Angie C. Orlando

INSTRUMENT OF CHOICE

Listen to the audio version read by Ann E. Wallace.

I'm thin and scrawny, always looking up, searching the line of trumpets for cute boys, too shy to say hi, but I wave to the fat boy, my friend, who plays clarinet.

I wanted a voice, so I chose the huge sax, baritone, big as me. Neck aches from the weight, ankle twists with the strain to stay upright, fingers spread over keys the size of silver dollars, mouth bulges, tongue strokes reed. It tastes like wood, feels just right.

I gather breath from way down low, let it out with a soul-filled blow. Notes explode, strong and deep. I'm the beat, they follow my lead, flutes trill, trumpets buzz the melody.

I wanted a voice, so I chose the huge sax, and Ms. Hazel, the English teacher, says she can hear me from her room on the second floor.

* * *

DOUBT

Listen to the audio version read by Ann E. Wallace.

I doubt because of my sixth grade teacher, who asked "Did you proofread?" and I thought she was praising me, until she put my book report on the overhead projector. Red marker held in a wrinkled hand, she said "A student, someone sitting in this class, wrote this paper and did not proofread. Let's read together to find all the errors." My classmates turned around in their mismatched wooden desks, trying to spot the bad writer. I looked, too, holding back tears and hoped no one saw the shame on my face.

I doubt because of my report cards, how they were once filled with A's, when I was still whole. Then the B's and C's crept in, taken over by D's and F's as my hearing loss progressed, and how I'd have no paper to turn in, because I didn't know about the assignment, and the teacher confirmed my fault by giving me a zero.

I doubt because of my first love, the man who became my husband, who told me I was stupid and ugly, "Do you even have a brain? Are you retarded? How can you be so dumb?" The finger that poked me in the chest, the hands that pushed me down, the palm that slapped my face, and how he said "No one else will ever love you" and I believed him, because I was afraid not to.

I doubt because of the professor who told me to write only about overcoming my disabilities, how he said "People want to read about your hardships, not your life" and "This is what makes you different from other writers" and how he made me feel like a pair of damaged ears and broken eyes.

I doubt because of my writing mentor, who loved everything I wrote, and said "This is inspirational" and "You are so amazing." I begged for real feedback, but she said everything was perfect, until I wrote about the negative implications of being disabled, and how she said "You are disturbing, don't ever contact me again."

Angie C. Orlando is a Deafblind writer from Kent, Ohio. She graduated from Kent State University with a bachelors degree in Special Education. In 2016, Orlando earned a Masters in Fine Arts in creative writing from Ashland University. She is a contributing author of Deaf-Blind Reality: Living the Life (2012). Orlando's work can also be viewed on her blog: Angie C. Orlando: DeafBlind and determined. .