The Bright Spots

The restroom reeked with the pungent smell of Lysol mixed with aromatic bathroom freshener. The single bulb that dimly illuminated the room blinked on and off, on and off, like an oscillating fan, in a dizzying, inconsistent cycle. Adam had gotten used to the winking of the light and paid it no heed as he swept. Back and forth, back and forth, with the same tedious repetition as the flashing bulb. Sometimes, to amuse himself, Adam would attempt to time his sweeps with the light. But usually he wanted to finish working as quickly as possible in order to get home and be with his kitten, whom Adam (never one for originality) had named Kitty.

Kitty had chosen him—the only creature on earth that had ever voluntarily wished to be with Adam. He was checking the mail one night and discovered her sitting next to his bicycle, calmly licking her paws. He had always loved animals, so he stooped to pet her, enjoying the way her warm, soft fur felt against the rough skin of his palm. Her mouth opened and her tail drooped and he could feel the vibrations of her stomach as she purred, rubbing up against his leg. From that time on, she followed him everywhere. Without meaning to, Adam had acquired a pet. 

Kitty was very low-maintenance. He bought a litter box and some cat food and let her come and go as she pleased. She was always there to greet him at the door when he came home late from cleaning up the library, her tail sticking straight up in the air as she ran to him. She had one white patch amidst the blackness of her fur that she loved to have massaged. In his mind, Adam compared that spot to how Kitty was the one bright spot of his otherwise dark world. Kitty was not only sweet but also patient, willing to listen to Adam’s babblings like no human would ever do. 

The restroom was sparkling now and since he liked to save the best for last, there was only one place left to clean. The children’s section. The bright-colored chairs and alphabet-themed walls always cheered him up. The book covers were all beautiful and interesting. He loved to flip through them and look at the illustrations. Sometimes he would glance at the uniform black letters too; but they meant nothing to him. He was more interested in the pictures.

Art had always fascinated him. When he was little, Adam would paint and draw continuously. For Christmas or his birthday he requested pencils and paintbrushes. It was when he was alone, creating works of art that no one but himself would ever see, that he was truly at peace. The smallest detail would not escape his notice. If there was one minute shadow out of place, Adam had to fix it. When he got older, his parents didn’t give him any more art supplies. They were too busy fighting, usually about him, Adam knew. He could tell from their faces when they looked at him how much they hated him. They didn’t want him as their child, not someone like him. They wanted a normal kid, one who would become a star quarterback and get all A’s in school and excel at music or acting. Adam was none of those things. Adam was a disappointment. 

His parents had not had enough money to put him into a deaf school. They barely learned how to communicate with him at all, although his father knew a little more sign language than his mom. So he never learned how to read or write beyond signing his name. But he loved books all the same—loved the feel of them in his hands, loved the smell of them when they were bought from a bookstore, just like he loved the smell of new shoes or fresh cookies.

Then his mother left. She didn’t even say goodbye to him. His dad brought him home from a watching baseball game one day to find the house stripped of her clothes and a bill of divorce on the table. After that, Adam's father broke down. He began doing drugs, skirted in and out of prison, and left his deaf son to fend for himself. Once he turned eighteen, Adam was left totally alone with no income nor the means to get one.

He was riding past the library when he saw a sign in the window. Something was printed in big, red letters, but he did not know what. Two men were standing by the sign, talking. He parked his bike and pretended to be looking at the sign, although he was surreptitiously watching their conversation.

“Guess they’re hiring,” one of them said. “Fifteen bucks an hour to clean after closing.”

The other man said something then, but his back was to Adam so he couldn’t read his lips. It didn’t matter. Adam knew enough to know he wanted to apply, but he did not know how he would fill out the application. He walked in and motioned to the clerk. “What do you need, sir?” the young woman asked.

His brain was discombobulated. How was he to communicate with her? Application, he signed. Obviously she had no idea what he was doing. He made an unintelligible noise, doing his best to form his lips the same way as “normal people.” He knew it must not have come out right. Adam was about to give up in despair when he got an idea. He motioned desperately to the sign in the window.

