Low Notes

A man and his son sat together in a small office at a college, waiting for the woman across the desk to respond. The father wore a button down shirt and slacks, but the boy wore a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. The boy did not move or speak; in fact he seemed uncomfortable at all times.
    "You understand our problem?" The boy's father, Dennis, asked the woman.
    "Yes," the woman responded. "We can take care of all accommodations, and he can talk to disability services if he has any problems." She paused, and a small look passed over her face. She didn't even realize she had said it until it was too late.
    "Do you have his class schedule?" Dennis asked her. The two adults conversed as if the boy wasn't there. "Have you talked to his professors?"
    "I've spoken to them, yes." The woman handed Dennis a piece of paper. "This has locations, class times, and materials that Mike will need."
    Dennis handed Mike the sheet. Mike took it with as little motion as possible.
    "What about the private rooms?" Dennis asked.
    "There are a number of rooms available on the first floor of the Anderson building. They're first come, first serve, but there are enough that Mike should have access to one whenever he wants. Is that everything?"
    "Yes, I think so." Dennis looked at his son. "Come on, let's get you moved in."
    The adviser followed Dennis and Mike to their feet. She put her hand out, and for the first time spoke directly to Mike. "Welcome, Michael. I hope you enjoy it here." Mike shook the hand without responding.

A few minutes later Mike and his father entered a small room, empty of everything but a bed frame and a desk, carrying boxes and suitcases. They began to unpack, keeping quiet.
    After a few minutes, Dennis spoke. "You can always video us if you're having problems with something." He hesitated. "Try to make friends. Things will go a lot easier if you have pals. Don't think you can't make friends here just because you can't talk." He looked at his son to find him nodding. "Don't do anything hasty. If you have a problem, play some music or call us. Don't lash out at anybody."
    When they finished unpacking, Dennis went to the door. The two embraced and separated quickly. "Don't forget you can go to disability services if you need anything," Dennis said. Mike nodded once, and then he was alone.
    He began to organize his possessions. Leaning against one wall, behind a suitcase, was a long brown case. It looked clean and well kept, and every so often Mike glanced in its direction.

"Mr. Richardson?" Mike's math professor asked. "Perhaps you'd like to supply the answer to this one?"
    Mike stared back at him with a surprised expression. He knew the answer, but couldn't exactly respond. After a silent moment the professor remembered.
    "Oh, er, no, no I'm sorry. Tricia, why don't you give us the answer to this one?"
    The girl Tricia shot Mike a dirty look, and Mike sank into his seat. He had given himself the room's corner seat, as far as possible from the front. He did not offer anything to the class, just sat and listened. He could already feel the questions that would be asked between other members of the class – about the weird kid who sat in the back and didn't say anything.

Later that day he sat against the wall at one of the tables in the college's cafeteria. The table was empty except for him, a fact he did not bemoan. He rested his head against the brick wall and ran his fork through his noodles, pushing them around his plate. The rest of the large room buzzed with the busy chatter of his fellow students. Eventually, Mike dumped his tray and left with his hands stuck deep in the pockets of his blue jeans and his eyes on the ground.

Alone in his room, Mike worked on math homework. He could have answered the professor's question, no doubt, but he also couldn't. He ran a hand along his throat, massaging it.
    The room was dark and quiet; loneliness felt like an opaque shroud around him. The room did not feel or look like home, and Mike was too conscious of that fact. His gaze stole toward the brown case that was set against one wall.

A few weeks later a group of students sat on a wide lawn between some of the buildings, chatting after class. The warm afternoon sun beat down on them; autumn's chill had not arrived yet. Tricia, the girl forced to stumble through an answer when Mike was unable to, spotted Mike walking back to his dorm and pokes a girl with dirty blond hair next to her, named Anna. Tricia pointed at Mike.
    "What? Who's that?" Anna asked, watching Mike walk.
    "That's the guy that wouldn't say anything in math! Mr. Hogarth made me answer for him! The kid looked at him like he was crazy when Mr. Hogarth asked him for an answer! I've seen him around, too! He only sits by himself and doesn't talk to anybody!"
    "Maybe he's like . . . mute or something," Anna said.
    "No way," a boy said. "Every mute person I've ever met has been super friendly!”
    "Maybe," Anna said.
    Their circle began to dissipate, and Anna walked back to her dorm room. Just as she got inside her phone buzzed. She saw that it was her mother and groaned. She slipped off her shoes and picked it up. She flipped it open and sighed. "What?"
    She listened for a few seconds.
    "Well, why the hell would he go and do something like that?" She sat at her desk and put her feet up on its surface. She made an exasperated noise. "How much did it cost?"
    She winced and listened. After a few more seconds she rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should stay out of my life, Mom. No, look, I don't care. You can ask me to do whatever you want but I'll only tell you the things I want." She listened for a few moments, already knowing what to say next. "Because I can't trust you! Whenever I tell you something you immediately go and blab it to your drunk friends! Hey, why don't you tell me something, huh? When was the last time you took a shower? Or can you no longer fit in the stall? Go to hell!"
    Without hanging up, she flung the phone at the wall by her bed. It bounced off with a crack and landed on her bed. An angry voice leaked out of the speaker. She got up and clicked it shut.
    She set it on her desk just as her roommate entered. A random draw, Celia was not the kind of person that Anna would have chosen to room with. The tall, slinky girl had long blond hair, tan skin, and white teeth. She seemed utterly uninterested in getting to know the girl she shared her room with.
    "Was that you I heard shouting?" She asked, removing her large, round sunglasses.
    Anna struggled for a second to talk to Celia, but gave in. "My brother got arrested."
    "That's too bad," Celia said, devoid of concern. She sat at her desk facing away from Anna. Anna looked outside, saw the warm shine of the sun, and walked out the door.

She walked by herself with her hands in her pockets over the wide college lawns. She walked around the buildings, avoiding people. She didn't see anybody that she knew, but she decided being alone felt right. Eventually she found a large tree to sit under. She rested her head against it and closed her eyes.
    After a few moments she looked around for other people. She found nobody, and raised her arm. She pulled back the long-sleeved shirt she wore and revealed her wrist.
    Faded scars, like train ties, showed on her skin. They were many, but old and healed. The same was on her left arm -- some fresher, some older.
    Quickly, she rolled her sleeve back down and clasped her hands together. She took in a deep breath, expanding her chest, and let the air rush out all at once. She stood up and wandered toward a lake where ducks chorused. She picked up a handful of pebbles and started flinging them at the ducks. "Stupid quackers." She stayed there for half an hour.

