Ridge: Let’s talk about music.
“Okay,” I say with a nod.
Ridge: I wanted to talk to you about this tonight. You know, before I ruined your life and all that. I want you to write lyrics for my band. For the songs I have written and maybe some future songs if you’re up for it.
I pause before responding to him. My initial response is to ask him about his band, because I’ve been dying to see this guy perform. My second response is to ask him how the hell he can play a guitar if he can’t hear, but again, I don’t want to be one of “those people.” My third response is to automatically say no, because agreeing to give someone lyrics is a lot of pressure. Pressure I don’t really want right now, since my life has pretty much taken a nosedive today.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think I want to do that.”
Ridge: We would pay you.
That gets my attention. I suddenly feel an option three making its way into the picture.
Me: What kind of pay are we talking about? I still think you’re insane for wanting me to help you write lyrics, but you may have caught me at a very desperate and destitute moment, being as though I’m homeless and could use some extra money.
Ridge: Why do you keep referring to yourself as homeless? Do you not have a place to stay?
Me: Well, I could stay with my parents, but that would mean I’d have to transfer schools my senior year, and it would put me about two semesters behind. I could also stay with my roommate, but I don’t know how much I’d like to hear her screwing my boyfriend of two years at night while I try to sleep.
Ridge: You’re a smartass.
Me: Yeah, I guess I’ve got that going for me.
Ridge: You can stay here. We’re kind of in search of a fourth roommate. If it means you’ll help us with the songs, you can stay for free until you get back on your feet.
I read the text twice, slowly. I shake my head.
Ridge: Just until you can get your own place.
Me: No. I don’t even know you. Besides, your Hooters girlfriend already hates me.
Ridge laughs at that comment.
Ridge: Bridgette is not my girlfriend. And she’s hardly ever here, so you don’t have to worry about her.
Me: This is too weird.
Ridge: What other option do you have? I saw you didn’t even have cab fare earlier. You’re pretty much at my mercy.
Me: I have cab fare. I left my purse in my apartment, and I didn’t want to go back up to get it, so I didn’t have a way to pay the driver.
Ridge frowns when he reads my text.
Ridge: I’ll go with you to get it if you need it.
I look up at him. “Are you sure?” I ask.
He smiles and walks toward the front door, so I follow him.
Ridge
It’s still raining out, and I know she just put on dry clothes after her shower, so once we reach the bottom of the stairwell, I pull my phone out and text her.
Me: Wait here so you don’t get wet again. I’ll go get it myself.
She reads the text and shakes her head, then looks back up at me. “No. I’m going with you.”
I can’t help but appreciate the fact that she doesn’t respond to my being deaf the way I expect her to. Most people become uneasy once they aren’t sure how to communicate with me. The majority of them raise their voices and talk slowly, sort of like Bridgette. I guess they think being louder will somehow miraculously make me hear again. However, it does nothing but force me to contain my laughter while they talk to me as if I’m an idiot. Granted, I know people don’t do it to be disrespectful. It’s just simple ignorance, and that’s fine. I’m so used to it I don’t even notice anymore.
However, I did notice Sydney’s reaction . . . because there really wasn’t one. As soon as she found out, she just propped herself up on the counter and continued talking to me, even though she moved from speaking to texting. And it helps that she’s a fast texter.
We run across the courtyard until we reach the base of the stairs that lead up to her apartment. I begin walking up and notice that she’s frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The look in her eyes is nervous, and I instantly feel bad for not realizing how hard this must be for her. I know she’s probably hurting a lot more than she’s letting on. Learning that your best friend and your boyfriend have betrayed you has to be difficult, and it hasn’t even been a day since she found out. I walk back down the stairs and grab her hand, then smile at her reassuringly. I tug on her hand; she takes a deep breath and walks with me up the stairs. She taps me on the shoulder when we reach her door, and I turn around.
“Can I wait here?” she says. “I don’t want to see them.”
I nod, relieved that her lips are easy to read.