That Question

Taking in a piece of chicken, David chewed thoughtfully as he looked around: only ten (give or take) souls sat here and there. Some sat in pairs while the rest ate alone, just like David. 

The man walked toward David, gesturing if he could sit across from David.

David gestured politely to help himself out. And he did.

After setting his tray, he pulled out the pen and paper, smiling, and bowed down his head to write something. Then, he looked at David with a smile as he slid the note toward David.

David looked down toward the note—

He read the message and he froze for a second before he returned his gaze toward the hearing guy sitting across from him. 

He looked back at David with a smile and no hint of contempt, waiting for an answer.

Looking back down at the note, the message said “How do you learn to read and write?” David pulled out his own pen and scribbled down the same words - word by word. Smiling, David slid it back toward the naïve hearing guy.

He looked at the note and then he frowned, looking at David quizzically. He pointed at his ear and moved his smiling mouth, I can hear.

David smiled and pointed at his own eye, nodding as he mouthed, I can see.

His smile wavered a bit as his eyes became unfocused for a bit, and then his eyes returned at David’s as if a light bulb clicked on in his head. He chuckled a bit, placing his palm across his chest, and mouthed, I am sorry. He pointed to his head and shook his head, mouthing, I didn’t think!

David smiled back, giving up a thumb-up. 

From this day, he kept greeting David every time they encountered each other at the campus at North Central University until graduation. And their lives passed on, but the experiences remained in the souls of human beings. 

by David Ballard