Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
ARCHIE
The morning after getting fired was uneventful. I don't know if I expected to wake up feeling different now that my life was in jeopardy.
Okay, so maybe my life wasn't completely in jeopardy or anything like that.
Still, it felt frustrating to know that my entire existence hinged on whether or not I could find a reliable job in the near future. Since I slept in later than usual, I missed seeing my roommate before he left for work. It was no big deal since he had tried so hard to cheer me up the night before.
The guy deserved a break after my moping.
With nothing better to do, I headed to the one place I knew would put a smile on my face. The small coffee shop was tucked away downtown. It was smack dab in the middle of the busiest area, but you didn’t feel as if you were in the midst of the crazy rush.
Somehow, Sinclair had created a safe space for everyone that came by. His warm smile greeted me when I stepped through the front door.
"Archie?” he yelled across the room.
A few heads turned my way. I waved at the familiar faces as I approached the counter.
"Morning, Sinclair," I told him.
He clicked his tongue. "More like afternoon, my friend."
I glanced at the clock behind him and winced. I had no clue I had slept for so long. Shrugging, I tapped the finger on the counter.
"Try not to give me crap. I'm not having the best couple of days."
His grin turned down quickly. "What do you mean? Is something wrong?"
I waved my hand. "Let's not talk until I've had some caffeine. I would love something laced with enough to get me through the rest of the day.”
He snorted, then went to work. I watched him pour the espresso shots into the cup, then add several different flavorings to it. Who knew what kind of mix he was making? Despite the vast blend of flavors, it was always delicious.
"Here you go," he said.
When I went to pay him, he waved it off. I had no clue how the guy ever made money. He was constantly giving out free drinks to people he cared about.
"Now then, tell me what's going on.”
I took a sip of the coffee, then leaned my hip on the counter. "Well, if you want the honest truth, I'm in a bit of a pickle. My job fired me after they found out I had been looking for other work. Something about not sticking to what they had been hoping for me. Apparently, I was on the fast track to management, though no one had indicated such. Without a job,” I paused for dramatic effect, “my work visa will no longer be valid.”
Sinclair gasped, his hand pressed to his chest. "You've been working with a work visa all this time, and I had no clue?”
I nodded and took another sip of coffee as I thought of how I wanted to word things. “The short story is that I need it to stay here. Back home, I won't be accepted because I'm gay and will not settle down with so-and-so's daughter the first minute they get wind that I'm home. My mother made sure that everything was in order when she sent me here, and I've worked at the same place for so long, it felt like nothing could go wrong.”
I snorted at the irony of it all.
Sinclair bit his lip, his eyes roving over me. "Maybe I know someone. What kind of work do you do? We've talked about different things, but never really this."
I understood what he meant. I rarely told people what I did.
There were two types when it came down to it. The kind that thought my job was boring and useless, thanks to technology. And then there were the kind that was so fascinated, they would ask me to say the most mundane things in every single language I knew. Neither were really enjoyable for me.
"I'm an interpreter,” I admitted. “I know a few different languages, and my work is typically to make sure everyone in the room understands one another. I doubt you know anyone who needs that.”
Sinclair shook his head. "No, sorry, I actually don’t, which is surprising considering I know a lot of people.”
I tilted my head. “I imagine so with this business. You get to see all types.”
He agreed. A customer came in before he could say anything else, so I took my coffee over to a table to sit down. I pulled out my phone and began scrolling through job listings again. Maybe something had come up since the last time I looked. It was anyone's guess.
Before I could get too deep into my search, a shadow crossed in front of me and sat across the table. I looked up to see Sinclair there.
He leaned forward, arms pressed against the tabletop as he stared me down. “Is there any other work you do? I might have an idea, but it could be controversial.”
"Controversial how?" I asked.
His eyes widened a touch. “Do you happen to know sign language? American Sign Language, I should say. I know there are multiple types. Since you know other languages, you might know them…”
I ended his ramble by placing my hands on his. “I know American Sign Language. Why? Are you wanting to learn? A private gig won't help my visa,” I admitted.
He rolled his eyes playfully. “It wouldn't be for me. I know someone who needs to learn. I've been talking about it with Memphis, my boyfriend, since he works with whom I think needs it. The guy is not a big fan of the idea.”
“Why isn't he a fan?” I asked.
Sinclair looked around the room as if he was waiting for someone to jump out and tell him, "No, don't share the story." Instead, he pressed ahead.
