Genre Fiction
![Blair Fell - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B098PQQ9KD.jpg)
The Sign for Home: A Novel
When Arlo Dilly learns the girl he thought was lost forever might still be out there, he takes it as a sign and embarks on a life-changing journey to find his great love-and his freedom.
Arlo Dilly is young, handsome and eager to meet the right girl. He also happens to be DeafBlind, a Jehovah's Witness, and under the strict guardianship of his controlling uncle. His chances of finding someone to love seem slim to none.
And yet, it happened once before: many years ago, at a boarding school for the Deaf, Arlo met the love of his life-a mysterious girl with onyx eyes and beautifully expressive hands which told him the most amazing stories. But tragedy struck, and their love was lost forever.
Or so Arlo thought.
After years trying to heal his broken heart, Arlo is assigned a college writing assignment which unlocks buried memories of his past. Soon he wonders if the hearing people he was supposed to trust have been lying to him all along, and if his lost love might be found again.
No longer willing to accept what others tell him, Arlo convinces a small band of misfit friends to set off on a journey to learn the truth. After all, who better to bring on this quest than his gay interpreter and wildly inappropriate Belgian best friend? Despite the many forces working against him, Arlo will stop at nothing to find the girl who got away and experience all of life's joyful possibilities.
Arlo Dilly is young, handsome and eager to meet the right girl. He also happens to be DeafBlind, a Jehovah's Witness, and under the strict guardianship of his controlling uncle. His chances of finding someone to love seem slim to none.
And yet, it happened once before: many years ago, at a boarding school for the Deaf, Arlo met the love of his life-a mysterious girl with onyx eyes and beautifully expressive hands which told him the most amazing stories. But tragedy struck, and their love was lost forever.
Or so Arlo thought.
After years trying to heal his broken heart, Arlo is assigned a college writing assignment which unlocks buried memories of his past. Soon he wonders if the hearing people he was supposed to trust have been lying to him all along, and if his lost love might be found again.
No longer willing to accept what others tell him, Arlo convinces a small band of misfit friends to set off on a journey to learn the truth. After all, who better to bring on this quest than his gay interpreter and wildly inappropriate Belgian best friend? Despite the many forces working against him, Arlo will stop at nothing to find the girl who got away and experience all of life's joyful possibilities.
Editorial Reviews
"As if complex characters, a compelling voice, smart stylistic choices, and the fierce defense of diversity, accessibility, and equality were not enough, THE SIGN FOR HOME also immersed me in an engrossing and important conversation I knew too little about. I closed this book more enlightened, more engaged, and more hopeful than I was when I opened it, and I enjoyed every page along the way." -- Laurie Frankel, New York Times bestselling author of ONE TWO THREE
"Fell writes with a deep compassion and keen attention to the experiences of living with deafness and blindness. This heartfelt romance is hard to resist." ― Publishers Weekly
"A unique coming-of-age romance." ― Buzzfeed
"Fell writes with a deep compassion and keen attention to the experiences of living with deafness and blindness. This heartfelt romance is hard to resist." ― Publishers Weekly
"A unique coming-of-age romance." ― Buzzfeed
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1: Sniff 1 SNIFF
Sniff.
The air of your room. The odor of sheets and blankets, hot summer dust, old technology equipment, an Old Spice deodorant stick worn to a nub. The stinging smell of detergent from the washing machine outside your door burns the lining of your nostrils.
You are sitting alone at your desk in your T-shirt and shorts. The undersides of your thighs are sweaty and stick to the fiberglass chair. The tips of your fingers rub themselves against the cool plastic keys on the keyboard. You tilt your head down close to it.
Sniff.
Plastic-and-dripped-coffee smell. Maybe the sticky crumbs of old peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches? You lift the back of your wrist to your nose.
Sniff.
Soap, hair, and skin.
You look toward the computer screen, your face just inches away. Making love to the screen, your trainer from the Abilities Institute called it. The white screen has been inverted to black because it's easier on your eyes-or eye, rather, as there's only one that has any usable vision left. The giant white cursor, magnified with your ZoomText software, winks at you over and over again, calling you to write, demanding you take control of your sinful mind. You begin to type three-inch-tall white letters that march across the screen one at a time… T… O… M… R… S…
To Mrs. Clara Shuster, MSW
I have getted your email. Please telling potential MALE interpreter (10 a.m.) and female interpreter (11 a.m.) with TOP TACTILE ASL SKILLS I will meet them and YOU tomorrow on ABILITIES INSTITUTE FOR THE DISABLED, 114 Skidmore Street, Poughkeepsie, NY, at SECOND floor conference room. After meeting BOTH MALE AND FEMALE ASL interpreters I will then DECIDING which will team with my OLD LONG TIME INTERPRETER MOLLY CLINCH.
You stop typing. Molly has been your interpreter and Support Service Provider, or SSP, since you were thirteen years old. Other than Brother Birch, Molly is the most important person in your life who is still alive. She was there when all the worst, unspeakable, sinful things happened.
