Fashion

A bit of backstory about Cassie (Pulse), one of the characters in a short story collection I'm very slowly working on in my free time.

Age 9

I stormed inside, ripped out my hearing aids, and threw them in the trash.

My dad put a soft hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him. “What’s wrong, sweetpea?” he signed, a look of concern on his face.

“Katie says I talk funny,” I signed back reluctantly.

Dad shook his head and pulled me into a hug, then pulled back and signed, “Can Katie talk in two different languages?”

I shook my head.

“Then Katie can shut up,” my dad signed with a smug grin, “Next time she says you talk funny, just zip your lips and sign at her and see how she likes that.”

A small smile creeped onto my face, but I still wasn’t convinced, “Dad, can I just stay here with you forever?”

“No, sweetpea. You have to go to school. I can’t teach you everything.”

“Fine,” I signed with a pout.

“That’s my girl,” he signed before fishing my hearing aids out of the trash and setting them gently in my hands.

Age 12

All through lunch, I heard the girls at the table across from me snickering. It mostly just sounded like static, but I saw enough pointed fingers and mimed knitting motions that I could tell I was the topic of their conversation.

Finally, my patience wore thin and I stomped over to their table and exploded, “If you’ve got something to say about me, say it to my face!”

They burst into a fit of cruel laughter, and their ring-leader stepped forward and screamed at my face, “Is this loud enough for you, deaf girl? Go back to your table and keep knitting like a grandma!”

“Yeah, that’s a great volume! Keep it up and maybe Mr. Ramirez will hear,” I snapped back, “By the way, it’s crocheting, not knitting.”

I spun on my heels and returned to my table to work on my scarf for the last few minutes of lunch, and they returned to their gossiping.

Age 14

I looked in the mirror and took a deep breath, then ran the razor across my scalp before I had a chance to second-guess my decision. My whole body seemed to vibrate with adrenaline as swath after swath of light brown hair fell to the bathroom floor, until finally all that remained was a soft, brown fuzz and the splash of long, snowy white hair at the front. My white forlock had always embarrassed me, but now it was a perfect canvas.

Two hours and a lot of hair dye later, I strutted downstairs with a pink, purple, and blue flag painted into my hair and a cocky grin on my face. Mom gasped in surprise when I entered the living room, but Dad just chuckled to himself.

I did a little twirl to show off my new look, then excitedly signed, “Happy National Coming Out Day!”

Dad smiled, “You look beautiful, sweetpea.”

Mom shot him a look, then turned back to me, “Cassie, did you clean up the bathroom after chopping off your hair?” She asked out loud, though she signed along clumsily for our benefit. Despite all her efforts and 17 years being married to Dad, she never quite got the hang of ASL.

I rolled my eyes, “Yes, Mom. I cleaned the bathroom.”

“So what day is it, again?” Dad signed.

“National Coming Out Day!” I repeated, “Fun fact: I like both boys and girls!”

“Well, your father and I are very proud of you for being true to yourself,” Mom said, “Now go clean the bathroom for real. I know where the cleaning supplies are, and you haven’t touched them in weeks.”

I groaned and went to grab a broom from the cleaning closet.

Age 15

I stared at the wrapped gift in front of me in bewilderment, “This is way too big to be fashion hearing aids.”

Dad shrugged and signed, “True.”

“All I asked for were fashion hearing aids, though.”

“Also true,” Dad signed.

“Just open your gift,” Mom said, “trust me, you’ll like it.”

I gave my parents a skeptical look and set to work unwrapping my gift. My skepticism dissolved when I pealed back enough of the wrapping paper to reveal the gift underneath. I screamed in delight and shredded off the rest of the paper. “A sewing machine!” I signed zealously, “How did you know I wanted a sewing machine?”

“It wasn’t exactly difficult to guess,” Mom laughed.

“You’ve been showing us your fashion sketches and crochet projects for the past three years,” added Dad.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I bubbled over with excitement, “I’ll make you both outfits. What do you want me to make?”

Age 17

“What do you think of this one for my portfolio?” I signed, then held up the purple and black thigh-length dress I’d made the previous year.

“I like it!” Dad responded, “But I think you should use the whole outfit, with the hair bow and the studded belt you made to go with it.”

“Good idea.” I arranged the outfit in question on the manikin we were renting and snapped a photo.

“Do you really think I can get into RISD, Dad?” I signed.

“With your designs, you could get into any art school you want!”

“I know, I know. My designs are great, but what about my grades?”

“Sweetpea,” he tapped my nose with his finger and smiled, “When your mom and I decided to put you in public school, we knew your grades might not be perfect. The schools just aren’t set up for people like us, but I didn’t want you to grow up isolated like I did. I went to a special Deaf school, and when I got to college I was so lost and confused because suddenly everything was set up for hearing people! I wanted you to be ready for that world, and you are. Look at all these clothes you’ve made,” he gestured at the garments strewn throughout the room, “You’re more ready than I’d ever imagined.”

“Really?”

“Really really!” he signed, then pulled me into a brief hug and kissed the top of my head.

Age 18

When the letter from RISD came, I shrieked and burst through the front door so loudly that Mom heard me and came running, “Cassie! What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Go get Dad! I have something to tell you both!” I signed with fervor.

Mom ran upstairs and came down with Dad, who signed, “What’s the big news, sweetpea?”

I whipped out my letter and handed it ceremoniously to my parents, “I did it! I got into RISD! I’m going to be a fashion designer!”

“Oh, Cassie, we’re so proud of you!” Mom almost knocked me off balance with the intensity of her hug.

“I told you so,” Dad signed smugly before joining the hug.

Author's Note

*Do the dialogue and pacing sound alright?
*Please feel free to suggest alternate titles-- I'm not great at coming up with titles
*I would especially love feedback from D/deaf readers regarding my portrayal of Cassie and her dad!