Mike, hands flowing through the styled motions of American Sign Language, signed something to his father. His father watched through a web camera attached to Mike's laptop. After finishing the sign, Mike waited for his father to interpret it. Behind Dennis, a brightly-lit kitchen revealed a sink piled with dishes. Finally, Dennis laughed.
    "Yeah, I guess you're right. Lisa and I aren't used to having you to do the dishes. We just need to get used to you not being around here anymore."
    Mike signed again.
    "Not quieter, I suppose. You know. Except for your games and movies, I suppose. It feels a lot emptier, though. Except for the sink, of course." Dennis laughed; Mike didn't.
    Mike signed: I feel like I don't belong here.
    Dennis blew out air. "It'll take some time for you to fit in. I'm sure you're just struggling with the transition. How are your classes going?"
    Mike waited a beat. He quickly signed I want to come home.
    "Mike, listen to me. I went through college, and so did your mother. The first month is always awkward. You just need to find your niche. Do you have a roommate?"
    Mike shook his head.
    "That's too bad." Dennis thought for a second. "It'll take some time, but I'm sure things will work out. I gotta go now; Mom wanted the dishes done by the time she got home. Call us if you have something you need to talk about." Dennis realized what he said, and embarrassment turned his face red. He waved goodbye and shut the camera off on his end. Mike was left alone in his room.
    Mike blinked quickly. The room around him appears to have rejected his efforts to make it comfortable. It seemed too empty without a roommate. He picked up the brown case and went outside.

Anna, back from the lake and standing alone at the top of a small hill, found herself momentarily forgetting about herself as she watched Mike walk. She again wondered about him.
    She walked down the hill with her hands in her pockets. A chill had set in, and she wished she had taken her jacket when she left her room. She went in the door Mike exited, under a sign that says 'Henricks Building.' She sat in the lobby for a few minutes until Tricia appeared.
    "Hey Anna!"
    "Did you know that quiet kid lives in Hendricks?"
    Tricia looked surprised. "You mean the kid from my calc?"
    "I just saw him leave. Does he ever look happy?"
    "No. I've barely seen him do anything other than scowl. Maybe he's a Vulcan!" Trisha giggled.
    "I guess he just needs to lighten up."
    The two girls walked toward the college's dining hall. "My brother got arrested again," Anna said.
    "Oh no! I'm sorry Anna," Tricia said.
    "He robbed a convenience store. Why would anybody rob a place like that? All it's got is crap! I can't believe how stupid he is!"
    "Yes," Tricia said, "he was very stupid. Is he all right?"
    "Yeah, my mom bailed him out. It cost a lot because he's been arrested before."
    "That's too bad." Tricia's words echoed Celia's. Anna stopped talking. They walked for a few minutes. "Maybe he'll learn his lesson. It's got to be hard on your mom, too. Does Jed know?" Anna shook her head. "I'm sure he'll want to hear about it," Tricia continued. "When was the last time you saw him?"
    "Six days. Last Friday," Anna said reluctantly.
    "That's a long time. You should do something this weekend."
    "I know," Anna said. Tricia nodded.
    "Good."
    The two entered the dining hall. A dense crowd of hungry students appeared, and the two waited in lines for their food, slowly shuffling forward until they had enough. They found an empty table and started eating.
    At least, Tricia did. She was a bigger girl but not fat; her meal became her focus. Anna found she wasn't hungry, and only picked at her pizza. Sam failed to notice this. Anna stared out a window, peering through her long bangs and leaning on a fist pressed against her cheek. The college's grounds were darker, cones of light revealed empty walking paths or doors into buildings.
    Anna looked down with some level of disgust at her meal. It all looked greasy and hot; she didn't want it. She thought about going through again and getting something different, like a salad, but she imagined the tough, stringy feel of lettuce or celery, and decided she didn't want that either. Her hunger disappeared entirely.
    "I'm going to the library," She said, standing. "I need to get some reading done." She grabbed her tray and started walking away.
    "Are you not hungry? You've hardly eaten anything," Sam said as she left. Anna didn't respond.
    She went back to her dorm room and got her coat and backpack, stuffing it with books. Celia ignored her, as if she didn't realize that she'd entered. Anna left, and entered the library's building.
    Once inside the library, and surrounded by the sound-dampening books, she climbed up to the second level and found a secluded chair at the end of a row. She sat, and cracked open a chemistry book.
    Swinging her legs over the chair's arm, she settled in. Mere moments passed before she fell asleep, breathing in and out with her mouth slightly open. Her heartbeat -- a steady, weak rhythm -- was the only sound she could have heard had she been awake.
    For a few minutes the silence endured. Then, from nowhere, low, slow music begins to play. It was not so much heard as felt, vibrations in the chair and the floor carried it. It was the same tempo as Anna's heart.
    Then the music began to speed up and chang. Never for too long; it always sinks back into the regular rhythm. Anna's heart reacted to the music, feeling the vibrations.
    In the span of an instant the music ramped, turning from slow motions into explosive and evocative tones. Deep, sweet sounds carried through the otherwise silent air. It got louder and stronger; phrases and chords became things of power.
    The music slowed down again, wrapping up with a low, nearly unheard chord.
    Minutes later, Anna found herself awake. To her surprise, she was smiling. She looked down at her book with some measure of confusion. She hadn't read a single page.

Two hours later she burst into her dorm room, surprising Celia. "Hi Celia!" She nearly shouted, a big smile on her face.
    "Uh . . . hi. You seem happy," Celia said.
    "I had a good time reading in the library."
    "Did you get a lot done?"
    "Yeah! I had a little nap right when I got there, and when I woke up I was so refreshed! I read a ton!" Anna dumped her backpack on her bed and walked out the door. Celia raised a fine eyebrow at the closed door, then shook her head and turned back to her computer.

