Chapter 2: I Want to Be Your Friend
1755 Words
“He’s in his room,” Heather Duport said as she led us up a set of claustrophobic stairs. “He should be playing with the others in the common room, but…”
She shrugged as if to suggest that seven-year-old Tony Gorzola did not exactly play well with others, which was what every report in his rather lengthy file said, and not just once.
Miss Heather’s accent was so thick you could stage a Boston Tea Party on it. The way she said “yard” rhymed with God, and she tortured her vowels like a proper Yankee. Everyone up in this cold hellhole known as Massachusetts spoke like they were chewing on frozen potatoes.
Since the Ledbetter family had given so much money to this institution over the years, the staff seemed anxious to help us find a child to foster and perhaps adopt.
“He agreed to meet you,” Heather said, giving us another once-over with her blue eyes. “We house almost twenty children at this facility. Many would be very good choices.”
“Tony’s deaf,” I pointed out.
“Well, yes.”
“Jackson and I both know sign.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cantrell. It’s just that Tony’s had a very difficult life.”
“Haven’t we all?”
“I want you to be aware of other options, children who aren’t quite so damaged. Tony is sweet in his own way, of course, but he’s a handful. I would hate for you to—”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” I said, “but our son was a special needs kid. We know what we’re getting into.”
She offered a small, polite sigh.
“Tony’s room is just down here.”
She led us to a small door that was firmly shut. Instead of knocking, she pushed a button on the outside of the door that would activate a flashing light inside the room. Jackson put a protective hand on the small of my back, smiled in encouragement. We waited many anxious moments for the door to open, but it did not.
Heather pushed the door open, and we saw Tony sitting on a child’s bed by the window inside a small room painted an odd shade of blue that looked very institutional. Tony was looking out the window, must have seen us in the parking lot.
“Tony, you have visitors,” Heather said, circling around so he could see her coming.
He turned, glanced at her.
Tony Gorzola was a slip of a boy with dark hair, fair skin, and a pinched face. Thick plastic glasses sat on a small, upturned nose. He wore faded blue jeans and a dress shirt that was awkwardly tucked into his waistband. In his arms he clutched a teddy bear that had seen better days.
He glanced at us for just a moment before frowning and lowering his eyes.
“I’ll be just outside,” Heather said, taking her leave.
My heart thumped uncomfortably as I walked forward and craned my neck to the side so I could look at him.
Hello, T-o-n-y.
He frowned.
My name is W-i-l-e-y, and this is my husband J-a-c-k. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. How are you?
He shrugged.
I know you must be scared.
He squeezed his teddy a bit harder and pursed his lips.
Mrs. D. said you wanted to meet us.
No response.
If you want, you can spend the weekend with us. Would you like that?
He shrugged as if it made no difference.
We’re staying with J-a-c-k’s parents. They’re pretty nice. They have a nice house, a swimming pool and everything. We were thinking about going shopping, watching a movie. Have you seen any good movies lately?
He shook his head.
You want to spend some time with us?
He looked at me rather frankly, not taking his eyes away this time but really looking at me, really seeing me through those thick glasses. I stared back, smiled, tried to show him there was no need to be afraid, that we weren’t going to hurt him.
Very carefully, he set his teddy aside.
You…he signed roughly, as if he didn’t get much practice signing, and him…together?
Yes.
Why?
J-a-c-k and I love each other very much, and we’ve been together for nine years. We live in M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i. It’s a lot warmer down there, and they have excellent food, not like the nonsense they make us eat here. We had a little boy who was deaf.
True?
Yes.
Deaf…same me?
Yes.
Where…now?
He died.
True?
He had a lot of health problems, and his body just got tired of fighting, so I told him to go on home and be with Jesus. I know he’s happy now.
Oh.
The two of you would have had a lot of fun together.
Me…No friends.
Would you like to have some friends?
He shrugged.
Mrs. D. said you wanted to meet us. And she said you could spend the weekend with us if you want to, so we could get to know each other. Would you like that?
He turned away and did not answer. Instead he got to his feet—his tennis shoes looked as though they had been worn by others in their day—and went to the window, where he stared out at the parking lot.
His signing skills were rudimentary at best, and I had the feeling he probably didn’t understand much of what I said.
