I Knew How to Spell Things With My Fingers.
After frequenting The Rose biker bar with Larry on weekends, Bonnie had an idea.
“Let’s go to The Rose!” It was a Tuesday.
“Without Larry?”
“Sure! Why not?”
We had a truck, after all. So we went.
The Rose had darts and I loved darts, although I rarely got to play because someone else was always playing. I was hopeful for a Tuesday that there’d be no one there, but the place was packed. Bikers drink all the time.
We sat at the bar drinking draft after draft. As I stared straight ahead, I noticed that one of the rough, tough, bearded bikers across the bar was using sign language with his friend. I had taken sign language with my mom when I was 12, and I still remembered the alphabet.
I had only used this skill once. It was the night Bonnie and I had to tell The Firm we couldn’t go to Massachusetts with them.
On our way back to the Civic Arena, the town was completely dead and Bonnie and I were lost. So I jumped out of my car at a red light and asked the people in the car in front of us: “Do you know how to get to the Civic Arena?”
The driver looked at me, puzzled, and pointed to his ears, indicating that he couldn’t hear my blathering.
“Oh!” I said. And then I signed – very carefully “C-I-V-I-C …” and he understood. He tried to sign back but I only knew the alphabet, so he held up two fingers and pointed – so, two blocks that way – and then, he motioned, turn left.
I spelled “T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U” and we got to the arena, no problem.
And now, in The Rose, I had another opportunity.
But The Rose was a biker bar. Most of the guys wore colors, as did a few brawny women. A handful of drinkers, like us, braved the waters in spite of their depth. Speaking to hard core bikers – who mostly pleasantly ignored us – seemed somewhat ill-advised.
I’d been a biker chick for a couple of months, though, and I was getting drunk enough to try anything.
The deaf biker stepped up to the bar for a beer and waited for the bartender. Meanwhile, I waited to catch his eye. When he finally glanced my way, I quickly spelled “H-I” – but he missed it entirely.
I spent the rest of the evening trying to get his attention so I could say hi. It had nothing to do with wanting to talk to him and everything to do with wanting to show him that I knew how to spell things with my fingers.
Eventually, he looked my way; I spelled out “H-I” again.
He beamed and waved “hi” at me (like a normal person would). Then he looked at his friend and pointed at me, smiling.
While I had his attention, I spelled “H-O-W A-R-E Y-O-U?” He smiled and signed something back.
Then I had to spell “I O-N-L-Y K-N-O-W T-H-E A-L-P-H-A-B-E-T” (which took forever).
He spelled “O-K, G-O-O-D” at me. Then he smiled, waved again, and went back to his friend.
From then on, I wanted to go to The Rose all the time.
I walked into The Rose just looking for the guy across the bar. We had dozens of alphabet conversations, and he never once came to my side of the bar, nor I to his. He was sweet and seemed to really enjoy our chats.
If he wasn’t at The Rose when I went, I’d go somewhere else.
I adored him and I don’t even remember his name.