Two days later Anna sat in a coffee shop near the college with her boyfriend Jed. She was telling him about the experience in the library, the nap that left her more refreshed and awake than any nap she'd had before.
    "When I woke up I felt great! I have no idea how it happened! It's worn off now, but it was so great."
    "Hm," Jed said, staring into his coffee. His long arm swung up to bring the cup to his mouth. He was still sweaty from his dance class.
    "I kind of wish you could know how it felt," Anna said. She took a big drink of coffee and coughed as she put it down. "What are you thinking about? You're kind of quiet."
    Jed pulled his lips back, showing his teeth. "I have a big project for bio."
    "What's it about?" Anna asked.
    Jed grabbed a packet of sugar and tipped it into his coffee. He took a sip and put more in. Satisfied, he crumpled the empty packets into small balls and pushed them onto the floor. "Genomes."
    Anna waited for him to continue, but he didn't. She leaned her head forward. "Is that all?"
    "No. It's complicated. I don't think you'd get it. I don't get it. Nobody gets it."
    "Do you think I'm stupid?" Anna asked.
    "No! I just don't feel like explaining it! I'm dreading having to go back and work on it once we're done here."
    "Don't be such a worry wart," Anna said, sighing. "You'll be fine."
    "You just say that because you don't have to work on it," Jed said. "If you had this project, you'd be worrying way more than I am."
    "I have my own stuff to do, you know!" Anna said, upset.
    "I know."
    The two lapsed into silence. Jed drank his coffee quickly and stood up to go, leaving Anna scrambling to get her things.
    They left the shop and started walking back to the college. Strong wind pushed rain into their faces, and Anna's jacket wasn't strong enough to keep her warm. She shivered, but Jed made no motion to comfort her. Still preoccupied, Anna assumed.
    She felt left out of his thoughts as they walked. When they reached Jed's building he hugged her and went inside without another word. Anna stood in the cold, trying to decide what to do.
    On a whim, got a book from her dorm and trudged through the rain to the library, depressed and unhappy. She went to the same chair that she had fallen asleep in two nights before and swung her legs over into the same position, but she didn't fall asleep. Instead, the position cramped her legs. She shifted and started reading.

Except for a solitary lamp, Mike's room was dark. Rain struck the window in a stuttering pattern; it was the only sound in the room. He sat at his desk and stared at a paper open on his computer. The cursor blinked, almost mocking him. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was wild.
    He began to type, but stopped often to look around the room or surf the web. At one point he got a book that had a list of electronic parts. He wrote a few of the items on a piece of paper.
    He got a page of his project done before he realized that he would need more research materials. He put on his shoes and still-damp coat, and walked through the rain to the library. He went to the second level and started looking for books, and happened to pass the chair Anna was camped in.
    As he walked past her row, she came out of a stupor and followed him with her eyes, watching him with some interest due to his special brand of fame in the college. To her surprise he stopped at the rows that are full of biology books.
    She got out of her chair and followed him, peering around the corner. She saw him pull out a few books that had genome in the title. She walked up to him. He didn't notice her until she tapped on his arm.
    Mike jumped and dropped some of the books. Flustered, he bent down to pick them up.
    "I'm sorry!" Anna said, reaching down and grabbing one of the books on the ground. "I just . . . you're in biology, right?"
    Mike, still somewhat shocked, nodded his head. His eyebrows was creased and his eyebrows were pressed together.
    Anna saw the look on his face and shifted uncertainly. "Uh, sorry, but do you know a boy in your class named Jed?"
    Mike did nothing but stare.
    "He's, uh, tall, looks half asleep a lot of the time . . . likes to wear plaid . . . "
    Mike tried to picture the person she was describing.
    "He has a little tattoo of a star on his neck." She touched the place, under her ear.
    Mike started nodding slowly, then sped up.
    "Sorry, uh, my name's Anna. What's yours?"
    Mike stood, struck immobile. His brain feebly shouted at him to shake her hand; he started signing instead. Anna seemed surprised as his hands moved.
    "Sign language! Yes, I do know how to sign, I took three years in high school! Your name is M-I-K-E," she said, following the motions of his hands. Mike nodded.
    "You know who I'm talking about. J-E-D," Anna said. "Oh, good! You do know him!" Mike nodded. "You have the same project as him? The one about genomes?"
    Mike tapped the book she held. The title read "Genomes - An In-Depth Study."
    "Oh. Right. Uh . . . do you think you could tell me what it's about?"
    Mike stared at her, confused.
    "It's kind of complicated. Jed -- he's my boyfriend actually -- won't tell me about it, but it's bothering him. I want to help him."
    Mike waited a few seconds, then shrugged. He started signing rapidly, using motions that Anna's paltry three years had no chance of interpreting. If she had known, she would have picked up words like chromosomes, genetic mutations, DNA, and chimpanzees. Anna tried in vain to make use of what she did understand.
    "I'm . . . I'm sorry, I didn't understand that."
    Mike waited for a second, pulled the book Anna held out of her hands, turned around, and walked away, leaving Anna standing in the row of books, confused.
    Mike checked out and walked back to his dorm. When he got there he threw the books on his desk and flopped onto his bed face down. After lying there for a minute he rolled over and put his hands behind his head. He took a deep breath, and mouthed the words "I wish people could hear me."

