not exactly sure why God would choose me for something like this."

She winks at me. "So, now tell me about your journey from questioning God's existence to where you are now. Was there a..." She clears her throat and nudges me with her elbow. "Special someone involved?"

I smile, thinking about Mikey. Of course, she knows the answer to this. "Yeah, there was. And he was definitely special." I sigh. "His dad owns the station that I could hear, and he got a time slot every day after school. And when my mom enrolled me in this school, because she thought that it was only a matter of a couple days or weeks before I started hearing everything, I met him. We became friends, and he got me to call in to the show and tell everyone my story. And it was so nice to have a conversation with someone and be able to hear. Even if it was over the phone and the only way I even heard my own voice was over the radio. I called in every day, and Mikey and I became friends."

Of course Samantha knows this story, so I could stop and get on to other questions. But it feels nice to remember, to go back to the beginning of our relationship. "One weekend, he invited me to go to church with him. Going to mass was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It was so amazing and beautiful, to witness all the rituals and traditions that have been passed down for centuries. I didn't really understand a lot of what was going on, but Mikey showed me how to follow along with the missal, so I could read the prayers and bible readings and all that. And after that, it was kind of a regular thing. On Sunday mornings, he and his parents would come pick me up and we'd go to church together.

"And really, it was just Mikey being Mikey that brought me to believe in God. He just seemed so sure of it, so sure of everything he believed in. Not just sure of himself, but he was so passionate about it. And the things he would tell me, the conversations we would have, all that. I now know for a fact that God is out there, and that He loves us. And that's all Mikey's doing. I was so lost before I met him, and he brought me back to where I'm supposed to be."

For about a minute, she keeps writing in her notebook before she asks me anything else. When she finally looks back up at me, she has a kind smile on her face. "Sounds like you guys were really great together. So tell me more about your relationship with Mikey, and how it all progressed."

"It was a pretty slow thing. We had become really good friends, and neither one of us wanted to risk anything by putting ourselves out there and confessing our true feelings. But it eventually happened. We shared our first kiss at a New Year's Eve party. Cliché, right?" I look down at my hands for a second, and then continue. "But as I got closer to Mikey, I started being able to hear him too. Not just when I was listening to the radio. I could hear his voice when we were talking. I didn't just see his mouth form the words, but I heard them. It was..." I sigh. "I thought for sure that we were meant to be together forever, that we would grow up and get married and have babies and I would spend the rest of my life listening to his beautiful voice. I mean, really, what more of a sign do you need that two people are destined to be together?"

"But that didn't happen," she says. "What was it that came in between you two?"

I look back down at my hands. I remember that night, so many months ago, when my world shattered. When he ripped me to pieces. "Well, he realized that he was supposed to be a priest. That that's what God's plan for his life was. And obviously he can't have a girlfriend on the side. So he broke up with me. And I was so angry at first. And so, so heartbroken. But I also knew that he thought he was doing the right thing. Even though I didn't agree at all that it was the right thing. I kept waiting for him to call me, tell me it was a false alarm, propose to me, you know, all that kind of stuff." I laugh at myself, at how stupid it all sounded. 

"But what else happened when you guys broke up?"

"I could hear." I can't help but smile. Even now, several months later, I can't help but smile every time I say those three words. "I can hear. I can hear everything. I hear people talking as we pass in the halls. I hear the car start when my sister leaves in the morning. I hear the cereal hitting the bowl. I can hear my mom's voice again. When I meet a new person, I don't have to imagine what their voice sounds like. Because I can hear it."

She smiles at me. "So what's your favorite sound?"

I shake my head. "You're going to make fun of me for this." I take a deep breath. "I don't think I have one sound that's my favorite. But I love the little things. The sprinklers. The clock ticking. My sister played soft ball this summer, and whenever I went to her games I loved the solid thud of the ball landing in someone's glove. It's the little things that I had forgotten about. When you can't hear for so long, you still imagine what people's voices sound like, because you watch people communicate every day. You see people clap along or dance to music, and you feel the beat, and you wonder what kind of instruments are being played, what the lyrics are, what the voice sounds like. There are lots of sounds that you are constantly reminded of. But the little things, you stop imagining, stop trying to remember. They're the sounds that usually get pushed to the back ground, that people don't even notice anymore. But I notice them now, and I love them. It's a sign that life is happening, even if it's the sound of automatic sprinklers going off in the middle of the night." 

