Chapter 3. An Exchange

[REMINDER: SENTENCES INSIDE THIS FORMAT = *”--”* ARE SIGNED AND NOT SPOKEN]

Alexis Solace [1ST PERSON P.O.V]

*“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”* I signed, slapping my brother’s shoulder, like how every annoyed and scolding sibling would do if they were in my shoes.

He winced at the pain. I even saw him curse. *“Вid you have to hit me?”* he signed back, also slapping me in return, although lightly, of course. *“You need to calm down. All this panicking makes you look stupid. I already submitted your resume and everything. All you have to do is just make an appearance,”* he assured.

I feel the blood drain out of my face. *“YOU DID WHAT?!”*

He waved me off, *“Like I said, chill out. Look, it’s not a big deal. Sure, I may have altered your qualifications, but I did not lie. You have a good track record, and those speak for themselves,”* he said, and it felt like with every gesture he made, I could see everything the interviewer would nitpick about.

I swallowed in defeat, resting my face on my palms. *“You’re incorrigible,”* I signed, not looking at him for a reply.

Once we finished eating, we went home. To my brother’s excitement and to my listlessness, Mom greeted us by the door, and my brother swooped in, probably to tell her just what he did because soon enough, my mother rushed to me, also very excited, with a beaming smile.

*“Lex, isn’t this such good news?”* she gushed.

I cringed, uncomfortable with her and my brother already assuming I was as good as hired. *“Don’t get too excited, Mom. I’m pretty sure I’m not qualified to join a company like that,”* I replied, making her wide smile falter. But my mom is the most optimistic person I know. To be like that, living as a widow with two hearing-challenged kids… takes some strength.

*“Well… it’s a start, and who knows—you’d make a really good secretary; you’re weirdly particular on odd things, nothing gets past you, and—”*

*“Are you sure these are compliments?”* I interrupted, making her chuckle.

*“Of course, I would be so eager to hire someone like you as my secretary if I ever needed one,”* she followed, making me laugh.

*“You are so biased as a mother. It’s funny,”* I joked, making her frown playfully, lightly pinching my sides and making me jolt.

My brother said that he was going to take a shower first, so in the meantime, I had to help my mom make dinner. Although we already ate, we’d wait until our appendixes burst before we’d let our mother eat alone. As I did that, I tried and imagine what kind of questions they would have prepared for me.

If they’re going to ask questions at all—I’m pretty sure my brother is sensible enough to clarify I would have no hearing whatsoever. Is that going to be a problem? Maybe they’re just looking for someone who knows ASL but is not exactly a deaf person.

Wouldn’t that just be the suckiest moment of my life?

We had a simple dinner. My brother was rambling about how he moved at the speed of light to get my application processed. He’s a good kid. I think he grew up okay, or at least I hope he did. I could never forget that moment in time when he got his first pair of hearing aids. I call it his metamorphosis.

Turns out this kid is actually a social butterfly.

Having to partially raise him, I felt nothing but joy to see him thrive. Up until he started becoming this annoying. How could he just apply me to a job without me knowing? I’m sure he must’ve done this ages ago. He couldn’t afford to tell me then? When I have more than 24 hours to prepare? Actually, no, it’s not even 24 hours.

I washed up and went to sleep, practicing my reactions to the worst possible scenario.

When morning came, at 9:00 AM, I was already at the building. I went there with my brother for a little moral support. Entering a building as big as this and having people look at me as if I’m some lost sheep is dehumanizing.

He spoke with this receptionist lady, who kept looking over at me with a little glare. Personally, I didn’t mind any of that. As a person who also looks like she’s mad at the world at every waking moment, I understand that sometimes, people can’t keep their expressions under control.

*“She says you’re supposed to be on the 12th floor,”* he told me,

*“So high up...how big is this d*mn building?”* I rebutted.

He rolled his eyes. *“Focus, woman, why are you out here thinking about how big this is and not relishing in the moment that you’re going to be interviewed by the CEO himself?”* he signed with a shrug.

My jaw dropped. 

*“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”* I signed, and he raised his index finger to his lips, almost as if to shush me. I must’ve yelped in surprise. It happens. I’m the only one who doesn’t notice, so I tried to keep my mouth shut.

He placed both hands on my shoulders, pushing me along as if I were a shopping cart until we rode the elevator. He pressed the button for the 12th floor and signed, *“Listen, you’re really fumbling the bag with all this fussing, so I’ll need you to calm your brain cells, all 1 million of them,”* he said.

I pinched his arm. *“You didn’t tell me I was going to be interviewed by the crazy CEO!”* I scolded.

He seemed to chuckle dismissively with a wave, *“Oh man… I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, don’t call him crazy. That’s not going to help with your employment at all,”* he replied. Am I the only one taking this seriously?

I slapped his arm. By now, he seems to be finding this hilarious. We reached the floor, and the elevator doors opened. Once again, he pushed me along until we reached a hall and passed a doorway into a room where around 20-plus people were waiting. It was like a lounge area. All of them were dressed in very sophisticated outfits. Not only do they look professional, they look so good.

Immediately, I could feel the intimidation.

‘I really shouldn’t be here.’

With a tap, I turned to my brother, face determined with that annoying happy-go-lucky smile. *“You’re going to kill this, for sure,”* he said.

I was a second away from beating him up. How could he say that after seeing my ‘competition’ if I was even counted enough to be a competitor? I turned to see him again and give him a bonk on the head, at least, but he was gone. Already mounted on the elevator, giving me one last wave before the doors closed.

