All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Without Sound
I'm onstage, and my breath is coming quickly. Everything feels unreal, twisted and cloudy, like in dreams.
I can't tell if this is a dream. Everyone is looking at me, expecting, waiting, hoping, drifting.
I open my mouth and will the noise to come out from somewhere in my chest, even though I’ve forgotten how to speak. I don’t remember how to breathe, and everything is swimming. I watch as the silence becomes uncomfortable, as the squeaking of seats begins to indicate that my audience is becoming restless. They'd rather hear me deliver a speech, even if they don’t want to listen to it. Why do they want to hear? Why do they stay in their seats?
I see a girl glance longingly out the window at the sunny streets. Why doesn’t she go? Why doesn’t she run outside and dance in the sunlight? I know she wants to. Why does she stay inside, where it is cold and damp, waiting for a classmate she has never before laid eyes on to speak about something she doesn’t understand?
Suddenly, I don’t want to be onstage. I don’t want everyone’s eyes to be on me. I don’t want to be here, I have to escape, because the room is a prison and the stage is the cell, with an audience of silence and wandering minds.
With trembling hands, I take the microphone and let my fingers curl around the hard, dead plastic. I feel the power as I breathe into it and hear my own breath reverberate around the room.
As I begin to speak, I realize that nobody is listening. Nobody is understanding what I am saying. The room is blank. Everybody is staring out the window, unaware of me.
And then I realize. Everybody in this room is deaf. I have to use my hands, to sign my words without sound.
As I begin, one by one the faces turn towards me. They are absorbed in the movement of my hands, the expressions on my face. The words are a melody, the colors showering out from my eyes as I tell the stories I could never say out loud.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.