I didn't know if I was making sound to wake them up. All I could hear was silence, which isn't really hearing at all. I had never heard a noise before, so didn't know if I was making any as I carefully went through the front door. I locked the door, feeling it click but not hearing it.

For the seventeen years of my life my parents had stifled me, only concerned that I be educated and stay out of trouble. I had very rarely done anything on my own. I could talk and communicate like any other person- though I had never heard my own voice. I had had a tutor to teach me, using hand symbols or writing instructions until I insisted on learning to talk properly. It was a long time, but I was proud of my accomplishments in the classroom, and was currently looking to get into a college.

I made sure the door was locked, and turned on our porch. I looked carefully at the Manhatten street. It was silent, absolutely dead silent (of course, it always was to me). I saw people moving in the daawn light, and mouth moving, but didn't hear them. If I got close enough I could see their mouthes and know what they were saying, but now I was alone.

I had passed the distribution stand many times, and this morning made a beeline there. I passed a man hawking his wares, and understood what he said. Fish for sale. I kept an eye on everything around me. If I got in the way of a horse and buggy I would never hear it and promptly be run over. At the distribution stand I saw the boys hanging around, in line, or looking through their papers.

I noticed how they dressed. I wasn't dressed like the other boys- I was in nicer clothes. They had mismatched clothing that slouched in a comfortable way. I got into line, determined to make it through the day.

Still in silence, a lanky guy in a bandana tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, and he talked rapidly. I shook head. Carefully I pronunciated the words to find out what he was saying.

"Please, speak slower. I can't understand." I had no idea what my voice sounded like: high or low or squeaky, but he understood. He repeated what he said and I watched his mouth intently.

"You new? Ain't seen you around before. You didn't hear me calling."

At least I could understand. Some people spoke so incorrectly or so fast you couldn't understand their mouth's movements. When it got too hard--- resort to pencil and paper. " I am looking for a way to make some money," I explained, careful not to slur the words.

"Well, I could show you how if you need help."

I thanked him. With another quizzical look he went back to his group. I flushed, turning red. If they found out I was deaf, would they threat me like my parents?

"Well Daniel, it isn't too hard, huh?" Jack asked. Speaking slowly he had guided me through the day. The worst part was having to yell the headlines out. He apparently understood me though, and so had the buyers, since a bit more than half of my newspapers were gone. So far, he didn't know that I couldn't hear a word he was saying, and only knew that he had to speak slowly for me.

I nodded a response. I sold a paper to a pretty girl, and tipped my hat. She smiled, and I watched her go. After a few moments Jack tapped me again. "What are you, deaf? You never hear me when I call."

I shrunk inwards. Did he know, or was it a figure of speech? Before I could think twice he gestured for me to follow him. We went down several alleys, shortcutting to a small cafe. Other newsies were in there, talking I suppose. Their mouths moved a mile a mintue. I took a seat on a chair close to the others. A waiter came around, but his bushy mustache made it hard for me to understand. I shook my head and said "I can't understand. Please write it." I produced a pencil and a small notebook from my pocket. He looked exasperated and wrote "What are you getting?" I had no idea what they offered and looked around. I pointed at the steaming soup one person was eating. He went off, and I could feel the vibration sof his feet on the floor subside. I turned back to the group.

Jack had seen me ask the waiter to write down what he was saying. He had been sitting next to me, so how could he not notice? I avoided his eyes and watched the others. An Italian guy talked very rapidly, and I got lost in his sayings. A curly haired one talked seldom, and slowly. I caught from a blond with an eye patch that his name was Mush. The blond was Blink. The newsies' names were mostly a mystery to me- why would anyone be named Mush or Blink?

In the silence I didn't hear the waiter come up behind me. Jack pointed behind me, and I turned. The waitor talked fast again, and I looked around for help. Jack repeated it. "Do you want bread with it?" I nodded, feeling very stupid.

The rest of lunch went on without incident, in silence. I tried to keep up with conversations, but had a hard time. I caught things about prices, horse racing, a girl named Tana, who was evidently Puerta Rican, and a snatch about a Lodging house. I ate the soup without saying anything. Jack went with me back outside, and turned to talk to me.