She shakes her head at me. "You're right, I will make fun of you for that. But not right now." She looks at her watch. "We have enough time for the few questions I have left, but not for teasing. You get off easy this time." She looks at her notebook. "What's your favorite song? Your favorite genre of music?"

"I don't think I have a favorite song. There are so many, and I have ten years’ worth of silence to cover. I've been listening to new songs, but also all the hits that I missed out on. Things like Hannah Montana and Justin Bieber. Some of the stuff almost makes me glad I couldn't hear when it was popular." She laughs. "But I like country, for the most part. I like some rock, and some... pop, I guess. And, of course, I've been listening to Christian music. Praise and worship songs and Christian rock." 

"Alright," she says. "Just a couple more questions. We're gonna go back to Mikey. Is that okay?"

I nod and smile. "Of course it is."

"So obviously you and Mikey aren't meant to be together. He's for sure becoming a priest, right?" I nod. "So why do you think all of this happened, if you're not supposed to end up together?"

I sigh. I've thought about this question countless times. "Well, Mikey and I are still best friends. We still see each other regularly, I still go to church with him a lot, and we talk on the phone all the time. I still care about him so much, and I still love him, Just not really in the same way I did last spring. As I said earlier, I was completely lost without Mikey. And it wasn't having him as my boyfriend that helped me find direction. It was Mikey's friendship, his support, watching him be. That's what drew me to him, to God. Mikey and I might not be 'meant to be' as a perfect couple. And we weren't a perfect couple. But I know that we were meant to be friends. Mikey will always be one of my best friends. He is so important to me, and I can't imagine my life without him."

"So you're okay with the fact that he broke up with you like that?"

I smile. "Well, I choose to look at it like this. He knew that we weren't going to be together, and the only thing that he could think of that was better than me was God. I think that says pretty wonderful things about the kind of girlfriend that I was." I do another dramatic hair flip, and we laugh. "But seriously, I'm okay with it. I still don't understand it completely. Of course there's still a small part of me that wants him to knock it off and come back to me, figure out that he can't live without me, and all that stuff. But he's happy. He's truly happy, and that's all that I can ask for at this point. I can see that he's made the right decision."

She nods. "I'm glad that you've reached that point." She looks at her notebook. "Okay, one more question. Do you think you'll become Catholic?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure. I mean, it's only been a year since I even went to mass for the first time, and even shorter since I started learning about what kinds of things they stand for. It's a big decision. It's definitely a possibility. Going to mass is a beautiful experience. But I need to take more time to figure out what I believe before I commit myself to any specific religion. But I do know one thing, and that is that God exists. And he loves me. And right now, that's all I need to know. I can figure the rest out later."

 

On my way home, I stop at the park. I sit on the swing set, and start pumping my legs. I go up, higher, higher. 

I think about my dad. The wedding is in a couple months, but I still haven't fully forgiven him for everything. I need to let that all go.

I think about Mikey. I still don't understand everything. I still hurt over what happened. I need to let go of the idea of "us." I need to let go of the Mikey that I fell in love with. Because he's not that guy anymore. He's so much more than that. I need to let go of the pain, the heartache, the hoping. 

I think about my hearing. Every second of every day, I wonder when I'm going to stop hearing again. I wonder what sound of going to be my last. But I need to just relax, appreciate every sound that I do get to hear. I need to let go of my fear of silence. 

I think about the car accident, and how I’ve always let it define me. Not just because of my hearing. I let it change the way that I thought of myself. I was the deaf girl with the dead aunt, instead of the girl who happened to be deaf and have a dead aunt.

I think about my fears of the world. How I'm terrified that one morning I'll wake up and find all the reporters on my lawn again, invading my privacy, twisting my story into something that they deem interesting enough to sell. I need to let go of this. 

I need to let go of my past. I need to let go of all the pain and all the fears. I have my whole life ahead of me, and it’s about time I start living it.

I'm up as far as the swing will let me go. My hands grip the chains so tightly that my knuckles are white. I close my eyes, allow the air to pass over me. When I open my eyes again, I look at the grass below me. 

It can't be that bad. Can it?

I pump my legs a couple more times, take a few deep breaths. 

Then, as I come forward again, I push off from the swing. 

Finally, I let go.

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Cassie Hoene
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.10.2012

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