I felt her eyes on me. She began to sign and gesture. At first I didn't understand what she wanted to know. She became more emphatic and I soon realized she was asking me if I had or ever had a boyfriend. She made me laugh with her gestures to show holding hands, kissing, and then putting her hands together and tilting her head as she flicked her eyelids.
"Yes. yes. I understand,'" I said, glanced at the carved heart, and then sat across from her. A boyfriend? What should I tell her?
I thought about Peter Smoke. the Indian boy I had met while I was going to school in Memphis. He had been my instructor in chess club and had taught me a lot about his Indian beliefs, especially the medicine wheel. We had started to have a romantic relationship. He was really the closest I had come to having a real boyfriend, but when he misinterpreted my intentions, it hadn't ended well. He's probably forgotten all about me by now, I thought. It was certainly not a relationship I could claim.
I shook my head, "No, no boyfriend. I'm afraid."
She looked surprised but also suspicious. Was I telling her the truth? Why not? she wanted to know, as if every girl my age had to have been or always was in a romance.
"Because I'm too fat," I said. She shook her head, not understanding. so I bloated my cheeks and held my arms out beside my hips.
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She looked thoughtful and then smiled and pointed to herself. "Ty," she said.
I started to shake my head and made some silly attempt to explain he was too old for her. "He can't be your boyfriend." I insisted, shaking my head harder.
She laughed and pointed to the rock again. "Ty and me," she said.
I continued to shake my head.
And then she pursed her lips and mimed embracing him, closed her eyes, and made the sound of a kiss.
"He kissed you?" I asked, pointing at her. She nodded.
"No, he didn't. Not like that," I told her, but she nodded more emphatically, her eyes wide. She pointed at the rock and went through the mime of kissing again. I picked up the ASE book and thumbed the pages to find the word here.
Your two hands were to be held out, palms up, and you moved the right to the right and the left to the left, back and forth.
She nodded. "Yes, yes," she said, and repeated the signing. She pointed down, made a rowing gesture, and then signed the kiss again.
It was clear to me what she was saying: "He kissed me right here at the rock after he drew this heart and put our names in it."
Did that all happen as she described? Was it possible? He was the one who had told Mrs. Westington, Echo was too vulnerable and I could be a bad influence. He had seemed to be sincerely protective of her and yet how could he justify carving this in the rock and then kissing her like that? Was he taking advantage of her?
I tilted my head skeptically, but she kept nodding. Then she embraced herself and turned from side to side. Perhaps he had only comforted her. I thought, and she had misinterpreted it. Perhaps she was very sad and he had tried to reassure her.
"Ty?" I asked, and imitated her motion. She nodded, then rose and stepped closer to me. kneeling down in the boat. "What?" I said.
She took my right hand and brought it to her stomach. "What are you saying? I don't understand."
Smiling, she slowly ran my hand up and over her breasts. I pulled it back quickly, the firmness of her nipple sending an electric shock up my arm. Visions of my sister's girlfriend touching me, wanting me to touch her, came surging out of my memory and over my eyes.
"NO!" I cried, shaking my head emphatically. "That's not nice."
She tilted her head and looked up at me. Then she shrugged and returned to her bench seat. Instinctively. I looked back in the direction of the house to see if Mrs. Westington or perhaps Trevor had witnessed what had just occurred.
"Back," I indicated. "Go back. Echo." I gestured vigorously, almost in a panic.
She started to row, looking as if she might burst into tears.
"You don't just do that with a boy," I tried to explain. "It leads to other things."
How stupid I sound, I thought, me giving advice to a young, deaf girl.
She stared, her face soaked in confusion, I returned to my ASL book and as quickly as I could, put together some thoughts. She paused and watched me. The word for body was easy. I placed my hand against my chest and then removed it and placed it a bit lower. I pointed to her. And then I told her that her body was sacred, precious, and should be protected.
With a troubled face, she watched me put together words and sentences to tell her she was too young to do these things yet. I told her girls her age, my age, could have babies and then what would we do?