what goes bump in the night, [dee!]

The waters were warm that day as Meira dipped her toes and felt each wave brush past her toes with every few seconds. Her employer had given her a break for the day, allowing her to spend the day for herself. She would have preferred being in the company of Ciaran, but he worked hard and rarely had breaks as she did. Ciaran was—a good friend, someone she could talk to beside her father and doctor. Half the time, they didn’t have to talk either and nothing about the silence was awkward or weird.

And yet there were many things they did not share. They only met during the day when the sun was still out; any activities when the sun was done was kept secret between them. The past was also hidden from their discussions, hindered by Ciaran’s knowledge of the language. He was improving with each visit, but they still had not reached the point of fluent communication where they could talk about trickier subjects. One day she would tell him, all her fears and her escapades, but only when they had more than one month cushioning them.

The day felt short as the sun fell once again, but in her hand was another invitation that she had received and the day would not be over until deep into the night. For the past month, she had spent less time sneaking out late at night and dulling her senses, but she did enjoy some of their company if only to see them in a far more inebriated state than she. It had been decided: she would go to the party. The invitation told her to dress up—it was some sort of nice party or something—and to bring a gift if possible. This wouldn’t be the first party she went to that she didn’t know the birthday girl or boy—and it most likely would not have been the last.

She kissed her father goodnight after she finished dinner and padded into her room to get ready. The process was simple: clothes, brush hair, pull the gift from under her bed. Meira knew her father had an inkling of why she looked like she had a splitting headache the next morning, but there was nothing overt about it and that was how Meira preferred it. That was why she always used her window as her exit—and entrance when she returned—and tried to make as little sound as possible. The air was warm so she didn’t have to worry about bundling up, especially in the clothes she was wearing.

The location was new but Meira knew she would have to walk through some of the wealthier shops to reach this area of District 4. It wasn’t far but it was new, so she kept her eyes more open than usual as she walked through the empty streets. As her hearing worsened, she learned how to use her eyes to detect possible threats and dangers. Her brown eyes would coast over every shadow, every shift in light, in case she found herself being followed or otherwise being harassed. It had never happened, but she could never be too careful, especially with the new roads.

Perhaps that was how she noticed unusual activity near what appeared to be a closed door. Her ears did not pick up the scuffling sound or the sound of a knob turning, but her eyes could see a shadow of a shadow. If she had been any smarter, she would have continued walking and forgotten about it by the morning, but curiosity got the best of her and roped her in closer. She knew the building—a store that catered to the wealthier citizens of District 4—and knew that whoever was in there did not own the store. The cut in the glass was proof enough. With each step, her eyes could better see who the burglar was and when his face came into view, her footsteps stopped as her eyes widened.

No… I’m imagining this. It’s someone else.

Her lips barely parted as she had to know: “C—Ciaran?”

She didn’t wait for a response before she turned around and fled, hoping that she could erase that memory. If she didn’t know what was happening, she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about it. The bag holding the bottle still clenched in her hand, she turned the corner to get away from the scene. I didn’t see anything. That was someone else. I know nothing about what happened there.

Silence only followed her as the sound did not make it into her ears, but it didn’t take long for Meira to see the shadows and imagine the footsteps coming closer and closer until she could hear them once again. The only sound that really filled her mind was her labored breathing from both shock and exhaustion. It wasn’t him—then why is he following me? Is he following me? Or is that someone else? She would look back every now and then to see if there was someone following her, but she never looked back long enough to confirm. She could just deny it. Why would they want her?

If she had any sense in her, she would have kept running until she was certain she had lost him, but the first real audible sound alerted her that someone—or something—had fallen. This time, Meira actually took the time to look at the figure before quietly stepping towards him. He was the right build, the right features, but somewhere in Meira’s mind, she was still trying to deny it. Perhaps he could explain what was going on. Perhaps that was his family member and not him. But with each step, there was no denying that they would have to talk.

Meira’s gut told her that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wasn’t trying to make her quiet. He already knew that she had difficulty communicating with other people, rarely using her voice anymore. The only explanation was that he wanted to say something to her. The night was dark, but there were lights and Meira could see his face. The sight made her heart stop—why would it do that—but then sadness and concern filled the rest of her body. Was he trying to steal from the store? And why would he resort to that?

And why didn’t he tell me?

Meira was not entirely blameless; there were many things she had not yet told him. But the hurt still lingered as she realized that whatever he did at night was not a business he shared with her, and that he perhaps had another life that he wanted to remain his own. She signed at him, “Why?” as she kneeled down to the ground. He didn’t look very hurt—and it didn’t really make sense how he ended up on the ground—but there was no denying that it must have hurt a little bit colliding with the floor like that. “I—want to know.” She didn’t care if they were still communicating at a basic level; she wanted to understand what she saw at the store, and more specifically, why he had run after her.

