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There’s a burrowing rabbit at the back of Ocean’s throat, scratching and scratching and scratching away at the soft pink tissue. She tries to drown it with swigs of water, but it keeps swimming up through the torrent to resume its digging. She finally just accepts it: she has a cold.
Ocean, in part, blames it on her stupid brain and its stupid insistence on being stressed all the time. She knows stress and anxiety can weaken the immune system, and she’s definitely been stressed a lot lately. Really, she can’t remember a time when she hasn’t felt stressed out.
But alongside that, it’s winter in Canada. It was only a matter of time before her body’s natural defenses against illness (which are already weak enough as is) decided to retire and leave her to fend for herself.
Stupid white blood cells not doing their stupid job. She really needs to start charging them every time they fail to protect her body.
She began to feel under the weather on Wednesday, and by the time Friday rolled around, Ocean’s cold had evolved from a simple sore throat to a stuffy nose, persistent cough, body aches, and pain in only one of her ears. Her sinuses feel like they’re being thumbed down constantly, bringing upon the worst sinus headache imaginable, and the tension over the nerves in her upper back is so great that it hurts every single time she coughs (not to mention that the strap of her bra also adds a second layer of tightness over her already aching skin). Her whole face is swollen, her tonsils throb, and her lymph nodes are blown up to the size of the cubed cheese served on those $24 vegetable platters your grandma buys for Easter parties.
Still, though, she refuses to stay home from school. Moving her heavy, sore body may be a chore, but she can’t fall behind in work. Besides, she’s sure that being at her house, breathing in the smothering fumes of her parents’ incense, would only make her feel worse.
“Bless you… Bless you… Bless you… Wow, that’s a lot. Bless you!” Penny says as Ocean breaks out into a sneezing fit during practice.
You sound like my cats when they sneeze, Ricky signs, smiling sympathetically.
“Thank you,” Ocean says to Penny. She takes the tissue that Constance offers to her and rubs her burning, reddened nose with it. “Sorry about that. I’m good now.”
“Are you?” Mischa asks, raising an eyebrow.
Ocean sniffles, then nods. “Yeah.” Fevered chills ripple through her skin, and she shivers. “Ugh… Feels like I’ve got a piranha attached to my uvula.”
“That’s so oddly specific,” Mischa says, and Penny giggles at his side.
“Tis the season for the ginger to be assaulted by her own immune system,” Noel says.
“Haha, very funny,” Ocean says. “This happens every year, we all— we all know— this happens— urrg.” Her face scrunches up in frustration as her voice rasps and breaks, reduced down to a hoarse squeak that is barely discernible, and she finally flings her arms up in exasperation, then signs, I’ll just sign.
The others laugh lightly.
Losing your voice is a very upsetting annoyance, but at least it’s made easier when you know sign language. It’s all thanks to Ricky that the whole choir is fluent in ASL, and Ocean is happy that she has this easier alternative when it comes to communicating compared to writing on a board or paper or, god forbid, doing nothing at all.
Now you know how I feel, Ricky signs teasingly.
I don’t know how you do this all the time, Ocean signs back.
“It’s been less than a minute since your voice gave out,” Noel points out.
That’s too long! Ocean complains.
“Maybe we should cut practice off early,” Mischa suggests.
“Yeah, we can go to my house!” Constance says. “I can probably make my famous chicken and dumplings without chicken! I know you love them, Ocean.”
She’s right, Ocean does love her chicken and dumplings without chicken (Ocean doesn’t eat meat, and Constance has adapted her recipes to that). But the thought of quitting practice early doesn’t sound appealing to Ocean, even if none of them were actually singing and were instead opting to chat about meaningless things.
We can’t end practice early! Ocean signs indignantly. What will Father Marcus say?
“Father Marcus isn’t here,” Penny reminds her. “And he probably won’t care.”
“Besides, it’s not like you’ll be doing much, if we choose to stay,” Noel says, and Ocean shoots him a glare. He notices. “I’m not wrong! You lost your voice, so you can’t sing! That’s all I’m saying.”
Constance gently touches Ocean’s shoulder. “Come on, hun. Ending one practice early won’t hurt. Plus, you’ll get good food if we go to my house!”
How dare she entice Ocean with amazingly delicious cuisine! How can Ocean resist that?!
Ocean resigns with a sigh—which then turns into a cough when even that simple action grates on her sore throat. She signs, Fine.
The entire choir beams.
That’s how Ocean gets wrangled to Constance’s house by her friends to have some chicken and dumplings without chicken. The entire time, the choir chatters loudly (minus Ricky. and Ocean, technically), and Ocean has a hard time joining in on the conversation. Ricky seems to slide in easily, but that’s probably because they’re all used to looking over at him for his contribution. They are most definitely not used to Ocean not talking, so her signs are often missed or overlooked. Her struggle seems to get noticed by Ricky because he brings it up to her once they get to Constance’s house.
Not so easy, is it? Ricky asks with a smile that’s half amusement, half sympathy.
Ocean shakes her head sluggishly. Not at all. How do you do this all the time? Doesn’t it get frustrating?
Oh, absolutely! Ricky nods avidly. You have no idea how irritating it can be. But you get used to it after awhile.
How? Ocean beseeches him.
Well, I know that, even if I have no actual voice to use, you guys will always hear me, Ricky signs.
Ocean mouths “aww,” and Ricky laughs.
Don’t worry, Ocean, Ricky signs. You’ll be heard again. It won’t always be so bad. And, if it makes you feel any better, I’m always listening to what you have to say, even when your voice isn’t working.