I look outside. My eyes are greeted by the rushing speed of cars and the wet grey of cement. My nose tingles with the scent of thick air and street food. The slight taste of metal and rain does a dance on my tongue. But my ears feel only silence. Cold, hard silence, an endless reminder of the life that I live. Throughout my life I was always treated differently, well because I am different. People have assumed that my lack of hearing has also affected my lack of understanding, of seeing, of feeling, and of living. But I tell them that I hear things all the time; just not in the way they are used too. I hear the light glowing stars of laughter; I hear the ocean deep sobs of pain. I hear the talk and chatter of fluttering birds, and the joyful singing of bright spring flowers. Life isn’t always heard through sounds, at least for me. I hear through sights, scents, touches, and tastes.
I make my way down the fairly crowded street, watching people’s mouths opening and closing; going through the endless cycle of speech. I see an occasional worried glance passed towards me, but nothing that I’m not used to. Spotting bench speckled in paint, I take a seat and let the array of people pass before me. I see a worried businesswoman speaking in the intricate web of a spider, hurriedly into a brick in her palm. She is weaving herself into a complicated web, and from the lines one her face I can see it is a web of thick dewy lies and complicated words. A man passes after her, his mouth moving in a way that I can recognize as humming. The weathered cap on his balding head and his sun kissed skin show me he is humming a calming tune, phased about nothing. Two small kids chase after him, their mouths in hearty smiles, in tune with the sun smiling in the sky. A world without sound may seem to some like an awful place, but I can find the sounds if I look hard enough.
I finish my brief viewing period and continue along with my walk. I know I have to meet up with my father on 10th and Broadway, which is about 4 blocks away. Keeping a good pace I resist the urge to constantly check around me. I pass a hotdog stand and the scent of the food wafts up my nose, leaving my stomach with a pang for hunger. Finally after what seems ages, I complete my trek. I look around and scan the crowd, until I spot my father. An older man with brown hair, graying on the edges. He is sporting a cheap leather jacket as well as some black pants and dress shoes. I see he did his best to look classy for the occasion. I quickly walk towards him and he greets me in sign. I reply to him that I am excited and he smiles. I can see that all of our motioning is drawing attention from the crowd and I wince. I hate being made the center of attention. We disregard the looks and make our way to the front door.
We are now entering Carnegie Hall. I take a moment to inhale all of my surroundings. The thick, red velvet and the shimmering gold, everything has the stamp of perfection and beauty. I follow my father and he leads us to our seats, which are also made of a thick red and a light airy gold. I cautiously sit down, not wanting to ruin the pristine nature of the seat. I can see everyone’s mouth moving excitedly, and I sign to my dad that I’m looking forward to hearing the symphony. He returns back with a glance of bittersweet happiness and pain, unable to process my thoughts. Everything seems to happen in a rush, as the conductor comes onto stage and I see him wildly move his arms. I see the cellists begin to passionately sweep over their instruments as though they are a gust of wind, light yet powerful. The conductor looks toward the violinists as they pluck gently at the strings, a cheerful expression of joy. As all of the instruments swirl together, the cold hard silence that I had felt this morning morphs into a fizzy warm quietness. An enjoyable peaceful feeling. I can hear the beauty of the music in the faces of the players, the flinging passion in the conductor’s arms, the face of my fathers next to mine, his eyes smiling in joy.
Many people would ask the question, “Why take a deaf girl to the symphony?” Well I have an answer for them. The beauty of the music is evident in more than just the sound. It’s the passion, the feeling of solid joy that sweeps over the faces of all those in the presence of the music. It’s the pure feeling of the music itself that brings a smile to my face and a certain warmth to my hear