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190 Tonya Marie Stremlau A Nice Romantic Dinner SARA, SITTING ON THE bench in the warm evening sun outside of her favorite Cajun restaurant in Washington, D.C., looked at her watch. It said 6:30, so Brad was now 30 minutes late; because it was a weeknight, they had agreed to come straight from their respective jobs and meet at the restaurant. Since Sara drove and Brad took Metro, they would be able to go home together. She wasn’t worried, Brad was frequently late, but she was annoyed. Sara had actually gotten there a little early, partly out of excitement —Sara and Brad were celebrating their seventh anniversary —and partly because she was anal about being on time. After seven years she should have known that Brad would be late, and resolved (not for the first time) to start telling him that she wanted to meet or leave at least 15 minutes before she really did. She never followed through on these resolutions, however, sure that the first time she did, Brad would actually show up then and use it against her. As Sara waited, she thought back to seven years ago. Sara and Brad had had a whirlwind courtship; they became engaged after two months of dating and married six months after that. They had both fallen in love quickly and hard, and getting married had seemed like the logical thing to do. That way they could pursue together the life they imagined—graduate school, then jobs and two or three kids. Sara was used to men being turned off or intimidated by her competitiveness and intellect if they weren’t already scared off by the fact that she was deaf. The wedding had been nice—simple but nice. It had mostly gone right. It rained, but they were inside. The cake leaned, but it didn’t fall. Brad forgot to pick up the ice for the drinks, but Sara’s brothers went out to get it. Sara’s mom complained that Sara’s dress was too low cut, but Sara’s aunts said it was gorgeous. And, best of all Gallaudet Book 5/1/02, 9:56 AM 190 Tonya Marie Stremlau 191 for Sara, for the first time she had a sign language interpreter while she was with her extended family; at last, she was able to talk easily to her grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Sara came back to the present when she saw Brad walking toward the restaurant. He was easy to pick out from a distance because he was tall and had a distinctive, bouncy walk. His blond hair (thinning some now that he was in his early 30s) also made him easy to pick out. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she got up, waved, and walked to meet him. He was carrying a bouquet of red and white carnations, her favorite flower. Sara’s annoyance at Brad for being late melted some, and she reached up to give him a kiss. “You are late,” she said and signed. “Let’s go eat!” “Happy Anniversary,” he said, and gave her the flowers. The hostess led them through the dining area. Since it was a Tuesday evening, there weren’t too many people eating dinner. Fewer than half of the tables were occupied. The décor left no doubt that the cuisine was Cajun: Mardi Gras posters, a mural of a swamp scene with a big alligator, a collection of hot sauce bottles. Sara and Brad were seated at a table near the right wall. Sara sat where she could see the whole restaurant, with her back to the wall; she liked to be able to see what everyone else was doing since she couldn’t hear them. The alligator’s head in the mural was directly over hers, a reptilian guardian angel, sure to scare off any undesirables. The hostess gave them their menus and left them alone. Sara opened her menu and started reading through. Decisions, decisions . How to order when just about everything looks good? Etouffee? Catfish? Half-and-half fried oysters and crawfish? If oysters really had an aphrodisiac effect, that might be a good anniversary meal. She was still reading through the descriptions of the various entrees when out of the corner of her eye she saw a waiter standing next to the table and looked up. The waiter was already in midsentence of whatever it was he was saying, so Sara looked at...

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