The next day Anna and Tricia sat on the floor of Tricia's dorm studying, kicking their feet back and forth and eating out of a bowl of popcorn. Anna was in the midst of explaining her interaction with Mike.
    "And he just walked out?" Tricia said.
    "Right out of the library," Anna replied. "It's like I hadn't even been talking to him." She turned a page.
    "That's very weird. Do you know why?"
    "No idea. I hope I didn't insult him."
    "Could you tell if he was really mute?" Tricia asked as she wrote something on a notepad.
    "He was signing. What other explanation is there?"
    Tricia shrugged. "Maybe he was just tricking you. Maybe he just wanted you to think he was mute, but he can actually talk fine."
    "Give me a good reason for why he'd do that, and maybe I'll believe you."
    "Maybe he can only talk in Japanese?" Tricia offered.
    "I am not going to respond to that," Anna responded. They sat in silence for a little bit.
    "Maybe he doesn't like girls," Tricia said. Anna didn't say anything. "That's too bad about Jed, though."
    "He get's like that every once in a while. He'll call me and apologize eventually," Anna said.
    "This is normal?"
    "Sort of. When we started going out we were both at a low point, so to speak, and just started to cling together. Kind of gave us something we could talk about. But then we . . . I got better, but he only improved a little. I try to keep a positive attitude around him as much as I can, but it seems like he resents me for it."
    "I want to meet him," Tricia said, "and put a face to all these stories."
    "I'll see if he wants to meet us somewhere. I also want to get his opinion on M-I-K-E." Anna tapped on her phone, sending a message to her boyfriend. "He'll get back to me soon enough. He depends on that phone. It's his favorite thing in the world. Besides me, of course."
    "Of course!" Tricia said, matter-of-factly.
    Anna made a face at her and continued studying. They spent some time reading and making notes. Eventually Anna looked at her phone and sighed.
    "I guess he's just busy with something," she said.
    "He might be taking a nap."
    "He probably just doesn't want to meet you. He probably knows how weird you are," Anna said.
    "Oh. Right. I'm sure that's the truth," Tricia said, and both girls laughed.

Mike relaxed in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. Letting out a breath, he bent down. Electronic components in a flat case covered his desk. With pliers in hand he worked on the gutted machine.
    His hands skated over the parts and possessed a surprising tenderness when he worked on them. With ease he removed a small part and placed it in a small plastic bucket.
    A small, unconscious smile was on his lips. As he worked, taking out pieces, his lips began to form things. More and more, his mouth worked to shape unheard sounds. If somebody had been watching him, he would have appeared to be singing. This mental melody continued for hours as he worked. He got some similarly small electronic parts out of a shipping box and attached them with practiced patience.
    By the time he finished, it was nearly two in the morning. He went to bed and the smile faded off his face, replaced by the familiar unhappy expression that had been his home for many years.

The next afternoon Mike sat in the back of his biology class, listening to the professor answer questions about the large project the class struggled with. He scanned the class for the one described by Anna, the one named Jed. He found a boy that seemed to fit the description -- tall, wore plaid -- but he wasn't sure until the boy tilted his head a little bit to look to the side, and Mike saw the edge of a star-shaped tattoo under his ear. Mike turned his attention back to the professor until the class ended.
    As the class stumbled out, Anna entered and started speaking to Jed. Mike saw her as he put books into his bag. He looked down for a second and looked up to find Anna standing in front of him.
    He jumped, surprised, and Anna grimaced.
    "Sorry!" She said. "I don't mean to keep surprising you like this. I just want to know what I did in the library."
    As usual, Mike didn't know how to respond. He looked past Anna to Jed, who waited with his arms crossed.
    "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry."
    Mike signed. You wouldn't understand. I don't feel like explaining it.
    Anna barely interpreted him before he stood and started walking toward the exit. She stepped around him and blocked his exit.
    "I want to know," she said, crossing her arms.
    Mike made a swift, inescapable sign -- no -- then pushed past her and out the door. Anna was left with her arms across her chest and disappointment on her face. Her chin bobbed down to her chest and she went back to Jed.
    "Weird kid," Jed said.
    The statement struck Anna the wrong way, and she felt a hot, fleeting moment of distrust for Jed.
    "He's misunderstood."
    "And you want to understand him?" Jed asked.
    "Yeah, kind of."
    Jed waited a moment. "I still think he's kind of weird"
    Anna watched the door that Mike went through, hoping he would reappear.
    "You were telling me about when you saw him in the library," Jed said. They left the classroom. "You had just gone and scared him the first time." They exited the building and are struck by a hot wind. Anna use her hands to shield her eyes from the sun and reign in her hair.
    "I just went up to him. He was getting books about biology."
    "Did you know he was mute?"
    "Yeah. I did. Well no, I guess I didn't really, but I knew he was really quiet. I figured he was just shy or something."
    "So you . . ." Jed trailed off.
    "I'm getting to it! I just went up to him and said hi."
    "And he acted like you were an alien."
    "Yeah. I just startled him I suppose but he looked really scared for a moment. I just wanted to know if he was in the same class as you, and he was."
    "Is," Jed corrected.
    "Fine. The point is he knew you."
    "Knows me."
    "I get it!" Anna said angrily. "He started signing, so I knew we could communicate." Jed stayed silent. "And then he did a big sentence, and I didn't understand it. I told him that I didn't, and he just . . . walked away. Without a word. Nothing. He didn't sign anything or make a face, he just . . . went."
    "I guess you need to work on your first impressions."
    "I did fine." Anna didn't stop talking, but she wondered if she really did do fine. "It was so confusing and weird"
    "What is?" Jed asked. Anna wondered if he was even listening.
    "I go into the library one day, fall asleep, and then wake up feeling great. Great. I have no idea how it happens but it does anyway. The next time I go in I can't fall asleep or get any work done, and I don't feel great. I don't feel good at all. Then I see Mike and he basically walks off mid conversation!"
    "So? It's just a coincidence," Jed said.
    "I guess."
    The two of them walked until they found a Greek restaurant. They got greasy gyros full of peppers and onions, and talked as they ate. After they finished, they walked back to Anna's dorm and happened to pass the tree that she sat under as she contemplated her scars.
    It was an old, gnarled tree. Some of the limbs were dead, and others lacked many leaves. The wood of the trunk peeled.
    "That tree," Jed said. "Check it out."
    "I've seen it before. What about it?"
    "The leaves. They look like they're dying from the inside out." After closer inspection, Anna found that to be true.
    "What could be doing that?"
    "Any number of things. Rot. Disease. Pests."
    "Pests?"
    "Bugs; termites or something. Those emerald boring beetles or whatever they're called."
    "I bet it's people. It's always people, somehow. I don't think something this big and strong could be taken down by something as small as bugs."
    "So you think people had to have done it," Jed said critically.
    "I think they still might be doing it."
    Jed walked off and Anna followed. As they left, a few leaves broke away from limbs and fluttered down, landing on the spot that Anna sat on before.

