Unit 2 This is Sandy
I love it when my friends introduce me to new people, although I never let on. I love the proud and honorable expression they wear when they say “This is Sandy—she's deaf”, as if I were evidence of their benevolence. I also love the split-second shocked expression on the new people, the hasty smiles and their best imitations of what they think of as their “normal faces”. If they do the ritual well enough I turn my head ever so slightly and tuck my hair behind one of my ears, whichever one's closer to them. They never fail to say something nice about my pink hearing aids, while my regular friends beam on.
I'm thinking of starting a hearing aid collection, actually. They'd make better accessories than earrings: I once saw a catalog for clip-on hearing aids and hearing aid covers, and the products were most definitely fashion statements in various shapes and hues. It'd be like the exquisitely expensive handbag Esther's dad got her when we were in high school. The rest of us could only admi re, but could not, imitate, because our dads weren’t rich enough
to spoil us that way. And now, only I can wear hearing aids: My friends can do nothing but gush.
To be honest, I quite like my deafness. It wasn't easy the first few years after the car accident and the stupid exploding airbag, but now it's become something that makes me special among my friends. None of my close friends are hearing-impaired; simply because I wasn’t born deaf. By the time I lost my hearing; I'd already accumulated a fixed circle of people, and they mostly rushed to participate in the drama.
You know how when you talk about your friends, you refer to them as Drew the Bartender, Carol the Feminist, Greg the Guy Who Can Knot a Cherry Stem with His Tongue and so on? I'm Sandy the D eaf Girl. I like it. I don’t have any other particularly outstanding traits or skills. Never did.
It's more than just standing out; too: I'm sure a lot of important events in my life wouldn't have happened or worked out quite the same way if I weren't wearing pink hearing aids. For example, the thing with Colin.
I first met Colin at an apartment party. When Carol the Feminist introduced us to each other, I tucked my hair behind both my ears and leaned closer, not because he did the ritual particularly well; but because he was a stud: You should have seen his recovery smile after the inevitable surprise.
We went in search of drinks after the handshakes, and somewhere between what was functioning as the wine bar and the couch, we lost Carol.
“Do you usually read lips like this? Or do you sign, too?” he asked after a while.
“I mostly just read lips because it was easier to pick up than signing, although that's not the only reason I was staring at your lips," I told him.
He laughed. We talked more, and then the host upped the music volume and dimmed the lights for the “dance floor”; and I had to lean in much, much closer to be able to continue reading his lips in the semi-darkness. And
read his lips I did.
We did the usual and exchanged numbers, and a week later Colin did the unthinkable and called. We went out, satisfied ourselves that the other person still looked good in sober daylight, and read more lips. Within two months Colin and I were dating.
这位是桑迪
我的朋友向生人介绍我的时候，虽然我嘴上从不说什么，但我心里喜欢得很。我喜欢他们说“这位是桑迪—她是聋子”的时候脸上那副骄傲和荣耀的表情，就好像我证明了他们的仁德善心一样。我也喜欢生人脸上那瞬间的震惊表情、匆忙的微笑和他们竭力装出的“正常脸色”。如果他们这套仪式做得够好，我就会微微转过头，把头发掖到离他们较近的那只耳朵后面。他们总会说些好话，夸我的粉红色助听器，我的朋友们则在一旁灿烂地微笑。
实际上，我在考虑开始收藏助听器。它们是比耳环更好的首饰。我曾经看到过一款“一夹得”带罩助听器的广告图片，产品有各种各样的形状和颜色，绝对时髦。那就像我们上高中的时候，埃斯特的爸爸给她买的精美昂贵的手提包一样。那时，我们其他人只有羡慕的份儿，却无法仿效，因为我们的老爸没那么多钱去娇惯我们。而现在，只有我能戴助听器。朋友们也就只有羡慕的份儿了。
说实话，我挺喜欢耳聋的。在那次车祸和愚蠢的安全气囊破裂之后的头几年，日子不好过，但是现在，耳聋让我在朋友中显得很特别。我的好朋友没有一个是听力残障的，因为我不是天生耳聋，在我失去听觉的时候，我已经有了一个固定的朋友圈。他们中的多数人都热心积极地参加这场“表演”。
你知道，在你谈论朋友时，你会把称他们为“酒吧侍者德鲁”、“女权主义者卡罗尔”、‘能用舌头给樱桃梗打结的家伙格雷格”等等。我是“聋女桑迪”。我喜欢这个称呼。我没有任何其它突出的个性或能耐。从来没有过。
还不仅仅是与众不同。我确信，假如我不戴粉红色助听器的话，我生活中的许多重大事件就不会以同样的方式发生或产生同样的结果。例如，跟柯林之间的事儿。
我初次遇见柯林是在一次公寓派对上。女权主义者卡罗尔给我们彼此做了介绍之后，我把头发拢到两耳之后，凑得更近些，不是因为他把那套仪式做得特别好，而是因为他是个情种。谁都能注意到在不可避免的惊讶之后他脸上恢复的微笑。
握手之后，我们去拿喝的。在临时搭建的吧台和沙发之间的某个地方，卡罗尔不见了。
“你通常都像这样读唇语吗？还是也用手语？”过了一会儿他问。
我告诉他说：“我多数时间只读唇语，因为这比用手语更容易，但这不是我一直盯着你的嘴唇的唯一原因。”
他大笑起来。我们又说了一会儿话。后来，主人放大音乐的音量，调暗“舞池”的灯光；我不得不凑近他，很近很近，以便能在昏暗中接着读他的唇语。我的确读到了他的唇语。
