پیتزا و صحبت

CHAPTER NINE

Pizza and talking

When I was about fifteen years old, my favourite books and films were all love stories.

The stories were all the same. There was a man (the hero) and a woman (the heroine) they met. But there was always a problem which meant they could not be together at first. Perhaps the hero was hurt by love in the past and didn’t want a girlfriend now.

Or the heroine had an important job and didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Anyway, these books or films always finish in the same way. The hero and the heroine know that they are in love, so the problems aren’t important. The only important thing is their love.

When we tell children stories we often finish, ‘and they were happy ever after’. It’s the same with love stories. The hero and the heroine are always ‘happy ever after’. Happy together always, with no problems.

But real life is different to stories, and I’m not a heroine. Anyway, I read hundreds of those books when I was fifteen, and there was never a story about a deaf girl with a boyfriend who played music.

I moved away from Jim as Mum came down the stairs. Her hair was wet, but she was smiling at Jim. I soon saw that he was the friend coming to dinner.

‘I don’t want you to be sad,’ she signed to me while Jim put the roses in some water, ‘so I phoned Jim and asked him to dinner. After we’ve eaten, you can tell him why you’re sad. And until then, I can find out more about him.’

She was smiling like the children in the Busy Kids nursery smile sometimes. When they’ve done something a little bad. I don’t usually feel angry with the children, and I couldn’t feel angry with Mum.

While we are the pizza, Jim and Mum talked. Mum laughed a lot. I knew she liked Jim. Of course she liked Jim. Sometimes Mum signed to me to tell me what she and Jim were talking about: his studies at university, his family, her days as a musician with the Sweet Pepper Band.

‘Jim’s father plays guitar,’ she told me. ‘He was quire famous when he was a young man. Isn’t that interesting?’

Mum was like a young girl. She was having fun talking to Jim. But I sat quietly, watching them. I didn’t eat very much. I wasn’t hungry.

I think Mum was asking Jim more questions about his family. But I just felt sad that I didn’t already know about his father being a famous musician.

After two months of being Jim’s girlfriend I didn’t know his father was a famous musician. I didn’t know about Jim playing in a band. And I didn’t know that the girl from the party was his girlfriend before me.

What else didn’t I know?

‘I’m going out now,’ Mum said to me after dinner. ‘I’ll wash the plates when I come home. You stay here and talk to Jim.’

I saw her say goodbye, and then she left.

I took Jim’s plate. ‘Do you want a coffee?’ I asked him.

‘No, thank you,’ he said. He was looking at me, waiting, but I didn’t know what to say or how to begin. I only knew that I wanted to sign to him what I was thinking and feeling.

I wanted him to understand signing. Signing is my first language and I wanted to talk to him about the girl from the party in my first language.

Jim waited until I was looking at him. ‘Your mum told me what happened,’ he said. ‘She told me about Lauren.’

So, I thought, that’s what she’s called. Lauren. I didn’t like her and I didn’t like her name.

‘Sam,’ Jim said, ‘Lauren wasn’t my girlfriend when you and I met at the party. We did go out together for a few months, but that was last year. We’re just friends now. Or we were friends.’ Oh, I’m so angry with her for hurting you!

I didn’t think Jim would lie to me. But he didn’t tell me about his music.

Jim knew what I was thinking. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my music,’ he said.

‘You didn’t tell me because it’s a problem,’ I said, but he didn’t agree.

‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s not true.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said.

I told him he loves music and I can’t hear music. It’s a big problem- I told him he doesn’t want a deaf girlfriend, he wants a hearing girlfriend.

But now Jim couldn’t understand me. I wasn’t speaking very well because I was angry and sad. So I wrote it down for him: ‘You want a girlfriend who can hear your music. I’m not good for you.’

Jim’s face was very sad. ‘Don’t say that,’ he said. ‘It isn’t true. I know what I want, and that’s you. You are good for me, Sam. You’re very good for me.’

When I didn’t answer, Jim started to write again: ‘I want to be with you, Sam.’

‘I want to be with you too’ That’s what I wanted to write. But I didn’t, because I couldn’t forget Lauren’s words.

Maybe Jim did want me. Maybe Lauren just wanted to hurt me. But her words were true. I could never know Jim, the man who played music. So, could I ever really know Jim?