Watching his screen intently, Mike followed the signs that his friend Chris made. Chris, an Asian boy that was both mute and deaf, refused to succumb to the loneliness that Mike lived with; he instead made friends quickly and went about his day with a smile. The two traded stories about their respective college lives, Chris sometimes helped by his handler.
    So whenever the thing got to me, Chris signed, explaining a party game, I would do charades instead of talking. It was so much fun. Cindy had to translate for me, and she was signing so fast her hands were blurry.
    It sounds like fun, Mike signed. Behind Chris, his room was brightly lit.
    What about you? Chris asked. You have to have something interesting to tell me. You've been there for two months.
    I told you not much happens around here. Mike paused. There is one weird thing, though. Chris leaned forward eagerly; in the context of their conversation the motion had no meaning, but he did it anyway. For some reason this girl named Anna keeps bothering me.
    Chris rolled his eyes. Only you would call that bothering you. She probably has the hots for you.
    Mike blushed. She has a boyfriend. She's always apologizing! She apologizes about everything that she does! The first time we met was in the library. She understood some ASL but she got confused too quickly.
    Mike hesitated. Chris waited for him to continue. It's just too hard for me to talk to people. He finished the sign and looked at his keyboard. At the top of his vision, Chris started signing something.
    She wants to talk to you, though. That's good. And here's something I learned: girls love to be teased. He paused; Mike raised an eyebrow, confused. They apologize all the time. If you just listen in you'll hear it.
    So?    So the next time she apologizes to you, tease her about it! Say something like . . . Chris thought for a moment. Say 'are you sneaking up on me? Are you trying to kidnap me?'
    I don't know.    When they apologize like that they are asking to be teased. I do it all the time. Chris smiled and bounced his eyebrows up and down.
    You tease girls all the time? Mike asked.
    Yeah, about little stuff. Nothing that would hurt their feelings or anything like that. It makes them laugh. It's just enough to stand out.
    I still think that-
    Chris signed over Mike. Just try it. Just a little bit. Just once. Be sure to tell me how it works though! On the screen an African-American girl touched Chris' shoulder and signed something. Chris nodded and signed something back.
    I have to go Mike. Good luck!
    Okay, thanks, Mike signed. The connection broke and the screen turned blank. Mike got up to get some books from a shelf and started reading. Every once in a while he stopped to think about Chris' odd advice.

Mike left his biology class and spotted Jed leaning against a wall and talking to Anna. Mike took a deep breath and pretended to write in a daily planner. He turned and found Anna next to him again. He jumped, even though he expected her to be there. As soon as he recovered he started signing.
    Why do you keep sneaking up on me like that? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?
    Anna's face fell and Mike immediately knew that he had misspoke. Anna's face was a sheet of guilt.
    "I-I'm sorry. It just keeps happening." She waited a second, and Mike flooded with shame. "I'll go."
    Anna turned and walked back to Jed. Mike sighed and rolled his eyes. He rushed back to his dorm, and as soon as he got there he tried to call Chris. The call went unanswered.
    Mike sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. His mind repeated what he had done over and over again until he felt ready to do something terrible to himself, if only to erase the shame that he felt for acting that way toward Anna.

After walking back to her empty dorm room with Jed, Anna flopped onto her bed. The walk had been a daze of confusing emotions, and it was all she could do not to collapse on her floor when she closed the door behind her.
    "What the hell just happened?" She asked the empty room, voice cracking.
    She pushed herself up and looked around the room. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window, giving the room a golden look. She took a textbook out of her backpack and was about to head to her desk chair, when she slipped on her jacket and headed to the library.
    She stood in front of the chair she fell asleep in with her head cocked to one side. "All right chair, let's see what you can do." She got in and swung her legs over the armrest like before.
    She didn't feel tired, but she started to hear some music. It was deep, strong music that made her bob her head to the rhythmic sound. She didn't recognize it.
    It started out low and slow, but began to jump around, lifting and dropping. Anna tried to identify if it was from a song, but she couldn't place it. At one point it makes a surprising, complicated turn, falling and bouncing with chilling speed.
    After this solo the music slowed down again, turning solemn, mournful, and apologetic. Anna smiled, feeling touched by the sound. She started to feel drowsy.
    She woke up and couldn't hear the music anymore. Several hours had passed, and she read in the chair until the library closed, trying her hardest to remember the music. When she got back into her room she climbed into bed immediately, still remembering the rush of thoughts and emotions she'd felt before falling asleep. Like all of her senses had kicked into high gear. She could feel the fibers of the chair; smell the old papers in the books; hear her heart beat along with the music.

Chris, on the screen of Mike's laptop, sighed soundlessly and rubbed his bristly black hair. Flamboyantly smacking his forehead with the flat of his palm, he shook his head. Mike had just finished explaining the previous day's interaction with Anna. Chris started signing.
    Here's the first problem: if she doesn't apologize before you tease her, it comes off as mean. You didn't let her explain herself. I guess that you need a little bit more information.
    You told me to tease her about it, Mike signed.
    Yeah I did. I apologize. Now tease me about it.
    Mike stared at the screen, confused. Go ahead. I can take it, Chris signed. Mike shrugged.
    Do you always mess up like that? He paused. Can anybody depend on you?
    Chris shook his head. O-Y, he signed. Too mean. This is where our disabilities make it especially hard on us. It's much easier to sound mean when presenting the words just as they are. You need to pick your words carefully. Got it? Mike nodded. Good. Here's the next thing. It should be something she can shrug off easily, something goofy. Chris thought for a moment. Here's an example. I have a friend that always wears glasses, right? One time, he and I went up to a girl's room to play some games. It was really cold out that night, and his glasses fogged up when we got in. She apologized for it.
    How was it her fault? Mike asked.
    It wasn't, not really. Her room was warmer out than inside, that's all it was. You know what he said when she apologized? "How dare you?" That's what he said. He said it with a smile, though. She laughed.
    I don't get it, Mike signed.
    He knew it wasn't her fault, and so did she, but it's exactly the kind of teasing that girls adore!
    But . . . why?    I'm not exactly sure, but it seems to work. You'll have to try it again.
    I don't know, Chris.    Just one more time. If it doesn't seem to work, lay off. Heck, you might have scared her off already. Chris shrugged.
    Okay. I'll try it. Thanks.
    A few minutes later, Mike sat at his desk working on his math homework. He realized something, and looked up at the black screen on his laptop. She's the only one who's spoken to me yet, he signed.

