Page 89 of Interpreter

“We’ll go on your cue,” I confirm for Ms. Peak, signing along with my words. She nods, beaming with pride at all three of us. We’ve worked so hard for this moment.

I kiss the man fantasies are made of on the cheek before ruffling Oliver’s hair a little more. “You ready, kiddo?”

He nods and smiles before signing to Tim,“Break a leg, Mr. Lambros.”

Have mercy. These boys are ruining me.

Chuckling, Tim holds out his fist, and the much smaller version of him returns his fist bump. Alcoholics call moments like this a moment of clarity. Well, I’m not an alcoholic, but for the first time in my life, I realize what they are talking about. Clarity. And for me, the realization—the clarity—is that I bought a plane ticket last night that will take me far away from these two men. Two men that mean the world to me.

My heart aches inside my chest when Tim nudges me and mouths, “It’s showtime.”

Is it? Shit. I was so wrapped up in my two boys that I completely missed the flashing light.

Masking my fear of getting deported in another week, I take his callused hand in mine and tug him and Oliver through the heavy curtains. The first thing I notice is the silence. Heavy and weighted down. The anticipation hangs in the air like a fog.

And then the chanting starts.

A distinct cadence only heard by the military reverberates through the curved walls. “Oorah,” repeats over and over, as I search for the source while Tim watches on, confused, until we spot her. Standing in her chair, Anniston Von Bremen cheers on our boy, taking the attention away from him for just a moment until she’s joined by the entire McCallister-Jameson Foundation. One by one they stand, chanting—rooting on—their fellow Marine. Even Pe and Marcus are on their chairs, chanting for my boy. Tears threaten to fall from my heavily made-up eyes when I look at Tim. Seeing the act of solidarity from his family—our family—makes his chest work under his suit before he clears his throat, finding his strength.

What he does next will forever be engrained in my memory.

Timaeus Lambros, bare feet and all, stands at attention and salutes our families.

Not one soul dares interrupt their moment as each of them return his coveted salute. It’s a moment you know will never be repeated in your lifetime. Honor and bravery are rarely witnessed up close. And I’ve now seen it several times in Tim’s presence.

Once they all drop their hands, the audience stands, and their applause fills the air around us. I chance a look back at Oliver, hoping he sees this monumental show of bravery and solidarity when I see his big eyes dripping tears onto his bare feet.

That’s when I let mine fall. I don’t even care that I’m in front of hundreds of people. All that matters is soaking up this moment. Allowing the love, the security, and the hope invade every inch of my soul. This is what it feels like to have hope. This is what Mami meant when she said there was something different about America. She didn’t know it at the time, but the word that she was looking for was hope. America is full of hope. I see that now, and even if I don’t get to stay here, I’ll have witnessed the magic of this country. And I will know I was part of its history tonight.

Soon the crowd dies down and Tim turns, takes my and Oliver’s hands with more than determination in his eyes, and leads us to the piano. The crowd has returned to their seats, a still silence floating around us.

And then he plays.

Beautifully crafted, he taps out the notes to the Céline Dion song “Ashes,” something that Pe and Marcus suggested he play. Pe thought it told his story perfectly, and I agreed. And although my voice isn’t as high as Céline’s, Tim was able to rewrite the music to a key I could sing. It’s now deeper, a poetic feeling.

On cue, I begin to sing, watching as the little boy in front of us stands tall and confident in front of hundreds. His tiny little hands sign as fast as he can while moving his body as I had once done for Tim at Magic Michelle’s. This moment is what dreams are made of. Three people who were misfits, who found themselves fighting their battles alone, managed to find one another and create something so beautiful and so real that it changed each of them.

Oliver learned how to sign. He learned that he could still do and be anything his little heart wanted. Tim overcame his demons and realized he could still enjoy the things he loved. That life wasn’t about fitting into the perfect mold. People are different, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you don’t get the same life experiences as everyone else. And as for me, standing here, singing with every breath, I realize that I did achieve my goal. I wanted to be that woman at the hospital. I wanted to make a difference. Standing here with these two boys, I know I accomplished that. Except, they helped me too. These boys changed my heart. They gave me something to believe in. They made working at a school so much more than just a job.

They gave me a family.

They filled my heart with love.

And I know that when I leave them, I will be devastated. But at least I got to experience it, right?

As the piano grows softer and Oliver’s hands slow, my voice lowers. The song is ending as fast as it began. The lights lower as my voice trails off and the curtain closes. Tim’s chest is heaving, and Oliver is bent over in a bow. I take Tim’s quivering hands, and he stands. He doesn’t smile; he just leads me to the little boy at the front of the stage and wraps us both in his strong arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

Tim’s family surrounds him and Oliver as soon as we exit the stage. The crowd was so loud after we took a bow. We were the final performance of the night, and Ms. Peak’s tear-streaked face told us that we nailed it. She hugged each of us and threatened to hunt Tim down if he ever missed a practice with her. He only nodded, and I assumed he was still very much overwhelmed with everything. After learning of his past, I can only imagine the thoughts running through his head right now. I can’t wait until I can get him alone and check on him.

“You were brilliant out there tonight.” I turn and see Cal, his arms full of roses. “My grandma says flowers are the customary gift after a performance.”

I look back and see Tim still engrossed with his family and give Cal a hesitant smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything though.”

Cal looks almost shy as he rubs at his chin. “I wanted to. You were really great out there. Look, Milah, I know it’s none of my business and we already had our shot, but…”

Oh no. Please don’t ask me out or make things awkward.

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