I stood next to him at the window. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he immediately flinched away and gave me a fearful look, as if I had hurt him.
I’m sorry, I said, alarmed.
No!
I’m sorry, T-o-n-y. You don’t like people touching you?
Hate!
Why?
Hate! Hate! Hate! No! You…no! No! No! No! You…don’t do! No! Hate! Hate! Hate!
Okay. I’m sorry, T-o-n-y. I won’t do it again. I didn’t know.
No! he signed very angrily.
Okay.
No! You…no! Hate!
I’m sorry.
He bit at his lip. He was breathing heavily, obviously scared.
I’m sorry, I said again.
He turned to the window, put his hands on the sill. His fingers were shaking.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Jackson frowned back at me.
I crouched down so I wouldn’t seem so big, so intimidating. I waited for a very long minute before Tony finally turned to look at me.
I’m sorry, I said again, making an exaggerated “I’m sorry” face to show him exactly what I meant and that I really was very, very sorry. Tony stared back at me in silence. I waited for him to say something, to do something, to try to communicate, but all he did was stare.
After a minute or two, I held out my hand. I did so very slowly so as not to scare him. He looked down at my hand, then back up at me, frowned.
I want to be your friend, I signed.
Again, I held out my hand.
He stared at it for a long time but did not move.
You, I signed. You…very handsome. You…very smart. True?
He shrugged.
You want to be my friend? I asked.
He looked at me for a long time, biting his lip but otherwise very still, very solemn.
Please? I signed when the silence had grown too long. Be my friend?
Scared, mister, he signed, shivering as though a chill had gone up his spine.
Why?
I don’t know.
I’m scared too, I said.
True?
Yes.
Why?
I want to help you. I want you to be happy. I want you to have a family. J-a-c-k and I have been looking for someone like you so we can be a family again. I’m afraid you won’t like us.
Why?
I don’t know, I admitted. Do you like me?
He nodded. It was a slight, almost unnoticeable gesture.
I held out my hand again, palm up, as if to say Let’s get some skin in this game, kid.
He reached out hesitantly, touched my palm. He traced a circle on my palm with his index finger, not looking at me. He traced another circle, then another. Then he lifted his finger, moved it down to touch my wrist before looking up at me.
See? I signed. It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.
He pursed his lips, straightened his shoulders as though he had made a decision. He looked past me over at Jackson, regarded him frankly.
Almost thirty-seven now, Jackson Ledbetter was not the fresh-faced boy who had swept me off my feet all those many years ago, but he was still a looker. Trim, full of gym-honed muscles, he was dressed in jeans and a sweater, hiking boots, and looked vaguely metrosexual in a mannish sort of way. Preppy, we used to call it.
Hello, T-o-n-y, Jackson signed.
You sign?
Yes.
Tony lowered his eyes, went back to his bed and sat, hugging his teddy. He let his head lean forward so much it was touching his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and seemed on the verge of tears.
I waited.
He sat that way for a full minute, a hitch in his breath, squeezing his teddy as if holding on for dear life, battling with demons we could not see, could not understand.
Finally he opened his eyes but wouldn’t look up to see me, so I crouched down.
Are you okay? I signed.
Scared.
Why?
I don’t know.
Don’t be scared, T-o-n-y. I’ll help you.
No.
Please?
No.
Why?
Scared.
You want to come with us?
No.
Please?
No.
I touched his knee in what I thought was a friendly gesture.
No! he signed with a certain vehemence, his eyes going wide, his nostrils flaring. You…No! No! You…mister…no! I…speak…no!
I’m sorry.
I…I…Me…
He breathed heavily, looked spooked but also frustrated that he couldn’t say what he wanted to say.
No! he signed again in a rough, choppy gesture.
I’m sorry.
Go away!
Okay.
Go away!
It was nice to meet you, T-o-n-y.
He squeezed his eyes shut, ending our communication. Grinding his teeth, his face contorted, he hugged his teddy to his chest as if it were a talisman against evil, his whole body rigid, trembling, bracing for something.
I waited, but Tony Gorzola had left the building. Or had gone to his “secret place,” as Heather called it.
Jackson put his hand on my arm and frowned.
- Writer