Anna sat under the old, gnarled, dying tree that weekend, working on homework. She would have gone to the library, but it was closed until one on Saturdays. It was a cold day with no clouds or wind. Her hair was untethered.
    Jed was supposed to be with her, helping her work out some of the harder problems, but she hadn't seen him yet. She missed him.
    Her eyes were drawn to the places on her wrists where she'd cut herself. At one point she'd tried to commit suicide. Her Father had come into her room and found her, fought her to her feet and into the bathroom as he called an ambulance. He refused to leave her, keeping her life inside her with thick towels and strong arms and a voice harder than she'd ever heard. He'd convinced her to get counseling, and it was there that she met Jed, somebody who'd gone through nearly the same thing as her -- parents divorced, depression, self-harm, and finally the decision to take his life.
    They'd started a relationship after completing their counseling, helping each other, keeping each other from doing anything that would hurt them or the people that loved them.
    Anna had told Tricia that she thought Jed was still having problems, but it was a lie. It was the opposite. At the thought of not having Jed to lean on, Anna's breath would get ragged and her body would seize, unable to cope. She knew his old wounds had healed, but hers felt fresh and ready to bleed again.
    Every moment he didn't appear she got more worried. She would have called him but her phone was dead. She groaned and bent her head to study the words of her homework. Eventually, she heard footsteps coming toward her.

For once, Mike watched Anna instead of the other way around. He asked himself over and over again if it was really something that he wanted to do, but he couldn't ever find a reason for it not to be. She was on her own, sitting under an old tree, staring up into the sky. A book was open on her lap, ignored.
    He thought over what he was going to say. He wanted to apologize, but after that, he didn't know. Whatever it was, he needed to remember what Chris had said about choosing the right words. Just as she nearly pressed her face into her book he started walking toward her.
    When he got close enough, and the leaves under his feet started to crunch, she whipped her head up, smiling broadly, only to be surprised to find him there; her face turned to confusion and fear.
    "Mike!" She said.
    Before she could say anything else, Mike signed I'm sorry about being angry at you. I didn't mean to be so mean.
    A few moments passed as Anna translated his hand motions. "Oh. That's okay. I should have known not to sneak up on you like that again."
    Mike stood awkwardly. Anna looked around. "Uh . . . you wouldn't happen to know what time it is, do you?" She lifted up her cell. "My phone's dead."
    Mike checked his. One thirty, he signed.
    "'Kay. Thanks." She crossed her arms and pressed her back against the tree. "I don't normally sit out here. Usually I sit in the library. There's a chair I always fall asleep in. But it wasn't open yet."
    It's open now.
    "I know, but I'm waiting for someone. He's late, though," she said under her breath.
    I'm going to go. I'll see you around, Mike signed. He turned and walked off before Anna could respond, eager for a way to leave the conversation that had started awkward and gotten worse.
    He walked into the dining hall, stomach growling. Just after entering, a loud student appeared out of nowhere, and began to be loud directly at Mike. He shied back, surprised, and the student thrust a piece of paper at him. Mike took it quickly and rushed away, trying to get away from the student's yelling as quickly as he could. He glanced at the piece of paper -- it was a list of upcoming campus events -- and stuffed it into his pocket. He ate quickly, only coming up to breathe. At one time he spotted a girl from his math class. Her name was Tricia. She had given him a dirty look a few weeks ago in class. He ducked his head again to make sure she didn't see him.
    Once he finished eating he walked back to his dorm, scowling at the chill fall air. He had forgotten his coat.
    He glanced over at the tree that Anna had been sitting against, and found her there still. To his surprise, he also saw what appeared to be Tricia kneeling near her and talking. Anna had her head in her hands. Mike rushed on.
    As soon as he got back to his room he threw on his coat and picked up the brown case from the corner of his room.
    Leaving his room again, he went to the first floor of the Anderson building. He walked past the library and into the row of private practice rooms. He entered his normal room, and opened up his case.
    His bass, a precision model, gleamed burnished gold in the dull fluorescent light. He spent some time plunking at the strings to tune them. The air in the practice rooms were hot and humid, and they wreaked havoc on them.
    Like John Entwhistle, or Cliff Burton, or John Myung, or Jaco Pastorius, when Mike closed his hand around the neck of his instrument and started to pull the strings, he didn't worry. Practice was easy -- it wasn't work, it was what he'd do to relax. Everything else went away. When he started to play Les Claypool's solo from Tommy the Cat, or ran through a Beatles' song in Paul McCartney's footsteps, or played a Sting song, mouthing the words, or tried to keep up with Geddy Lee, he was not longer Mike the mute boy, the one that sat in the back and didn't speak. He had a voice at last. It had six strings and his parents had used a sizable amount of inheritance from Uncle Mort to buy it for him. Nothing pleased him more.
    He ran through chords, gliding his left hand up and down the neck, pressing the tough pads on his fingers against the frets. He played Marillion's Cathedral Wall, hearing the song in full through the unassisted thrum of the strings. He jumped from that halfway into a Victor Wooten solo, and from there slapped his bass along to the frantic Flea.
    He paused, worked out a quick phrase, liked it, and built it into a longer series of sound. The room shook with the deep, perfect sound, even though he had no amp. He toyed with the sound he'd built -- a fast, high shifting.
    He stopped, finally, and started to play his own songs, the ones that he'd built up through the years. Slower songs, faster songs, songs that soared. He cut one in half with an impromptu solo, reminiscent of Matt Freeman.
    He played for another hour, ignoring the other sounds around him, feeling only the empty space that could be filled by him. Eventually he felt the need to work on his homework, but before he did he played one last song. He didn't know of any bass ballads, but whenever he played this song -- nameless, currently -- he found it needing a character. It started out so happy, fell to a rousing military beat and became the crash and thunder of a battle, and finally lifted to become the slow, broken pine of a lost loved one; it carried with it all the emotions he could not help but feel.
    Spent, he packed away the bass and put on his coat. It was much later, but the only way he knew that was because of his phone; when he played he noticed the passage of time just as much as he paid attention to things outside his room.
    He carried the case past the library; as he did so he nearly ran into Anna. When she saw him she stopped dead. He would have hurried past, pretending not to see her, but when he saw her face he skidded to a halt. Her eyes were red and moist. He looked quickly at her sleeves and found them stained with tears.
    He was about to dig in pockets to try to find a tissue, but she hurried away, out of the building and across the yard with her arms around her and head down. It was just as well; he didn't have any tissues. The only thing in his pocket was the crumpled piece of paper the loud student had given him. He looked over it as he headed for a trash can. He stopped before he got there, reading over one of the events. He read it again and checked his phone. It wasn't until tomorrow, but he'd have to hurry if he wanted to make it.