Meira watched as Ciaran tried to explain what had happened in a combination of their language and any hand gestures to fill in the gaps. While it wasn’t the same language, Meira was able to understand the idea of what Ciaran was saying as she tried to piece it together. It was true that it was him stealing from the store, but the more he explained it, the harder it was for Meira to be mad at him. Yes, it was wrong of him to be stealing, but she wasn’t Little Miss Perfect, and if anything, his reasoning sounded more justified than hers.

It only hurt that he wouldn’t tell her about his family and the financial struggle they were in. Had she known earlier, she would have done anything she could to help. Her family was not wealthy either, but with the two of them, they made do. After all, Meira always met her quota and brought home at least two meals with her. Of course, there was always the possibility that Ciaran would refuse her help, but there was no feeling like realizing all that she could have done to prevent this scenario.

When he told her that she could tell the Peacekeepers what she saw, she became furious at Ciaran. He thought she was going to tell the Peacekeepers on him? He thought she would stoop so low to turn in her friend? The fact that he had implied such a thing felt like a kick in her gut, and it made her wonder how much he valued her to think that she would resort to turning him in. There was no benefit for her—it wasn’t as if there was some compensation or immunity—but even if there was, there was no chance she was going to turn in one of the best things that had happened to her. Ciaran was her friend, a word that meant more to Meira than anyone could even know.

Despite how angry she was, Meira pressed one finger to her lips in a gesture of keeping a secret. “I won’t tell,” she said, using her hands to communicate. Her pride was hurt, but it wasn’t enough for her to betray him like that. In fact, all she wished was to come clean about everything in her life. She didn’t want there to be secrets between the two of them, even if they had to stumble through their communication. It was nice having someone there, especially as she was beginning to hear less and less—her condition had progressed faster than her doctor had anticipated.

Instead, she took his hands and examined the scrapes on the both of them. Meira was no healer, but she knew enough to know that it would have to be cleaned to prevent any infection. They would have to find a building where they could wash his wounds, but first, she had to cover the wound. Grabbing some fabric that had been inside her bag, she tore off a rectangular section and then wrapped it around Ciaran’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere else.” Meira stood and pulled the edges of her skirt down before walking toward a coworker’s house. She gestured for Ciaran to follow her, adding, “I know a place nearby.”

And I have the ticket to get in, she thought as she looked at the bottle in her hand.

It wasn’t the first place Meira wanted to go, but it offered sanctuary from possible prying eyes and it was conveniently near. Furthermore, it gave them a place to talk without being interrupted by people. Ciaran thanked her before they departed and she responded quickly with, “Thank me once we get out of this place.” Her eyes fidgeted around to see if there were any figures, especially those in white, walking around. When the coast looked clear, she beckoned Ciaran to follow her and walked briskly to their next location.

Before they reached the front door of the house, Meira turned quickly at Ciaran to give him some last minute instructions. “Once we get inside, don’t make eye contact with anyone and don’t listen to what anyone has to say. Just follow me.” Meira knew how the parties could get, and while she knew Ciaran had enough common sense to not get entangled with the atmosphere, she had to stress how important it was that they were somewhere no one else would be. She gave him a short nod before turning around again so she could walk up to the person manning the front door.

“I need a room,” she whispered into the boy’s ear, turning her head back to look at Ciaran while handing him the bottle. The boy received the alcohol and nodded his head. “Good to see you again, Meira. It’s been a while since we last saw you.” Meira stared at the boy for a few seconds before saying, “Tell the birthday girl happy birthday.” She never knew whose birthday they were actually celebrating, only the gender. However, it was enough for the boy as he stepped aside to let Meira and Ciaran pass.

Parties always overwhelmed her first due to the amount of activity her other senses could pick up. Once she started drinking, it was a different story. But that night, she wasn’t going to become one of these people. She grabbed Ciaran by his non-injured hand and led him away from the front room through a hallway. One, two, three, and then she brought Ciaran into a dark room. She fumbled around to turn on the lights and revealed a room with two couches and several decorations. It was amazing how the wealthier part of the district lived, but Meira was never one to complain—she didn’t have to pay for it.

Meira sat down at one of the couches and gestured Ciaran to do the same. She waited until he was on the couch before talking to him again. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have helped, you know.” She slowed down for the next part. “Is there anything you need right now? Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

With the lights on a sheltered space from eyes, the two of them were now able to speak freely, removing a huge weight from Meira’s chest. Being out in the open, being out in the crowd, both were starting to become chest crushing as her hearing worsened with each day. She preferred being in light, being able to use her sight, being with someone who could understand her language. And yet, the pressure did not leave her chest as she watched Ciaran move his hands.

She wanted to support him, to tell him that she could make him not afraid, but the truth was that she lived in fear as well. How could she console him when she couldn’t even deal with her own terrors? And yet, his own fears had bothered him so much that he had confessed them to her. He confessed how his fears had kept him up at night, that he had trouble sleeping, before he apologized to her.