“Oh!” the lady cried, her eyes brightening with realization. “you must want a job.”

Adam nodded wildly. 

“Let me get you an application then,” she said. Adam shook his head and pointed to his mouth, then to hers. She didn’t seem to understand. He took a book from the shelf, flipped to a page, and pointed to the letters, then shook his head again. “Oh, I see,” she said, her face softening, “you can’t read, can you?” Adam shrugged, glancing at her mouth. Her red lips curved upward in a smile. “Don’t worry.” He watched them as she spoke. “I can give you an oral application. Is that all right?”

Adam nodded, completed the application via yes and no head-shakes, and was hired. The pretty lady’s name was Erin, he learned in the months to follow. She was always kind to him, always took the time to greet him. He came in before his shift started with the hope of seeing her. Erin began teaching him how to read, in exchange for his teaching her sign language. She swiftly became his best friend. 

Erin. Erin. Day after day he practiced saying her name in front of a mirror, forming the word, forcing it out of his throat, reveling in the vibrations in his chest when he spoke. Erin. Erin.

It was her birthday when he mastered it. Adam had never been more excited. He practically skipped inside the library, hours before his shift, to show her how well he could say her name. But she wasn’t there.

He pointed to her name on an employee sign-up list with a questioning gesture until someone told him. “Oh, Erin is gone. She got another job.”

Adam was devastated. From that time on, he lived by the adage to trust no one. Kitty was the only one loyal to him. Everyone else in his life deserted him; even Erin, his best friend. No one really wanted to be around him. No one could share in the small pleasures his soundless world only rarely afforded. Adam was imprisoned, surrounded by four impenetrable walls of silence.

He rode his bike back to his apartment, not bothering to tell his employer why he left. Kitty met him at the door but he ignored her. He snatched the pictures of his parents from his dresser and his dozens of art pieces from his cramped living room, and proceeded to rip them to shreds. His old masterpieces…gone. Ancient photographs…destroyed. He yelled in an effort to relieve his anger, to release the pain in his chest while Kitty cowered in fear under a chair.

Not until the last of his paintings had been torn to bits did he stop, quaking and sweating. A single tear squirreled out from underneath his eyelid, finding its way through the bumps and creases on his face and eventually landing on his bright blue sweater. He loved bright colors once, but maybe he wouldn't anymore. His mind wandering, Adam sank back amidst the fort of his destruction and fell asleep, exhausted. When he woke up, he was a new man, a different man. He would initiate a routine that he would allow no one to mess up. He wouldn’t allow anyone into his life to influence him, lest they hurt him in the end. And most importantly, he would never allow himself to love anybody again.

Months had passed since he made that vow in the stillness of his heart, and now Adam was finishing the last of his tasks for the evening, preparing to go home to spend another lonely night with no one but Kitty to keep him company. He wallowed in the children’s books, wiped down the last of the shelves, and readied himself to bike back to his apartment. But something caught his eye. It was a photo book about Christmas. He gingerly pulled it from its position on the ledge and began to flip through it. The first picture was of a family. They all looked so happy, gathered around each other with huge smiles on their faces next to an enormous Christmas tree. It was the kind of family he had always longed for. As he looked at the other pictures, he realized that all of the photos highlighted people having a wonderful time together.

Human interaction was something he had been missing because he had locked his heart away from the rest of the world. But greater than any material thing, he realized, was being with other people. As he turned off the last of the lights, Adam knew what he had to do. The next day, he would find people he could communicate with, find out their names. Then he would learn how to say them. And maybe they would want to talk to him just as much as he wished he could talk to them.

Even in his world of silence, Adam decided he could find happiness in more than one place if he truly wished to. And before long he discovered that the bright spots in his life were not like the one white spot on the dark body of his cat. They were as numerous as the stars dotting the night sky.