"He left me, Dad," Anna gushed in her empty room. "He came up to me and said that he didn't think our relationship was going anywhere. And then . . . and then he just walked away!" She sniffed. She'd spent the last hour crying in the library, in the comfortable chair. She'd heard the music again, and she couldn't help but weep.
    "I'm sorry honey," her father said over the phone. "Why don't you come home tonight? Miranda and I made some soup and bread. It smells wonderful here. I'll come pick you up."
    "No! No," Anna said, frantic. "I don't want to. I'm just . . . I want to be here. I have a lot of homework to do, and . . . I don't really want to be in the house right now."
    Nothing came over the phone for a few seconds. "I understand," her father said. "If you need anything . . . anything . . . or if you just want to talk, don't hesitate. And Anna, please don't do anything hasty."
    "I won't," she said.
    "I want you to promise me."
    "Fine. I promise."
    "Hang out with friends. Be around people. Don't let yourself be alone for long periods of time. I know you won't want to," he said, cutting her off as she started to talk, "but you need to do what's best."
    Anna sat listening to the silence on the other end for a second. "I love you, honey," her father said.
    "I love you too, dad. Bye." She hung up. The room's silence surrounded her, and emptiness filled her. She was alone again.
    No, she thought, standing and walking in a circle. She couldn't start to think like that again, and feel the overwhelming uselessness of anything she did or thought or felt, to think and believe that no matter what she did the perverse hatred she felt for herself would not change. She had to do something different, something different than hurting herself.
    But there still was the controlling grip of her diseased mind, telling her that no, what she did would not matter, that she would die alone, friendless, cold, gray, and hated. That if she went outside others would shun her and spit insults, people that did not know the depths of her and never would.
    They were the people that would cheer and celebrate if they found her lifeless. The ones that would urge the blade closer to her skin and press it down, making it bite deep and sever her chord of life. They were the ones that would put the pills in her hand or slip the noose around her neck. They were her mother, her brother, her friends, her roommate, even Jed, the boy that she had loved and loved still, and the one that had dropped her to the floor.
    She might have done it, she might not have, but her sleeves were rolled up, exposing the bare flesh on her wrists.
    She hated them. She hated them all.

Mike left the Student Center with his case in hand, pleased. They'd accepted him, and now he had to practice for tomorrow. He walked, still happy, out the door and into the cold wind. Dark clouds shielded the sun from him, and students that ventured out hurried to the next building. In his right hand he carried a slip of paper with all the information he needed. He headed for the door.
    Before he got there he went past Tricia. He ducked his head again; the good feelings disappeared. She went past without noticing him, but he stopped. He quickly put his case down and rummaged inside the strings and picks to find a pencil. He quickly scrawled something on the back of the piece of paper and ran back to find her.
    Summoning all of his courage, he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, and made a face. Before she could say anything, he handed her the piece of paper. She looked at it with a grimace and furrowed brows. "You're friends with Anna?" It read.
    "Yeah? So what?" Tricia asked in a harsh tone.
    Mike snatched the paper back and scribbled on it with pressed-together lips. He felt some anger toward this girl. "I saw Anna 15 minutes ago, she looked upset," the paper read when he handed it back to her.
    Tricia scowled. "Her boyfriend was supposed to meet her earlier today."
    Mike added an underline. "She looked _really_ upset."
    "Well . . . she . . ." Tricia's face changed from annoyance to understanding. "Okay. Thanks. I'll go see her." She turned the paper around and looked at the front, then handed it back to Mike and rushed off. A large part of him wondered if he had done the right thing to intrude on someone else's life the way he just did.

Anna sat on her bed with her hands linked together. The room was dark, and the wind blew against the window. Even if her phone had a charge, and had received Tricia's hurried text message, she wouldn't have seen it. She dwelled on her mistakes. Over and over they went past her eyes and she felt the sting of each one as she relieved the embarrassment or fury from each of those chunks of her life.
    The knock scared her; she bolting to her feet and stood immobile, staring at the door. More knocks came, and she heard Tricia's voice. "Anna? Are you in there? If you're in there I want to talk!"
    Anna stood struck motionless. Her mind failed to get her body moving, whether away from or toward the door. The knocks came again. "If you're in there, Anna, and you aren't letting me in, I'm going to be pretty unhappy!"
    Tricia stood in the hallway for a minute before the door unlatched and a sliver of Anna's face appeared. The room behind her was black. Tricia put her hand on the door's edge the moment she saw Anna's face. Anna tried to slam the door but Tricia's hand blocked it; Tricia yelped and pushed the door open, entering. Anna backed away as Tricia shut the door and turned the light on.
    The light made Anna's face worse. Her eyes were puffy and red, her makeup smeared down her face, and her entire body looked disheveled, as if struck by a strong wind.
    Tricia didn't need any explaining. She opened her arms and wrapped Anna in a hug that Anna didn't want. Anna struggled to get away, but the other girl was stronger than she looked. Finally Tricia released her.
    "I'm sorry Anna," Tricia said.
    "I want to be alone," Anna said. She could barely get the words out.
    "You know you shouldn't," Tricia replied. "So do I. Being alone right now isn't good."
    Anna turned her gaze on the other girl, nearly nailing her to the wall. "What do you know?" She yelled. "You think you know what to do just because I've told you what happened to me?"
    Tricia's eyes narrowed; a fire appeared. "No, I know because of course you shouldn't be alone! What kind of friend -- what kind of person -- would I be if I know how much you are hurting right now and I left you alone?"
    Anna didn't respond. Tricia pulled her phone out. "I'm going to order a pizza. We're going to sit here, together, and I'm going to keep you company. What do you want?"
    "What?" Anna hadn't really been following her.
    "What kind of pizza do you want?" Tricia's voice made Anna think she'd just been asked what the launch codes were.
    She sat on her bed and put her head in her hands. How could she think about pizza at a time like this? When her world dissolved around her? When people had stares of barbed wire that cut and judged her? When the howling wind outside didn't come close to the howling inside of her? How could she even remember to breath, think, feel . . . and she was supposed to pick a pizza?
    As it turned out, she wanted Hawaiian, and said so.

