Silent Ever?

By Rose Q. Addams

“You all right, little one?”

It’s finally my turn. He awaits me on a grand throne of candy-red and white stripes. Even though I can tell it’s only plastic, I feel so small.

But his demeanor is different. Could he, in fact, be the real deal?

“Now, now. Come sit on my lap and tell me.” He pats a massive velvet-covered knee with his white silken glove.

I step forward, knees shaking as I clamber gracelessly onto the perch in my overstuffed coat.

It was hard to read his lips past the beard, but at least it’s a real beard and well-groomed. Those fake beards don’t move with your mouth. Then I have to ask someone to translate. I hate that.

“Hello.” I stare up at his bright eyes, the word barely making it out of my mouth. His eyebrow quirks up at my pronunciation; I’m sure it wasn’t clear after the stress of the day, but I had to see him.

I glance back at Nana, almost ready to flee, but she gives me a quick nod and slips off to do her secret shopping. There’s no escape now. My prepared speech bleeds out of my mind. I gasp as if I’d run all the way here. My heartbeat pounds in my head—the closest thing to sound I’ve ever had—and the world blurs as I tear up.

A silky handkerchief slips into my hands, and his enormous hand rubs up and down my back steadily as he rumbles something I cannot hear.

That’s all I wanted. Couldn’t I just be the same as everyone else this year? I’m always different. I’m just too scared to remember what to say or how to say it.

“Precocious for her age, isn’t she?” “She’s how old? Awfully small…” “Oh, she’s weird. She’s deaf.”

I hate it. That’s why I was hoping against hope that he’d be able to help. I don’t care if they say he’s a fake. I have to. There’s no other way.

I scrub at my eyes with the handkerchief as he rumbles again. I look up, and his hands begin a familiar, complicated dance.

He knows.

“I’m glad to see you.” His eyes twinkle as his hands sign the words. He means it. I almost burst out crying again, but his hands keep moving.

“What is your name?”

“Anna,” I sign back. Then the words all rush out, my fingers a near blur. “Please, can you fix my ears? That’s all I want for Christmas. You know I’ve been good!”

He studies me, his hands now still. It’s getting hotter in this coat. When will Nan get back? I realize I’m wringing the handkerchief in both hands. As the pause stretches, I can feel the kids in line shifting, impatient. Great. I’m wasting their time as well.

“Please, Santa. Please,” I drop the handkerchief and sign as best I can with trembling fingers.

He catches my hands in his.

“Slow down,” he speaks, then his hands take over.

“You’re a lovely child, Anna. I don’t want you to be anything other, and I’m loath to change that piece of you. Not because I want you to be sad, or to hurt—”

He pauses as I blow my nose and wipe my eyes. I have to fight to keep from crying again. So, they were right all along. Santa isn’t real. And he won’t help me.

“—but because I want you to be your own self. If your hearing were to change, you would perceive things differently. You wouldn’t be Anna anymore.”

“But I want to be!” my hands express my frenzied feelings as they whip through the words. “I want to be like everybody else!”

His eyes grow soft, and he signs slowly. “You are beautiful now. And I think you’d agree with me. You’re an intelligent, sensitive child. You can understand others better because you’re not fighting constant noise. You don’t have to hear the words they’re saying to really listen. You can see when they’re lying. They told you I was a fake. You believed otherwise.”

His eyes are kind and sincere. My churning feelings slow, and I fiddle with the handkerchief.

“I want to believe you.” My eyes can’t meet his face but follow our hands.

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I want what’s best. How do I know you are what you say you are? How do I know you’re not just making something up to pacify me so you can finish your shift on time?”

He laughs, and his full-bodied mirth is surprisingly comforting.

“That’s where faith comes in, Anna. You choose to trust me, or you choose not to. Let me ask you something: do people who hear, the ones who made fun of you, have it that much better?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“They don’t have extra school. They don’t need people to translate when scarves or beards keep them from understanding.”

“Do they have compassion?”

I frown. “What?”

“Do they care about someone else? Someone weaker? They certainly don’t seem to if they’re mocking you. I saw you worry about the others in line, afraid they’d have to wait too long. You had compassion. You’re not perfect, but I think you’re wonderful the way you were created.”

The lights draped around Santa’s Workshop twinkle, and I remember Nan’s smile as she signs to me, “We have this light shining in our hearts; we ourselves are like fragile jars containing this great treasure.”

“And if I like you, can you imagine how strongly your family feels?”

“Then…” I return his hanky. “I choose to believe.”

He beams. “Then I believe this gift will serve you well.”

He covers my ears, and both they and my heart are flooded with the most beautiful thing in the world.

A song.

O Holy Night,

The stars are brightly shining…

At the end, he smiles down at me and signs, “Merry Christmas.”

I grin back, eyes damp. “Merry Christmas.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, hats, and her family, who she blames for her love of reading. Some of her best memories are hearing tales of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Beauty and The Beast, and the prophet Ehud— which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found scribbling madly on any paper she gets, or sneezing in the dust of the curious shop where she pretends she’s sane.

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