"I know there's something going on with you, Daniel," he said, slowly. "I'm not sure what it is but..." I lost him and shook my head again. He gestured for pencil and paper, which I handed to him. It said:

"I know there's something going on with you, Daniel. I'm not sure what it is but why don't you just outright say it instead of getting into situations that embarress yourself? Whatever you're hiding, it can't be that bad." I read it quickly and opened my mouth to answer. Thinking twice, I snapped it shut and scribbled my reply.

"It's not anything to hide; it must be obvious. I'm just trying to still be treated like a human being." Handing him the notebook, I watched him. He scrunched his brow and then looked up at me. He asked me a question slowly.

"So what is it?" he asked. I gestured for the book, but he shook his head. I got slightly ruffled at this, but replied.

"You don't know?" I demanded of him.

He thought a minute, then an understanding came. "So that's why your voice sounds kind of funny."

"Funny?" I said silently.

"No accent, and the pitch keeps fluctuating."

At least now I had some understanding as to what I sounded like. I knew that pitch was sound, moving up and down a scale. Did my voice do that?

Jack looked as though he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Handing me the notebook he grinned, and beckoned to follow.

After selling all the papers (I only had 40) he announced that he was going to show me the Lodging house so I could find him anytime. We walked slowly, meeting up with other newsies on their way back too. They chattered, and I walked in the silence that was familiar. I trailed behind a bit, looking at everything in the shop windows. I stopped to look in the window of a bookstore. Books were friends, for writing is a way to express anything without having to hear.

I didn't think much of the two people coming up behind me. I saw their reflections in the glass. Suddenly I found myself kneling on the ground, and they were behind me, holding onto the collar of my shirt and jabbing me in the small of the back. The longer I was down the harder they kicked. Finally one came around and looked me in the face. I saw my reflection- a scared, short boy of 17, light brown curly hair, wide eyes being kicked around by two guys in dark clothes and three day beards. One came and crouched in my face. Sneering. He said something, but I didn't understand. He must have yelled, because his mouth was wide and he was angry. Finally he stood up, and the other let go of my shirt. They ran away as quickly as they had come.

I let out what must have been a wimper, and crumpled on the ground in a sitting position, which hurt dreadfully because of my sore back. If I had only known what they were saying, I could have stopped them. I cursed inwardly, slumping down.

I didn't hear Jack come (how could I?) but opened my eyes as he tapped my shoulder. I winced, and peered at him. He just shook his head and grabbed my arm, pulling my arm to get me up. I stood, wobbly, and he looped my arm over his shoulder, helping me to the Lodging house.

"Hey," he said, standing over my bunk. "What's up?"

"I need to go home," I replied. He grinned wickedly.

"Taken care of."

It was my turn to scrunch my eyebrows quizzically. He grabbed a loose sheet of paper and wrote his explanation.

"You told me your address while we walked home. I went to your parents and told them where you were. They didn't trust me, but I convinced them that you were fine. They said they had known you would try something sooner or later, and you could stay if you came straight home as soon as you got up and got some things."

I was completely surprised that my parents would consent to anything like that. They were so overprotective! But, if they said OK, get on with it before they second-guessed themselves.

I had made myself at home in the Lodging house. Some of my belongings were stored under the bed, and I felt more comfortable around the other newsies. No longer did I have to worry about them finding out or treating me weird, because they all knew and they acted the same. I could carry on a conversation with others now. There was no one to talk to at home, but here there were people my age, and topics other than school. I brought my books with me, and spent a few hours every night studying.

No matter where I went to study I could do so, in absolute silence. I could study while the others had rowdy poker games, and not be disturbed. The more I stayed though, the more I found myslef being drawn into the games or conversations.Jack finally persuaded me that I had no reason to be shy, and a bunch of us went to parties a few times, something I had never done before. I even met a few girls who were nice or pretty, and went out dancing with them, laughing and talking and having a good time.

There were lots of things to be learned on the streets of New York- as much as in my curriculum books. I did things I had never thought I would ever do, like going to a circus or getting into fist fights, but I liked it all.

I was away from a sheltered life, and finally seeing what the world was like.

At times it was cruel, at other times I loved being in it. I actually had a life now, without worrying what others thought. Most of the time communication was a constant battle between my disability and the talking, hearing world.

But it made no difference in the long run what I heard, or, more specifically, everything that I couldn't.