It was so much to take in, so much to understand, that Meira took her time to sit there and soak it all in. “No, you didn’t screw anything up. I haven’t been completely truthful of everything either.” Meira’s eyes shifted to the door where right outside, a scene she was familiar with was going on. She shifted over to him and held his hand lightly in hers. She turned his hand over to look at his palm before tracing the lines of his hand. “My mother used to do this when I was younger. She liked to say that the lines tell us our story, that they could tell us about a person without hearing their words.” Meira had always chalked it up to her mother being of a more mystical mindset, but it was always reassuring to have her mother draw those lines.

“My mother always had these crazy ideas about what our body could say.” Meira smiled at herself before looking back at Ciaran. “You might have noticed that I am…familiar with this scene.” She could see the shadow of two sets of footsteps outside of the door. Someone’s about to have fun. How many years had it been since she went to her first party? It started when she began working at her current job, before her hearing was what it was now. “I like the feeling, of losing all of my senses instead of just one. It's not ideal but it's become comfortable.”

“Don’t apologize. Let’s…talk about this.” And now they had entered a part of their friendship Meira wasn’t sure she was ready for. It meant talking about the past, present, and future and revealing for the first time to someone who wasn’t her father or doctor, how she felt. “No more surprises, even if we have to tell it all now. And we’ll be there for each other, no matter how shocking our secrets are.” Leaning towards him, she presented the back of her fist to him, showing she would honor her side of the agreement.

A small grin appeared on Meira’s face as Ciaran reciprocated her gesture. It meant that now they would be placed in a vulnerable space, but at least they would be in it together. The next sentences he signed were short but concise, telling her all of his secrets with just a few hand gestures. She took everything in, but the last part made her heart skip a beat. No, she was getting ahead of herself. He could have been talking about another friend—but the grin on his face was telling her otherwise.

Then he invited her to ask any question she wanted. There were so many buzzing in her mind that she didn’t know which topic she wanted to breach first. She knew they would have time to talk about these things, but this night had opened up the floodgates. “Did you lose your voice completely? I’ve never heard you speak.” And yet, Meira had a feeling that he was not in the same position that she was. She spoke when her hands couldn’t do the job, but she had never heard a single word uttered from Ciaran’s mouth. He was good with his language, though, which made Meira think that he wasn’t completely voice-less, but maybe he had always had a good grasp on languages; he had done well learning her language in a short span of time.

Her cheeks turned a little pink when he commented on the way she was dressed. It was true, this was the first time he had seen her out of her worn-out work clothes. She rarely dressed this way except for the occasional nice party, so for him to spot her like this made her more aware of it. “Thank you,” she signed, avoiding eye contact. Shaking her head to get rid of the thought—there was no point in analyzing his words, he was just being nice—she focused on the subject at hand.

“You can ask me any question as well. Anything on your mind.” She thought it was only fair that she offered her side of the truth, for him to understand a little more about her life. “I talk about my mother in the past tense because she passed away when I was young. No one knows what killed her and—” Meira hesitated before the next part. “—we don’t know if I could get it.” There had been no indications so far of her health declining, but her mother had been the same way before the illness took her as a young adult. “It’s another reason why I drink. It helps me forget sometimes.”

“But the fear that you have to live with, that keeps you up at night, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t even imagine what that must be like.”

The analogy helped and yet Meira couldn’t completely understand his condition. If his voice was the rod, then what was the line? The ability to use it? As much as she wanted to know more, she knew that it would be difficult to explain, especially with only one month’s worth of vocabulary in the sign language. “I hope one day you find a line for the fishing rod.” It was the only words Meira had to offer as she knew there was nothing else she could do. Could she persuade him to open up to her, to try to talk to her? Possibly, but what was to say that he was going to try, now that he was learning her language?

Meira shook her head when Ciaran called her brave, knowing she felt anything but. “I have been losing my hearing since I was young; there’s been nothing shocking about it.” And yet that statement didn’t feel like he was only talking about her hearing. “Everything that has happened or is happening to me was a long time ago. I have had time to deal with my past. You, on the other hand, deal with them every night when you close your eyes.” It felt strange to be consoling him like this, and yet with no voice and little sound, it was the only way she could really do it. Perhaps if they were able to speak with their vocal chords instead of their hands or listen with their ears instead of their eyes, a touch of comfort would have been appropriate.

And yet, it was comforting to see those hands move so smoothly with their reassurances. The movement, the meaning, Meira drank it up with her eyes and could feel her heart beating steadily faster. Whatever fear and worry she had felt when she first saw Ciaran earlier that night was gone. She was just about to say the same thing when the door suddenly opened and her coworker’s giggling face appeared. Meira looked up immediately to see her coworker giggle so more before saying, “Oops, sorry, Meira,” and closing the door behind her. Meira was able to pick up a quick glimpse of holding hands, and she knew what her coworker was up to for the rest of the night. With a half-grin on her face, Meira covered her face with one hand and shook her head. That was one part of the party she never engaged in, but she always took amusement to watching others clamber around, looking for a spare room.

“My co-worker,” Meira signed to Ciaran, explaining how the girl had known her name. “She’s the one who introduced me to this life.”