Chapter 36
May 1987
M
y car slowed down as I turned onto his street. I knew where he lived. I knew what his house looked like. Directions were not needed. I had driven by his house once secretly just to get a glimpse.
It was mid-morning. His wife was at work. His children were at school. He would be going to work later that day. We didn’t have much time.
As I pulled into his driveway, I looked around to make sure nobody was outside. I didn’t want his neighbors to see me walk into the house. Turning the engine off, I paused for several seconds. It was now or never. After I got out of the car, I walked up to the front of his house and rang the doorbell.
He opened the door immediately.
“Are you sure you want to?” he asked the moment I stepped into his house.
“Yes.” I was determined to follow through.
Holding my hand, he led me through the hall toward his bedroom. I took in all the sights: Pictures of his children. The color of the painting on the wall. The bed where he slept with her every night. His personal belongings alongside hers on the dresser. And just about everything else I could lay my eyes on.
What I had envisioned as a beautiful, memorable moment was shattered. Our lovemaking had barely begun when it ended abruptly.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized afterward. “I couldn’t contain myself. I was just too excited. I hope it was worth it.”
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “I enjoyed it.” I lied. What else could I have said?
As I drove away, I thought,
So that was it? Why do people have such a preoccupation with sex?
Chapter 37
June 1987
M
y return ticket was for August. There was no turning back.
Our plane flew out of Baltimore Washington International airport. My head rested against the window pane as I looked down, my eyes glued to the beautiful design of the land that came into view as we ascended, multiple shades of green laid out in a quilt-pattern slowly disappearing the higher we flew.
We had a four-hour layover in Atlanta because of heavy rainstorms. I was tired and hungry when we finally landed in San Antonio around midnight. Not many people were around because of the hour, and I easily spotted a stranger holding a sign that spelled out
s.c.h.i.
in large letters. As we proceeded to the baggage claim, I was told my suitcase had been misplaced. The following morning, I awoke groggily in the same clothes in which I had traveled.
What a great way to begin my summer,
I thought.
I had business to take care of, and it wasn’t long before I found the front office. The Southwest Center for the Hearing Impaired (SCHI) was a nonprofit organization providing life-adjustment and employment skills training for Deaf adults. I was hired to coordinate recreational activities within its residential program. When I stepped inside the office, I was greeted warmly by a handsome man. He was tanned and athletic looking. A tail of hair ran down back of his neck, about two inches long, and he wore a silver earring in his left ear. Around his neck was a silver necklace, which matched a smaller version around his wrist – not a style I was used to seeing.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “I’m Peter. You must be Deb.” After asking how my flight was, he rambled on: “I was so disappointed I had to leave the airport at eleven last night before you arrived. I had to get back for my night shift.”
I returned his smile. “We had a long delay, but I’m glad to be here finally. Actually, I’m here to see if I could borrow the phone. I need to call Southwest to see if they have located my suitcase,” I said, self-conscious of how rumpled my clothes looked.
“I can call for you,” he offered. We made small talk. I learned that he had recently been accepted into Gallaudet’s graduate program and would be going in the fall.
“I’d love to get together with you sometime soon. I have so many questions about Gallaudet, if you don’t mind.” He smiled.
I had determined to leave Gallaudet behind for the summer but found myself saying, “Sure.”
Chapter 38
June 1987
T
rue to his word, Peter asked me out several days later. We went to Maggie’s café and spent the next two hours eating and talking about Gallaudet.
After our first “date,” he asked me out again. We sampled goat-milk fudge at a Mexican market, went window shopping at North Star Mall, ate chicken fried steak at the I-10 Diner, and finished with cookies at Fuddrucker’s. Our five-hour outing was pleasant; I found him easy to talk to, and I had a good time. After that we visited the San Antonio Zoo. We strolled along the River Walk. We dined at a variety of restaurants. We sunbathed in Port Aransas.
Peter was the perfect excuse for my break up with
him
. Two weeks after I set foot in Texas, I wrote him a letter and told him that I had met someone else. And that it was over between the two of us. There was some truth to it. I had met Peter, but he did not need to know we were not romantically involved.
Soon the clients and staff at SCHI took notice and teased me about Peter and I liking each other. I brushed them off, saying Peter just wanted to show me around San Antonio. In truth, we were spending more and more time together during our after-work hours. Unknown to most, I also spent many nights keeping Peter company when he worked third shift. After the clients went to bed, we often played pool and talked late into early morning hours.
