Day One - pt. one

I don't know what I was thinking. This is impossible. How am I going to do this for 6 more days?

Let me tell you about my day. 

This morning, at 10 am, I met with my Seminar in Contemporary Art class, like I do every Wednesday. Having informed her beforehand, I asked our professor, Ms. Didi Dunphy, to read aloud for the assembled group my contract, outlining the parameters of this project (a complete copy of this contract is in the last post-- I needed it to be announced publicly to properly begin the silence). 


Upon her conclusion of this reading, it had started, and immediately I felt my tongue swell to three times its normal size. Of course, as soon as you are not permitted to do something, you immediately want to do it more. This is something I had anticipated. Let me tell you about what I didn't. 
This is of course, a class, as I am, if you weren't already aware, a student. Lecture classes mandate someone speaking to you continuously, while you take notes, pay attention, and ask questions when appropriate. 
Now imagine you have to write your questions down, and gesture for the person next to you to ask them for you. by the time everyone is clear on what's happening, what you're asking doesn't even make any sense. 
Whoops. 
I refrained from asking any other questions (something I am frequent to do) for the remainder of class. I was acutely aware that everyone in this room now knew what was going on, and that in a way, much of the pressure of dealing with real life was removed within this context. 


Business as usual. 
After seminar, I decided to sit with some of my fellow graduate students while they ate lunch at a table in our shared studio. 


Initially, I felt the need to participate in conversation (through quick writing), but eventually, it shifted to such a point that I could listen in. 
At this time, not speaking, I became aware of something unexpected happening: I was extremely aware of individual facial expressions of of those around-- people who I knew very well, my friends, whom I see and talk to everyday- having forcibly put myself in a position in which I can only listen, and not actively participate, I was watching a conversation quite unexceptional in terms of any other conversation we had ever had, in a completely different manner. 
Also, I couldn't help but notice the light flooding through the windows behind them all. Really, it was quite beautiful. 

Notice that no one is looking at me in these pictures? Get used to that. I don't think it's goiing to change anytime soon. 




But don't get me wrong: these are the people who are on "my side." These are the folks who've been with me since I initially though of doing this. These are the guys it's supposed to be easy with -- I learned today that there's no 'easy' with anyone, because whether or not they perceive me as being invisible, that is the way in which I will perceive myself.
How much of our existence, of our feeling of belonging in this word, is predicated on speech, on interaction with other people? Apparently, for me, a lot. 
I decided to work in my studio, in isolation (an entirely normal activity) for a while. 




But "a while" turned into almost 6 hours. Again, not at all an unusual turn of events, but I did find myself venturing out less and less than I normally do, cutting down on my frequent trips to the computer lab to check emails (something I do roughly 200 times any given day). 
At one point, after I'd measured out some wood to build a stretcher for a painting, I carried everything downstairs to the woodshop to cut it up, and encountered a woman I'd never seen before, who asked me where someone was. While reaching into my pocket to produce a card for her, she then says to me:
"Are you the one that can't talk?"
I blinked my eyes a couple of times.
"My teacher Jon was telling me about how one of the graduate students wasn't going to talk for a week. Was that you?"
I nodded yes, wrote a brief note thanking her for her enthusiasm, and gave her a card, letting her know that she could keep it if she liked (note: she did!).
Another hour and a half in the studio, and it's unavoidable: I'm starving, and I have no food.


Luckily, there was no one at Subway but me and my new best friend, who assembled my supper. I stood outside briefly, writing out what would I wanted to order on my notepad, and entered into the fine establishment with a card in hand. I give it to her. She says:
"'I'm sorry, but I am unable to speak.'"
(looking at notebook)
"'May I please have a 12 inch meatball sub with White American cheese on Honey Oat, please?'"
(Looking up at my smiling hungry mouth, she says:
"Well this is fantastic. I just think this is fantastic! This is the best thing that has happened to me all day!"
I smile and nod (two things I did quite a bit of today). 
"Well OK! I'm going to point, and just nod when you want something!"
Working together, we assembled my ideal sandwich, which I consumed in full in the restaurant. Also, I was fortunate enough to watch as other patrons came in, and my new friend pointed me out to the hungry sub-seekers, saying loudly, "See him? He can't talk!" 


I think it's fair to say that dinner went well. 
Following that, I noticed that I was running dangerously low on cigarettes. 


This is a gas station that I frequent, although I didn't recognize the woman working behind the counter tonight. Still riding high from my success at ordering dinner, I wrote in my notebook "One pack of Camel Lights, Please" before entering. I presented the attendant with a card, and showed her my request on the notebook. She smiled, and to my horror says "Oh, I understand sign language! My momma was deaf too!" All the while signing every word, or so I can only assume, because I do not now nor have I ever understood sign language. 
Now, to be fair, when discussing this project with my colleagues beforehand, several people asked me, "What will you do if someone starts signing to you?" to which I repeatedly replied, "It doesn't say on the card that I'm deaf, only that I can't speak."
Well. 
I shrugged my shoulders, and (surprise!) smiled and nodded. Instantly, it became insanely important to me that this woman not realize that I actually was physically able to speak, that for reason I could not at the time accurately articulate, I was simply not speaking. 
Crisis averted. I got my cigarettes (thank god thank god), signed "Thank You" (the one and only sign I know, other than the letters 'A' and 'B') and got the hell out of dodge. 
At which point, I decided to swing by Darin's house, seeing as he was in the neighborhood.