Quiet Beautiful Things
Bonus Epilogue
Maisy Montana – 21 years later
I walk up to the podium, calm and confident. After all, I didn’t work my ass off for the last decade to sit in the shadows. I scan the massive crowd in the arena and find my parents sitting in the front row to the left of the stage. Of course they’re in the front row—they’ve always been my biggest supporters and loudest cheerleaders.
Before I start my speech, I lock eyes with another one of my biggest supporters, Brayden, who is sitting in the third row among my other fellow graduates. His face beams as he signs, “You got this.”
I nod, because hell yes, I do.
Courtney, my ASL interpreter for the past eight years, stands off to the side, her body and mine being projected onto the split-screen jumbotron hanging from the center of the arena’s ceiling.
I have my notes. All the names of the encouraging people in my life. I stare at the list and realize they might not be the only ones I should be thanking. In a matter of two seconds, I change my entire speech. I take a deep breath and begin.
“I’m not the smartest student in my class,” I sign. “I’m not the valedictorian, the class president, or even on the student council. I’m not a hero. I’m just a girl from a small town who happens to be deaf. This doesn’t make me any more special than the girl over there in the second row who comes from a large city and happens to have green eyes. But my peers chose to give me this platform, so I guess they think I have something important to say.” I hold up my notes and wave them around. “I had this speech all written out. I know I’m expected to thank everyone who made this possible from my very first kindergarten teacher to my distant relatives. But I’m not sure that would be the best use of my time.”
I spare a glance at Brayden, whose eyebrows are practically touching his hairline. I practiced my speech in front of him at least five times. I watch as a slow smile creeps up his face. He knows this isn’t the first time I’ve gone rogue. And I imagine it’s one of the things he loves about me.
“The people I really should be thanking aren’t who you’d expect. To my very first dance instructor, Madame B, who assured me that a deaf girl couldn’t dance—I’d invite you to my childhood home to see more than two dozen national trophies won by me and my high school dance team. To my sixth-grade band teacher, Ms. J—who said a deaf girl can’t play an instrument and called a meeting with my parents when I insisted on playing the violin—I’d be happy to forward the email I received from Julliard, encouraging me to apply. And to my high school guidance counselor, Mr. G, who side-eyed me when I said I wanted to go into medicine. Deaf people can’t be doctors, he said. Well, Mr. G, here I am, standing up on this stage, graduating from medical school.” I lift one of my graduation cords and hold it up. “With honors.”
Everyone claps. Brayden pumps a fist. Mom cries and rubs the necklace she’s worn since I was four years old.
“Thank you to all the people who said I couldn’t. Because I’m here to tell you I did, and I am.”
More applause.
“And to all the people who assumed I’d go into medical intelligence to try and ‘cure’ deafness, I say this: deafness is not something that needs to be cured, fixed, or helped. I’m choosing to go into advanced technologies in medical robotics because of the soldier who lost a leg fighting for our country, the woman who lost a limb in a car accident, the baby born without ankle bones—those are things I can help. Those are problems worth fixing. Deafness isn’t a sickness. And if you try to call me disabled, well, let’s just say I’ll put my trophies, accolades, and diplomas up against anyone, anyplace, anytime.”
I pause until the audience stops clapping.
“I’m sure there are some who expected me to come up here and surprise everyone by giving my speech verbally, as if I’ve got something to prove.” I shake my head. “Could I speak if I wanted to? Yeah, sure. But I don’t need to. And I never have.” I wave my hands around. “This is the only voice I need. I don’t need to speak to be heard, and I don’t need to hear to be whole.”
I hope I’m not overstepping. I realize I might be soapboxing a bit. The massive smile on Brayden’s face tells me, yeah, maybe I am… but that he loves it.
“Okay, okay, so I suppose I should thank some other people.” I turn and look at my parents, signing directly at them. “Thanks Mom and Dad for always letting me be me. For allowing me to wear my best Sunday dresses to the playground. For looking the other way, never discouraging me, and always praying for the best when I insisted on doing things like skydiving, cave exploring, and scuba diving. For giving me two little brothers who, along with you, have championed me every step of the way without making me feel like I’m any different than any other person. For standing up to Ms. J, and quite possibly teaching an impressionable eleven-year-old a few more curse words than she already knew.”
The faces in the audience indicate everyone is laughing. I wait a moment for it to die down, then I finish up, because, after all… life is waiting.
I turn to Courtney. “Thank you to my friend and interpreter, Courtney Granger, who probably deserves an honorary medical degree with everything she’s learned by my side.”
I try not to tear up before I thank the very last person to be thanked. “And to the guy down there in the third row. The little deaf boy next door who instantly became my other half. The man who has been by my side for the past twenty-one years and who I know will always be there. I can’t wait to go on this next journey with you. To say you complete me is an understatement and far too cliché. We don’t need each other to be whole, only to be happy.”
Brayden’s face fills with pride as I complete my speech, using the funny anecdotes I’d had in my notes. My eyes don’t stray from his when the arena erupts in lengthy applause. And even though neither of us can hear it, I just know his clap is without a doubt the loudest.
I thank my lucky stars that Brayden and I matched into the same residency program. Because I can’t imagine life without him. Well, that, and I’m pretty sure that tonight he’s going to propose.
***
Be sure not to miss Dallas’s story in the second Montana Brothers book, Loud Unspoken Memories. This book will break your heart and then put it back together even stronger than before.
A snowed-in, forced proximity, single parent romance.
Universal Link: https://geni.us/SC-LUM