We talked about a lot of things, including my affair.
Six weeks into the summer, Peter wrote me a letter.
Deb,
Just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you. You seem to be on my mind constantly lately – gee, I wonder why!?
Since you walked into my life, things have been so bright. I was really having a hard time with work, dealing with leaving Texas, and my attitude and feelings in general. Suddenly, you show up and everything begins to change. Thanks!
It’s been so long since I could trust someone to talk about anything, without fear of their reaction. I feel so comfortable with you. I don’t think there is anything I wouldn’t tell you. That’s strange and new for me. Exciting too.
My history with relationships has not been that great. I don’t want sympathy, but I feel as though I was mistreated. I gave and gave and got nothing in return. With you, I feel a genuine concern from you with regard to my feelings, emotions, and thoughts. Thank you for making me feel so
wonderful!!!
My feelings toward you continue to grow. I never thought I’d feel this way about any person again. I must admit that I’m somewhat scared about it all. (Don’t worry, you could
never
scare me away.) I guess it’s the newness. Anyway, I do worry about you and your situation (past) and hope you know I’m here whenever you need me. Thank you for being in my life.
Love, Peter
Unlike my experience at Gallaudet where I was alone, I was now having the time of my life. I was well-liked by both the clients and staff, and my schedule was never dull. As a recreation coordinator intern, I implemented activities for our clients. A pool tournament was set up. I taught female clients how to crotchet. I participated in the male baseball team as a manager. I was one of the chaperones, taking clients to Laredo, Mexico.
The staff included me in their activities after work hours as well: shopping, cookouts, horseback riding, movies at a drive-in, sightseeing, and tubing.
No one knew about my past. No one would have guessed. My pain was swept aside – for the time being.
Chapter 39
August 1987 – Junior Year
I
nstead of flying back home, I decided to hitch a ride back to Gallaudet with Peter. With all the stuff he had to bring to school in his small Volkswagen Rabbit, I just managed to fit into the front seat. We traveled east through Louisiana, sightseeing in New Orleans and sunbathing at Panama City Beach, Florida, before traveling north.
A week before our departure from SCHI, Peter had given me a card, in which he wrote: “Maybe it’s my imagination, but I’ve felt strange ‘vibrations’ or feelings between us. I hope everything is alright – if not, I’d love to talk about it.” He had read me correctly. As my internship came to an end, I began to feel uneasy. I didn’t want to return home. I didn’t want to go back to Gallaudet. It was difficult for me to accept that my summer had come to an end. And to know what was waiting for me – a return to lifelessness at Gallaudet – was unbearable. To make matters worse, I wasn’t even sure where my relationship with Peter was going.
After six days on the road, the Welcome to Maryland sign came into view. I started to feel nauseated, and as soon as I saw the sign for my hometown, Williamsport, I broke down into tears. “I don’t want to go home,” I said. My summer had been surreal and I was not ready to face reality. So we delayed our arrival by checking into a motel room. After Peter and I went to a nearby convenience store for chocolate chip cookies and milk, we spent the rest of the night talking.
Peter spent the first two days visiting my family before he left for Gallaudet to attend the New Student Orientation. The following day, I met
him
at a restaurant near my home. We sat in the booth and talked. He cried the whole time. We parted, and I lingered in Dad’s car long after he drove off. I don’t remember how I felt. He called later, leaving a message, asking if he could see me. So we met again, five days later. I have no recollection of what took place that day.
When I returned to Gallaudet, for my junior year, I began to feel angry.
For two and a half years, I had been faithful to him. I had gone out a few times my first semester at Gallaudet, just for the sake of appearances, but did nothing beyond a good night hug. But he was still married.
During my second year at Gallaudet, I grew to distrust my roommate. She was a basketball teammate of mine from my freshman year. How we ended up being roommates, I couldn’t remember. From time to time, she would say something like: “Another letter from your secret boyfriend, huh?” Or she would smile knowingly and ask, “What are you reading? A love letter?” I was fearful of jeopardizing his name or career at MSD, so after reading his letters, I would destroy them immediately. The Deaf world was so small that with just a glimpse of his name, the entire Deaf community, from East to West, would know about us. Because of my fear, I avoided being in
my
own bedroom as much as possible. This was another reason why I quit keeping a journal.
I could not develop friendships with anyone. Not even one. And now, after two years alone, it was too late to form new ones. But, what about him? Everything about him had remained the same. Home. Family. Friends. Career. All was well.