“The issue is that he hasn't always needed to learn. There was an incident. He no longer has the ability to speak. While he's been recovering, the team has been thinking of ideas of how to help him adjust. Texting will hopefully be a useful tool. We wanted him to be able to feel free to talk as he wanted without anything else. Everyone's willing to learn, even me. It's just convincing him to do it.”
My curiosity was piqued. Someone who suffered from an injury that made it so they cannot speak doesn't want to learn sign language? Yet he's completely surrounded by people who want to help him and are willing to learn.
It's not every day you find that type of situation.
Most people didn't care if there was a language barrier. I couldn't explain how many times I’d seen someone yell at another person simply because they knew they didn't speak perfect English.
I wanted to explain to them that the person wasn't hard of hearing. Yelling wouldn’t help the matter. Most of the time, they even understand enough to get by.
My job was just to make sure the English-speaking people could understand. It was a sense of irony that often left me frustrated.
“It's good that he has people like you and his friends in his life,” I told Sinclair. “Not everyone would be willing to do something like that. It's time consuming, you know? Though having friends to practice with is helpful and can speed up the process.”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair and smiling. “That's exactly what I told Memphis! I figured if we could pair up and work together during our downtime, it would be something that he could get through quicker. And if there was enough of us, then he would never be alone. Hell, even his physical therapist/live-in nurse would probably help. Fabian is a sweetheart.”
I raised my brow. “He has a live-in nurse?”
Sinclair grimaced. “Not by his choice, of course. His boss is very adamant that he has the best care, which means living at headquarters and having a nurse and an on-call doctor, and a full team of super protective men ready to go to bat for him. Honestly, it's kind of hilarious. Especially considering before this, he would not have needed anyone to help him with anything because he was the most independent person I think I've ever met.”
I frowned at the thought. If this was someone who was highly independent but then had their life completely turned upside down due to an injury, they would be very reluctant to do anything that would highlight the changes in their life.
It was no wonder he hesitated at learning sign language. He probably just couldn't stand the idea that he would need help.
And with the way Sinclair just blew off the idea as hilarious tells me no one understands where he’s coming from.
They aren’t intentionally mean.
It’s just hard to empathize for some people.
Sinclair was right in other ways though. He didn't necessarily need to learn ASL, but how much easier would it make his life? How much more comfortable would he be if he could communicate directly with someone without the use of technology?
I often found that when someone made the effort to learn another language and reach out, people would be more open to discussion. Their lack of belief in people's compassion was learned from experience. Having someone do just the bare minimum could be the difference between a stilted conversation and an exuberant one in which both parties were content.
Just last week, I was in the grocery store with a woman who struggled with the cashier. I stepped in to mediate, and both were so happy after we finished. One of the true joys of my job was to make people happy.
I grabbed a napkin and wrote my number down. “Well, if this guy ever decides he needs help, I'd be willing to do so. Even if I get booted out of the country in the next couple of weeks, he can always video call me or something. We'll work it out.”
Sinclair snatched up the napkin and tucked it away in his pocket. “We'll see about this whole leaving the country thing. You're one of my favorite customers. I refuse to let you go if I can do anything about it.”
I took another sip of my coffee then stood. The conversation had brought about some unwanted thoughts. I'd come here to escape, and my problems seemed to have just followed me.
“I’m going to head on out,” I told him. “Got to start looking for those job postings.”
He frowned, then stood quickly and hugged me. It was the first time we’d ever touched this way. There was nothing sexual about it. It felt like an old friend really.
I patted his back, then pulled away to look him in the eye. “Thank you, Sinclair. I appreciate your kindness with all this.”
He squeezed my biceps, his hold tight. “You never have to thank me for being a kind person, Archie. I personally think there should be more of us in the world. What do I know though? I'm just a barista.”
We both laughed at that since I knew he owned the place and had turned it around when it wasn't doing that great. I also knew that he'd gone through a rough patch not that long ago and he’d overcome it with flying colors.
Plus, he came out of it with a boyfriend who, quite frankly, wasn't bad to look at. He wasn't necessarily my type, but it had been so long for me, I didn't really have a type anymore.
Not that I would sleep with anyone, but that's beside the point.
I snatched up my coffee and left the shop ready to put my best foot forward. One way or another, I had to find a way to stay here. This was the only life I really knew and loved.
I wouldn't go down without a fight.