I sniff. The air is musty and dank. Tension hangs heavily. I can see droplets of water drop-down from the ceiling and ripple the sewer-water. My mother went missing two weeks ago. My sister and brother just moved in with my dad. I did to, until three days ago. I remember opening the window in my Dad’s apartment building. Glancing back to make sure they were all still asleep. Then using my rope of blankets to reach the floor. I had followed the clues; green ooze dripping off the walls, mud coating my mother’s pillow, the stinky scent that told me whoever had taken her hadn’t taken a shower in weeks. It all led to the sewer. My head snaps up. I’m reaching my mother. I can feel her presence near by. Since I’m deaf, my other senses have strengthened enormously. I can smell her, practically see her through the wall. Her glittering smile. Her twinkling eyes. Her always neat hair. As I reach where the clues lead, I feel along the wall. The slimy, wet, gross sewer wall. I feel a little alcove; a door. I take a deep breath and take a step in. A hand grabs my wrist. In seconds, a rope is tied around my hands and a gag is stuffed in my mouth. I’m thrown against the wall. I try to cry, wail, yelp, scream, make ANY sound as long as I can be heard. Tears run down my cheeks. A man with a long, straggly beard steps in front of me. Another man appears by his side. They have a long conversation. I don’t understand anything.Without my hearing aids, nothing makes sense. The other man nods. He steps back into the darkness. Moments later he appears with a thin woman. Her eyes are bloodshot and I can see her cheekbones. But then I realize; it’s my mother! She’s skinny and frazzled, her hair messy and her body coated in dirt. She looks at me and starts crying. She spits the gag out of her mouth. She opens her mouth and speaks, although I don’t hear anything. She seems to be begging the men for something. I use American Sign Language to tell her that I’m okay, that she’ll be okay. That she has to go. That I’ll be fine. I tell her everything; that I love her, that she’ll be safe, that I will too. I try to smile with my eyes like I did when COVID-19 struck and we all had to wear a mask all of the time. She signs back. “I love you. I can’t let you stay.” One of the men shakes his head and turns away. At that moment, my mother kicks him. She shoves the other man to the ground. Then she signs, “Come on!” I don’t hesitate. I’m up on my feet and following her in an instant. I use all of the energy saved in my legs to spring out of the sewer, just like I do at the Long-Distance track meets at my school. My mother is by my side.
So yeah. I’m proud of this story. It’s not perfect, but it’s one of my favorites.