Yes, I was angry.
Chapter 40
August 1989
G
ifts of various sizes piled up on the floor in Grandma’s living room. Peter and I sat on the floor, taking turns opening the gifts as our family members watched.
Halfway through opening,
his
gift landed in my lap. I carefully peeled the tape off the wrapping paper and lifted the item out of a cardboard box. I then held it in the air for everyone to see. It was a small Quartz clock, maybe six inches tall and plated in gold. It was a standard gift, nothing special. Did he pick it out? I doubt it. His wife probably did.
He had given me a present once earlier – a 14-karat gold necklace. Hanging on the necklace was a cursive-letter D with a diamond chip on it. The necklace was presented to me during my senior year of high school, several weeks after our first kiss.
Gifts were not given with joy or excitement in our house. I always felt they were a burden, something that Mom and Dad had to give because everyone else was doing it. My siblings and I were reminded constantly that Mom grew up with no gifts; not even for a birthday or Christmas. In fact, she was twenty-one when she received her first birthday present.
Mom had wanted us to know that her life was more difficult, so we had no room to be ungrateful. When I was fourteen, I did not get a birthday present, and I knew better than to say anything. Mom had promised she would get me a belated gift as soon as she had extra money. But that never happened. I heard the same promise the next several birthdays. Though she made sure my siblings received their gifts, I never complained when I was overlooked. And, if I was given gift money from relatives, I would put it aside knowing Mom and Dad would ask for it later. So to receive a gold necklace from him, an unexpected gift for no special occasion, was something I had cherished.
I wore the necklace every single day except when I played sports. It was so much part of me that I felt bare without it. I had told him I would always wear it, a promise I felt obliged to honor. After all, a promise was a promise. And it was a gift for no reason. Explaining to Peter what the necklace represented would be difficult; I didn’t even understand it myself.
Then one day, a week before my engagement to Peter, the necklace broke and fell off. When I noticed it was gone, I realized that it was a blessing to no longer have it around my neck.
I thought Peter was the greatest gift I could have ever received, but he wasn’t. There is an even greater gift – the greatest Gift of all.
Chapter 41
September 1987
H
ow do you define love?” Peter asked.
“What love means to
me?
” I asked, making sure I understood his question.
He nodded. “I’m just curious.”
“Love...” Why did he ask me? I felt cornered. “Love means… you accept the person for who she is, you would always be there no matter what. It means…” I stammered. “It means you can be yourself. You feel free; you can share about anything – your feelings, dreams, and fears.”
He didn’t say anything. So I continued: “Love means you enjoy being with the person.” He didn’t say anything still, and I felt awkward. “Your turn,” I said abruptly.
“You and I think alike,” he said, taking my hands in his. Then, letting go of my left hand, he looked at me and said for the first time: “I love you.”
And I knew I felt the same. I had fallen in love with him.
Though Peter represented a glimmer of hope, I recognized that my life was a total mess, and I needed help. With his encouragement, I walked into the counseling center at Gallaudet and had my first session on September 21.
Sitting in front of a stranger was indeed awkward, but I knew that I had to make changes. My determination quickly turned into frustration, however. The counselor kept on focusing on the
present
. Never mind my upbringing. The counselor thought I was avoiding the real issues and encouraged me to center on the here and now. She encouraged me to recognize my negative thinking patterns and work on changing the way I think. I disagreed with her approach; I just knew that my past played a significant role in the person I had become. After three or four sessions, I realized that counseling wasn’t working; I quit.
I tried very hard to remain optimistic about life in general, but I did not do a good job of it. In one of my letters to Peter, I wrote: “I’m really trying. With your encouraging words, it means a lot. It’s a nice feeling, knowing you believe in me. Please don’t ever get frustrated if I just cry and feel down. I’ll keep on trying. It’s going to be
very hard
but I’ll try…”
And, I did try. On November 12, Peter gave me a card with eight balloons that spelled out: “G-O-O-D L-U-C-K.” On the inside, he wrote: “Deb, I wanted to let you know that I’m behind you 100 percent today. I know you’ll do great. I’m really proud of you! I love you, Peter.” And, he was my number one fan during the following four months as I returned to the basketball court.
I did well in my classes, ending the semester with As and Bs, and a place on the Dean’s List.
However, toward the end of our first semester together, Peter began to see more and more of the “real” me, and he admitted that he wasn’t sure he could handle my unhappiness.
My glimmer of hope began to fade.