With a gulp, I entered the room, keeping my eyes trained on one vacant seat and just sitting there with my thoughts. After a few minutes, I kept my eyes peeled in the doorway, thinking someone would just appear there and call for us.

Hopefully, not by voice.

Unfortunately, horror washed over me, and I saw the others stand one by one without anyone telling them to until I realized there was a speaker posted on the top of the doorway. Don’t tell me they’re calling the applicants by announcing their names through that.

How the f*ck am I going to know when it’s my turn then?

I knew it. It was hopeless. I knew they weren’t looking for someone like me. Not being able to hear could be a disadvantage in this line of work, after all. What was I thinking, getting my hopes up and believing what that stupid brother of mine said? This is all—

Suddenly, a man stood at the doorway, one that didn’t look like any of the people waiting from here earlier. He spelled the words *“Alexis Solace”*...

‘—WAIT! THAT’S MY NAME!’

Realizing that he was calling for me, I stood up abruptly. He nodded to me. *“Mr. Reign will see you now. Please follow me.”*

I didn’t sign anything back. He didn’t look all that conversational in the first place, and I just followed him into a different room, one with a very elegant office-like aura, a black and white theme with wood accents. Just minimalism in action again.

By the glass walls was a long white table with four people: two women and two men. The man that led me here stood by the side of that table, as their interpreter probably.

I could already tell this wasn’t going to go well, so I’m not going to pull stunts and just get through this as fast as possible. I took a seat and just looked at them one by one, determined to live through this and maybe tell the tale.

But another problem struck… who among these people was the damned CEO? Well. I knew he was a man, so that just cut my options between this one elderly man who offered me a small smile or this other guy who watched me with a hawk-like glare.

His hair was dark colored, and his gaze was even darker in contrast with his bright hazel eyes. He seemed thin because of his chisel-cut face, but when he leaned back in his swivel chair, he was actually quite built. His shoulders were broad, as exemplified by his coat. Seems like the clothes really make the man.

He was also blessed with a very attractive face that even his eyebags couldn’t ruin. Like a model. But what sort of model would look this anemic? Goodness, what sort of overtime does this company employ?

“Miss Solace, it’s good to see you,” the elderly man began, earning a nod from the two women, showing they shared his sentiments. I could read their lips, but the interpreter was kind enough to repeat the words as they were said.

I nodded politely, putting on a smile myself. *“Thank you for seeing me,”* I replied, hoping that the sweat glistening off my palms remained unnoticed.

One of the women inched forward. “Before anything else, it’s written here that you have profound deafness,” she paused. The interpreter and I exchanged a look, a look that said 

‘Oh, boy,’ 

but I kept my smile on, “we’re wondering if you’d have any challenged in your past employments because of this,” she finished.

I hummed. What a straightforward question. *“There have been problems, but I feel as if I also put myself in that position,”* I began. *“I suppose a job where I’m required for many public matters and interaction would bring me to a disadvantage since most of the people in this business would not be able to interact with me efficiently,”* I replied.

One of the women, younger looking, around my age maybe, squinted her eyes at me. “So you admit that you’re at a disadvantage, miss Solace?” she asked.

I gritted my teeth, which only made it look as if I was smiling wider. *“Yes, I admit to a disadvantage, but it does not mean I am incapable. I may not be as efficient, but it’s not impossible for me. I have other methods to converse,”* I followed, mentally slapping myself. I shouldn’t have to defend myself like that. I’m not actively trying to get this job.

But they’re really sucking me in with these questions.

The other man, the sleep-deprived model, spoke, “What are these other methods you speak of?” he asked.

I pulled out my phone and opened the app; it was my brother who told me about this. He told me that this is what I would sound like if I had a voice, not to compliment me but to hint at my having the emotional tone and capacity of a robot.

I typed the words to reply while the phone sounded it out, “I communicated in my past jobs using this application, and I am efficient at reading lips to save the other person some trouble.”

They exchanged impressed looks at this, nodding at each other as if I was excellent just because I showed but a shadow of a reminiscence much to a hearing and speaking person.

The pale man nodded at this and covered his mouth. My eyes widened when the interpreter started signing, *“What if I do this? This wouldn’t just be an advantage. It would be impossible for you,”* the interpreter said on behalf of the man who covered his mouth.

My jaw clenched so tight that it ached. 

‘What the h*ll is wrong with this dude?’

The interpreter and I exchanged looks again, and for a moment, he did look apologetic. Even the other interviewers threw him a slight glare. I sucked in a deep breath. My hands fisted before I started signing again. My hands seemed to be trembling, uncertain of what they were supposed to do. Is that what it feels like to stutter on your words?

*“In the light of those circumstances, if an interaction is crucial between me and that person, I could rely on my phone once again, but I would ask for them to stop from doing so, not because it is rude to someone like me,” I paused, feeling a lump in my throat, “but because it is imperative to my work and such an act would then be unprofessional,”* I finished. Putting my hands on my lap, even then, they didn’t stop shaking.

The man hummed. Removing his hands from his face and crossing them across his torso, he turned to the others on the table before standing up and leaving the room. Confused, I turned to the woman, who started speaking.

“That is a good answer, miss Solace. Now, let’s proceed to the last part of the interview. Please tell us about your strengths and weaknesses and…”

she said, as clear as I could read them off her lips; the rest of the interaction felt like a blur. Before I knew it, they said thank you and told me to keep myself posted on their response through my email.

I won’t. I left that building, forgetting I even went through that interview.

‘Time to look for other jobs.’