It was late; she was tired. Tricia had spent all night in her room with her, and it turned out to be the best possible thing. Anna's roommate had left for the weekend and failed to tell her; she would have been alone all night with the wind pounding on her window and her thoughts rattling inside her head. The greasy pizza was just the sort of thing her body desired: hot, heavy, and filling. It lulled her into a sleepy state of mind and calmed her.
    Tricia helped, too. She told jokes, talked about her day, about her week, about her life. She kept Anna engaged and kept her from sinking down into despair. The storm died by the time Anna convinced her she was too tired to stay awake. Tricia made her promise she would go to the talent show the next day, and after that she left.
    Anna got into bed; the last traces of the good feelings the pizza gave her left. She was tired. She felt alone, and cold, even under the piles of blankets. She kept going back to the feeling she had when she was with Jed, and they were cuddled under the blanket watching Lord of the Rings or 30 Rock. She remembered the feeling of having someone there, with her, someone that wasn't just a figment of her imagination, or a creation of her dreaming mind. Solid. Real.
    She held that feeling tight as she fell asleep, and the storm returned, stronger.

Sunday night the student body pressed into the college's auditorium, yammering. A great number of them appeared, all trying to deny themselves the thought that another week of school peeked at them from over the horizon.
    The acts were to be diverse: singers, dancers, comedians, a magician, and the standard squadron of musicians, mostly they would hold an acoustic guitar and squeal their homemade songs into a microphone.
    Anna and Tricia sat far from the front, waiting for the lights to dim. Anna stared ahead at the stage; she felt annoyed at the gaggle of the people around her. She wanted them all to be quiet. Finally the lights went down and the audience shut their yaps. The first person dragged a guitar onto the stage and belted out some feel-good song that Anna could not sympathize with. He was no shabby artist, but she found out guitarists were a dime a dozen that day. The next person sang an aria on her own; her voice shook the roof, and the crowd cheered when she finished.
    Two more guitarists took the stage and left after a song each. Anna could barely get her hands up to clap when they were done. A boy got up and told jokes for ten minutes. He seemed surprised at the applause he got when he ended. Two guitarists at the same time next, and then a girl reciting a poem she'd written.
    Jed came onto the stage with a pretty girl, and Anna's heart leapt. She heard Tricia gasp. Anna's eyes narrowed. Jed cradled the girl as a spotlight lit them. Music started and they began to twirl, moving their legs and bodies to the music in sync with each other. Their wide eyes and clutching hands told Anna everything she needed to know about Jed. In a few minutes their set ended, and the crowd applauded their heavy efforts wildly.
    Anna started to leave her seat as the dancers left the stage. She would talk to Jed, and perhaps blood would be spilled. She saw only red. Just before she got out of reach, Tricia grabbed her arm.
    "Anna -- isn't that Mike?" She heard her friend say. Anna looked at the stage again, her blood lust fading. Mike walked to the center of the stage, wheeling an amp out after him and carrying an electric guitar that seemed strange. He can't sing, though. Anna thought. She sat.
    Mike hooked the amp up. He looked at the microphone in front of him and pushed it away with derision. He switched on the guitar and fiddled with the knobs on the body. He looked out at the crowd, scanning over them.
    He plucked the first note and it fell heavy over them. A bass, Anna knew. The second note stirred her, the third opened her eyes, and the fourth brought her hand to her mouth. Here was the music she'd heard in her chair, the one that had brought her to peace.
    Mike played his song. It started slow, with a simple progression of sweet, low notes, then jumped to a rousing call, a sequence that made Anna's heart fly and made her want to leap. After intricate phrases -- he did things on the bass that Anna hadn't imagined hearing or seeing -- he dropped to a quick march, starting high and dropping lower and lower on the scale he could use, until the noise from the amp shook her with its deep, growling noise. She felt fear grow. The music lead her there.
    The music changed to clashes of sound, high against dark, passages of notes sounding like the thunder of hooves or the stamp of boots. He made his instrument sing, coaxing such sound out of it. He slowly brought them away from the cacophony, and simulated a heartbeat. The heartbeat slowed, and stopped.
    He went into somber chords -- a dirge. He began to replay the notes from the beginning, and Anna's spine tingled. He played them louder, and threw in notes of longing for the music that was already past. He didn't even look at his hands; he didn't need to see them. This was what he did instead of talking.
    He reprised the first part, louder now, dynamic and symphonic. Anna felt him wish for the beginning of the song again. He wanted to play it again, to live it again. He'd lost something in the waring sounds of the middle part.
    He finished with the four notes from the beginning again, louder, harder . . . they called out.
    He stopped. Anna found her cheeks wet as the audience roared, clapping and cheering. They all stood, even Tricia, but Anna couldn't. The music still filled her. By the time they all sat down, Mike was gone off the stage. The next person, a thin little boy with a guitar, slouched in to replace him. He sang a song weakly. None of the other contestants compared. Mike won the contest by miles.

After the ceremony for his award, Anna ran and caught Mike as he left the stage entrance. They looked at each other for a minute, until Mike signed something.
    "No, I wasn't there for him. If I'd known he would be performing, I wouldn't have come," Anna said. "I thought you song was really good. You know, I think I've heard you play before. I heard music like that when I was in the library a few times."
    Mike nodded. The practice rooms are right under there, he signed.
    She hugged him. His arms, full of his bass and other items, couldn't be used to hug her back. She backed away and wiped an eye. "I . . . really liked your song. I'm glad you won."
    Thank you.    Anna walked out of the building. It was a clear, cool day. The stars could be seen, and Anna smiled as she looked up at them.