Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [38]
I suspect that of all the sounds in the universe, the dead crunch of metal is the one I hear just as clearly as anyone else. I know I watched in disbelief as the car lurched forward, like it was trying to steal a kiss from the concrete wall.
Finn was climbing out of the car when I reached him, so I shoved him back onto the driver’s seat. He looked like he might try to get out again, but then gave up and cowered in the seat, bawling like Grace when you take her pacifier away.
I hadn’t seen Finn cry in years, and it made me pause. I didn’t feel comfortable shoving him again, even though it seemed like an entirely rational response given the situation, so I inspected the damage: a crumpled front bumper, but thankfully nothing more. I leaned against the car and waited, as the rain drizzled down and the air chilled around us.
A minute later Finn reemerged, clearly distraught. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, he signed with shaking hands.
I just shrugged. What the hell is going on? Is this about Kallie?
Finn grimaced, shook his head.
Then what? It can’t be about signing for me.
He nodded slowly.
Why? What is it you’re so embarrassed about? Me? Or the signing?
He kicked the tire angrily. Neither. I’m pissed you treat me like your personal slave, even when you don’t really need my help.
I don’t treat you like my slave.
You do. You never thank me, and whenever I don’t want to sign, you threaten me.
I sensed the blame-balance shifting, and I hated feeling defensive after Finn had just crashed the car.
Why is it such a big deal for you? I asked, my face tense, my gestures sharper.
Because when everyone hears your words coming from my mouth, they forget I’m interpreting. They think I agree with you.
No, they don’t.
Yes, they do. And you don’t even notice. When you and Kallie left, everyone stared at me like I was the one who’d made her cry, even though I’d refused to sign for you by then. It’s totally unfair.
What’s unfair is how I’m deaf but you’re not. Have you thought about that?
But I’ve done everything I can. Other kids learned Spanish or French, but not me. I’m fluent in American Sign Language, and I did it for you. Not for Oma and Poppy. I did it so that I could talk to you, because you’re my sister.
So you want me to thank you more often, is that it?
Finn shook his head. I don’t know. . . . I guess I just want to feel like I have my own identity . . . that when we get home Mom and Dad will stop telling me I’m a shadow of you, that if I had one percent of your work ethic maybe I’d amount to something.
It was hard to believe this was my brother speaking. Gone was the bravado and the don’t-give-a-crap, replaced by a shell in search of reassurance. It occurred to me that a good sister would have known exactly what to say in that moment, to reassure him he was just plain wrong—that he had an identity and that we all loved him for who he was. But something told me that even in his weakened state, Finn’s bullshit detector would be functioning perfectly.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s see if the car still drives.”
CHAPTER 24
Halfway through dinner Finn still hadn’t confessed, and I sure as heck wasn’t about to put my head on the chopping block. Neither Mom nor Dad had noticed the damage, but they would in the morning, and we couldn’t drive around forever with a front bumper that was liable to fall off at any moment.
Mom waved at me, stirring me from my reverie. “How is the band these days?” she asked.
I tried to ignore the look Finn gave me. “Good,” I said.
“What about the interview last night?”
“It went great. We got some good press.”
“That’s terrific. What kind of press?”
It was the first time anyone at home had shown genuine interest, and I have to admit, I really