Page 34 of Tameron

“Tameron?”

He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if he was dissociating or if he couldn’t hear me. I lifted my hand and waved in his periphery until his gaze darted toward me.

“Hi.”

His lips twitched up into the ghost of a smile. “Sorry.”

I made a Y with my dominant hand and tapped my chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

A beat of silence passed, then another. Finally, he stepped closer and pressed a hand to the center of his chest. “I can feel it. The-the beat. The music.” He rolled his gaze up toward the sky. “Since my hearing loss has been getting worse, I’ve noticed I’m more sensitive to other things.”

Ah. The myth of the super senses. But it wasn’t exactly a myth. People Deaf from birth had more sensitive sight because they relied on it in place of hearing. People who were blind from birth had incredibly well-trained ears and sometimes even a natural inclination toward echolocation.

But people like Tameron—people dealing with the slow loss—often dealt with the dark side of losing a sense. Everything else became a lot for a while. And it didn’t always go away. Wearing hearing aids, even ambient noise could be overwhelmingly painful. My brother was profoundly Deaf, but he never, ever wore his if we were going to Deaf events or clubs.

I understood what he was talking about and moved closer, reaching up to his shoulders. “Take them off.” My thumbs brushed his earlobes, and he gave a single shudder.

“But—”

“Trust me?” I repeated myself in sign, and he nodded. “Take them off.” I lifted my hands and switched languages. ‘You know enough to understand.’

He swallowed thickly, then nodded. ‘Okay.’ His fingers had a slight tremble, but he reached up and plucked them from behind his ears and held them in his palm.

‘Do you have your case?’ I signed slowly.

He nodded, then reached into his back pocket for the small, slender gray box. Dropping them inside, he squeezed it so tight his knuckles went white.

‘Talk to me.’

Tameron took a deep breath, lifted his hands, then changed his mind and dropped them. “I don’t like going without them in public.”

‘I understand. But the music will be so loud,’ I signed, waiting to make sure he was following, ‘that it won’t make a difference. And this way, your ears won’t hurt. You’ll feel the music.’ I pressed my hand to his sternum and felt his inhale shudder in his lungs. ‘And you have enough hearing that it won’t be total silence.’

He tightened his jaw, then nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

I offered the crook of my elbow to him and he laughed, then curled his hand into it and let me lead the way.

The queer scene in the Bay Area wasn’t what it used to be. There had been a sort of frantic intensity about it in the nineties after the AIDS crisis started to wane. A sort of desperation to be seen and heard, not forgotten now that it wasn’t making the news cycle every other week.

So many were terrified the world would forget who we’d lost that we’d celebrated every chance we got. But society had shifted. We were older now, and wiser, but tired.

They had social media. A way of being constantly connected to each other across the globe that clubs felt—in a way—like a dying relic. Of course they’d never fully go away. This wouldn’t turn into a ghost town. There would always be people whoneeded to connect, have a drink, dance, and forget for just a little while how terrible the world could still be.

But it wasn’t the same.

In a way, I supposed that was a good thing. When we walked in and saw it wasn’t wall-to-wall people, Tameron relaxed even more. The tension began to drift from his body in little fits and bursts, and by the time we made it to the bar to order a drink, he was smiling again.

‘Thirsty?’

He pulled his lips to the side in thought. ‘Beer?’

‘I’ll order. Trust me?’

He rolled his eyes and nodded.

It took a moment for the ridiculously hot—and ridiculously young—bartender to make his way over. He flexed his pecs in his black mesh shirt, the light catching on his nipple rings. He eyed my pepper hair with the sprinkling of salt and gave me an up-and-down that told me if I wanted, he’d be a sure thing.

But he wasn’t my type.

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