and informal assembly of available supplies had given her even more pleasure, and she was both surprised and proud of the final product.
“You’ve got a career in restaurant management,” Brooke said. “If your career in writing English papers dwindles.”
Leah signed, Not much money in either.
“You’ll find your way.”
Just then Brooke heard the elevator door open in the vestibule and their three dinner guests entered the kitchen. Brooke introduced Anna, a tall blond with a short-cropped hair and a long face and a big smile that stretched from ear to ear, Nancy, a shorter round-faced brunette with long straight hair, and Morgan, a muscular gymnast with bright red hair in cascading curls. They were all freshman living in this dorm though on different floors. Each approached Leah with a big smile and handshake and offered simple but clearly expressed greetings like “Pleased to meet you” or “Welcome to Center.”
Leah felt surprisingly at ease with these newcomers and, without thinking, signed at the end of the introductions, We need someone with black hair!
There was a momentary pause before Anna spoke up, “I’ll do it! I’m tired of this dirty blond hair!”
All the girls laughed. Brooke said, “I’ll do the honors if you provide the dye.”
“Deal.” No one, not even Anna, was quite sure if she was serious.
“After dinner?” Brooke said with a glint in her eye.
Anna thought a minute then said, “Sure, but you’ll have to get me drunk!”
Brooke said, “We can do that” and went to the fridge to get the wine and onion-dip appetizer.
Anna looked at Leah and said with a serious expression, “Now look what you’ve started.”
Leah paled.
Anna laughed. “I love it. You already think like one of us!” She leaned over and gave Leah a quick hug, touching her long chin to the top of Leah’s head.
The meal unfolded in a similar mix of joking and casual chatter, including much gossip about who was sleeping with whom, who had just broken up or connected. Both before and during the meal, their guests were all careful to face Leah and make eye contact before speaking. Leah caught most of their words and was able to fill in the ones she missed with probable meanings. And she responded to all their comments, sometimes with a simple nod or shake of her head or shrug or raising of her eyes in question—a rudimentary and universal sign language. But she also occasionally utilized her most basic version of the many layers of sign language she’d learned over the years, an ad hoc combination of charades-inspired miming and the most basic of hand signs. In all of these communications, the expression in her active eyes was central to understanding; and the girls all watched those eyes, seemed almost mesmerized by them. On the rare occasion when someone missed her meaning, Brooke subtly mouthed a clarification, usually from behind Leah or beside her at the table, so that Leah didn’t know or, if she did, didn’t let on. By the end of the large and much praised feast—capped off with huge portions of warm brownies and cold ice cream—Leah felt completely at home with the group.
And all of this was accomplished with neither sister drinking the wine which flowed freely to their guests. They each had wine glasses filled with grape juice, to keep the others at ease. But before the company had arrived, Brooke said without prodding, “Don’t you worry—I am not drinking tonight.” And she kept to that promise.
After they’d polished off the pan of brownies and the tub of ice cream, Brooke suggested the girls go into town—it was only a short walk through campus—and buy Anna’s hair dye while she and Leah cleaned up the kitchen. Then they’d all meet in Brooke’s suite “for Hair-dying 101—and I’ll bring another bottle of wine!”
They kept to these plans and dyed Anna’s hair coal black behind the locked bathroom door with Anna seated in a folding chair and leaning back with her head on the edge of the sink, Brooke working the dye into her hair with gloved hands, Nancy reading the detailed instructions while standing to one side, Morgan kneeling on the tile floor and holding Anna’s hand and refilling her wine glass regularly, and Leah managing Bethany’s lap-split stopwatch (“Don’t mention we borrowed it!” Brooke warned) to pace the numerous steps. Twice Leah saw Morgan rise quickly with a frown and go to the door, apparently shooing away irritated or inquisitive outsiders; but otherwise the whole episode unfolded as a private ceremony, almost a secret rite (or so Leah imagined) in this tiled version of a treehouse, black hair dye replacing pin pricks of red blood or wax seals on signed vows as outward signs of inward sharing. And at the end, Anna had black hair—“A taller Liza Minnelli!”—and this informal sorority had all the major hair colors represented.
