Seventeen-year-old wrestler Toby thinks he has it all figured out, how to win matches, how to deal with losers, and how to handle becoming DeafBlind—until one night in the dark proves otherwise.
People who know me often express surprise after reading “Loser.” They tell me that Toby sounds nothing like me, and they’re right. Toby is a brash and stubborn wrestler, and I’m a generally polite yoga practitioner. We are nothing alike, except we both grew up knowing we would become DeafBlind and went to conferences for the DeafBlind youth.
I always left these conferences with mixed feelings. I loved being around others who understood this side of my life, and yet I left feeling deflated and a bit repulsed. When I started to write “Loser” in Toby’s unapologetically sardonic voice, I understood my unease. Contradictions filled these conferences. Speakers rambled about the medical details of our conditions, then told us not to dwell on the prognosis—to think positively. Denial was frowned upon, yet was everywhere I went. Only through Toby could I understand these tangled, contradictory feelings.
Here’s a taste of Toby’s voice:
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Mom swept in from wherever she’d been, and I caught a nose full of cigarette smoke. I got to my feet and held out my hand. “You promised. Give them to me,” I said, real slow so she would understand.
She was never great at ASL, but at least she tried, which is more than I could say for Dad.
She pursed her lipstick-bright lips like she’d refuse, then slapped a half-empty pack into my hand. Her mouth trembled when I crushed it and walked to the trash. The deformed silver package disappeared into the hole with one last flash.
…
After I returned, Mom kept staring at the silver can like she wanted to climb inside and fish the cigs from the half-eaten lunches and snot-filled tissues. She was falling apart at the seams. Lipstick on her teeth, grays peeking out under her dye, hands shaking from being jumped up on nicotine. Both of us knew Dad was about to bail. I guess we all have our ways of coping.
— “Loser”
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You can read the full story online at monkeybicycle.
© Cristina Hartmann