Heat Wave

I frequently find myself in a more contemplative state, in search of a hidden nugget in my psyche that can be molded into a reasonably comprehendible story. Then, yesterday, as I was sweltering in this relentless heat, a memory jumped me.
There are summers in Illinois that are searing. The sky opens wide to enveloping cerulean, exposing a sun that feels unforgiving. The effect is made even more intense given the gloomy dimness of the six month winter. When I was young, I fantasized about those days.
The kids in my neighborhood were like family. I will always hold a belief that it was the winters that brought us together, as if we were an army fighting together in a war against hoary depression. So, when summers came, it was triumph. We were free from the beast for a whole summer!
There was such a summer when I was ten. I never wanted to be inside. There were bicycles to be ridden or tag to be played. I needed, as a matter of principle, to have grass stained knees and sweat-messed hair. I could run perpetually. And fast.
At the beginning of the summer, one of my friends brought a new participant to the family. He was a cousin of a much younger neighbor. I decided quickly that he looked about my age as I saw him curiously standing there smiling and saying nothing when I walked up and introduced myself.
"Hey" I half-waved, half-smiled.
"Hey" he intoned. There was an odd modulation in it. "My name is Jaime."
"Hey" I said again, feeling a ten-year-old's awkwardness.
Jaime was a tall and athletic looking kid. Seemed ready for running. Didn't ever stop smiling, that I noticed. And Jaime was deaf. Or, as least, he was getting there fast. He couldn't really hear anything we said and he couldn't quite talk correctly. And as soon as I got past that, I noticed one other thing: he didn't care. I loved that. There was a relief on my young consciousness that I didn't have to acknowledge it. I didn't have to feel uncomfortable. Didn't have to treat him differently. He would make a great addition in our family. He was so happy.
And so, our group continued the summer rave. We were spies, with hidden messages. We were superheroes, spending more time debating whose superpowers were best than actually doing superheroly-type things. We were hell-fire on a bike. We were gangsters with cap guns.
He wasn't limited in any way that I could see. He was just a kid, tagging people, trying to outrun the sunset, screaming for the sake of screaming. He could feel the heat. He could see the sky. And that was always good enough. It is a gift, when you are ten, to have someone teach you that life is about appreciating the perfect moments when they come.
In one of our gangster days, we were cap-gunning our way to a big heist and every time that someone would snap-pop-pop their way to a big getaway, Jaime would laugh. And he had an infectious, unencumbered laugh. After our crew had executed a few major bank robberies, I finally asked Jaime (in my own way) what was so funny. He grabbed my hand with the cap gun in it and pulled it next to his ear and pulled the trigger finger. SNAP! Laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh. He could hear that. A few of the others came over and joined in. Jaime wanted one on each side of his head. Snap-POP! The guns were pointed straight up in the air, as if we were celebrating something in the old west. Pretty soon, we were all laughing hysterically. It felt like I was doing something wonderful for Jaime. He was so happy.
Then our parents saw us. And it seemed like all of them were around us in an instant, with looks of horror and admonishment on their faces. They grabbed the guns and pulled us away to begin punishment. We were all confused. See, the adults cared. They saw it as something that it could never, never be to us. Cruel. But they didn't understand...we didn't treat family that way. We wanted to give him a gift. We wanted to share in his enthusiasm. But as adults, they would hear none of it. We raged over the injustice. We were forced to say we were sorry. And the worst part is that Jaime was forced to accept our apologies. And in doing so, I could see he felt deaf. Possibly for the first time in his life.