Leah, the instigator of this madness, was given the honor of blow-drying the final product, which she did with initial care that quickly turned into a dance routine joined by the others with Anna in the middle eventually donning a fluffed crown of black. They all nodded approvingly at the result, even Anna staring at her new self in the mirror. They unlocked the door—two girls were waiting outside, just to see, and greeted Anna with applause—and returned borrowed supplies to Brooke’s suite.
Then this new and intimate sorority disbanded as quickly as it had formed, as the three other girls headed off to an open house at a real sorority they hoped to pledge (Anna asked, “Do you think black hair improves my chances?” and everyone agreed it did, since there were already “way too many blond coeds on campus!”). And Brooke and Leah, after a quick freshen-up at the same sink where they’d enacted Anna’s transformation, headed out into the cool night with a murky half-moon coming and going from behind clouds.
As they walked across campus, Leah signed I cannot believe we dyed Anna’s hair black!
Brooke laughed. “That’s nothing. Two weeks ago we pierced Julie’s ears.”
Both?
Brooke nodded.
How?
“With ice and a sewing needle.”
A sewing needle?
“We sterilized it with a match but her left ear still got infected.”
Leah’s eyes got wide.
“But some antibiotics from the infirmary cleared it up.”
Leah shook her head then asked where they were going.
Brooke responded with the cryptic phrase, “A private party.” She eventually led Leah down a deserted side street and around to the poorly lit back of an old house and down a short flight of steps to a dark basement door. She rapped on the door in a distinct three-beat sequence, and it was promptly opened by a tall man in a dark blue or black sweat suit with the hood pulled over his head. He shined a small flashlight in their faces. “Who calls?” the doorman asked in a deep spooky voice.
Brooke laughed. “Halloween is next month, Barry!”
Barry shrugged. “Thought I’d do a test run.”
“Try fangs and white-face next time. You’ll be killer.”
“Great idea. Thanks.” He stepped aside to let them pass.
They entered a large, low-ceilinged game room with a bar complete with neon beer signs along the back wall, a pool table in the center of the room, a roulette wheel and some poker tables off to one side, a pinball machine and a Foosball table in the back corner, and some salvaged restaurant booths to the right of the door. Though it wasn’t Halloween, the room was lit almost entirely by red-tinted bulbs, with the only exception being the pool table lit by a bright white bulb with a metal canopy. It took a minute for Leah’s eyes to adjust to the garish light and see that the room was fairly full of a mix of guys and girls scattered throughout the space and engaged at the various game tables.
Someone tapped Leah on the shoulder and she practically jumped out of her skin before turning.
Barry smiled an apology, then scribbled something on a pad before turning it to her. It read Sorry for the scare, Leah. Here’s your pad. He gave her a pad with her name handwritten in the blank space on its top edge.
It took Leah a minute to identify the pad as one of those dime-store children’s favorites with a sheet of gra
y cellophane laid atop a tacky black backing. The pad had a pointed stick clipped to a holder, for writing on it. Words written on the gray sheet appeared in dark black print that could be instantly cleared by simply peeling the gray cellophane off the black backing, providing a literal “clean slate” on which to write a new message. At first she frowned for being singled out for this special treatment. Then Barry handed Brooke an identical pad with her name at the top. Then she realized that Barry had the same pad. She quickly looked around the room and saw that the students not actively playing games were either writing on pads or looking at messages written to them on pads held up by others. Everyone had a pad, and everyone was using them. A moment’s additional observation indicated that no one was moving their lips or swaying to music. This was a red-tinted silent party, all participants locked now in her silent world.
She grabbed Brooke roughly. Why did you do this? she signed with angry, sharp-edged gestures and flashing eyes.
Brooke was startled by the ferocity of her sister’s response. She’d never seen Leah so angry. Brooke took her pad, glad for the excuse to look away, and wrote I did not plan this. Dean did. She underlined not three times before turning the pad to Leah.
Dean?
Brooke lifted the front sheet of her pad then wrote The cute guy at the bar. He has a deaf cousin who he adores.
Leah laughed, grabbed Brooke’s stick and added an “m”