Your fingers find their place back on the keyboard.
Tell INTERPRETERS bring jacket or sweater for interview, because Second floor of ABILITIES INSTITUTE on 114 Skidmore Street can getting COLD like refrigerator. (FROWNING) Cold, I guess, make Mrs. Clara Shuster SMARTER and WORK HARDER. HA HA. This is JOKE. (BIG SMILE)
Writing English is hard. Brother Birch says when hearing people read your writing they think you're a small child. (You aren't.) Or that you have developmental disabilities. (You don't.) English is just not your first language. American Sign Language is. Writing in a language that you've literally never heard is like battling monsters with your hands tied behind your back. No matter how much you try to butt them with your head, they keep knocking you down. The worst are the confusing Preposition Monsters and the giant Verb-Tense Rodents, sharp-toothed beasts who time and again… have eat you? Have eat-ed you? Has ate you? Have will eaten you?
This is why Brother Birch is letting you take a class at the community college this summer to make you a better writer, which will help you to write sermons and preach the word of God. Hallelujah.
Gold star.
And maybe you will also be able to meet new people, including girls, and that will help you to stop having sinful thoughts about the person you are never supposed to think about ever again.
Red star.
You return to typing the email to Mrs. Clara Shuster.
When male and female interpreters comes to Abilities Institute they will recognize ME since I will be ONLY 23-year-old MAN with a WHITE cane and DOG who does NOT look up when Interpreters CALLS OUT NAME. Again JOKE. (Big Smile) DARK HUMOR. I am not RUDE MAN. Of course I DEAFBLIND. HA HA HA. Please tell all interpreters I DO NOT LIKE SWEATY HANDS or bad breath or too much perfume which stings my nose.
Before, when you were small, everyone at the Kingdom Hall was taller than you, so your head would come up to their chest and shoulders. They always smelled like armpit. Now you smell the tops of their heads, which smell like hair cream, shampoo, or dust.
You like short people better than tall people.
Mama was short. Molly is short. Your old friends from the Rose Garden School, Big Head Lawrence and Martin, were short. Martin also had lots of fat on his body. (You also like fat people.) The person-who-...
Sniff.
The air of your room. The odor of sheets and blankets, hot summer dust, old technology equipment, an Old Spice deodorant stick worn to a nub. The stinging smell of detergent from the washing machine outside your door burns the lining of your nostrils.
You are sitting alone at your desk in your T-shirt and shorts. The undersides of your thighs are sweaty and stick to the fiberglass chair. The tips of your fingers rub themselves against the cool plastic keys on the keyboard. You tilt your head down close to it.
Sniff.
Plastic-and-dripped-coffee smell. Maybe the sticky crumbs of old peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches? You lift the back of your wrist to your nose.
Sniff.
Soap, hair, and skin.
You look toward the computer screen, your face just inches away. Making love to the screen, your trainer from the Abilities Institute called it. The white screen has been inverted to black because it's easier on your eyes-or eye, rather, as there's only one that has any usable vision left. The giant white cursor, magnified with your ZoomText software, winks at you over and over again, calling you to write, demanding you take control of your sinful mind. You begin to type three-inch-tall white letters that march across the screen one at a time… T… O… M… R… S…
To Mrs. Clara Shuster, MSW
I have getted your email. Please telling potential MALE interpreter (10 a.m.) and female interpreter (11 a.m.) with TOP TACTILE ASL SKILLS I will meet them and YOU tomorrow on ABILITIES INSTITUTE FOR THE DISABLED, 114 Skidmore Street, Poughkeepsie, NY, at SECOND floor conference room. After meeting BOTH MALE AND FEMALE ASL interpreters I will then DECIDING which will team with my OLD LONG TIME INTERPRETER MOLLY CLINCH.
You stop typing. Molly has been your interpreter and Support Service Provider, or SSP, since you were thirteen years old. Other than Brother Birch, Molly is the most important person in your life who is still alive. She was there when all the worst, unspeakable, sinful things happened.
Your fingers find their place back on the keyboard.
Tell INTERPRETERS bring jacket or sweater for interview, because Second floor of ABILITIES INSTITUTE on 114 Skidmore Street can getting COLD like refrigerator. (FROWNING) Cold, I guess, make Mrs. Clara Shuster SMARTER and WORK HARDER. HA HA. This is JOKE. (BIG SMILE)
Writing English is hard. Brother Birch says when hearing people read your writing they think you're a small child. (You aren't.) Or that you have developmental disabilities. (You don't.) English is just not your first language. American Sign Language is. Writing in a language that you've literally never heard is like battling monsters with your hands tied behind your back. No matter how much you try to butt them with your head, they keep knocking you down. The worst are the confusing Preposition Monsters and the giant Verb-Tense Rodents, sharp-toothed beasts who time and again… have eat you? Have eat-ed you? Has ate you? Have will eaten you?
This is why Brother Birch is letting you take a class at the community college this summer to make you a better writer, which will help you to write sermons and preach the word of God. Hallelujah.
Gold star.
And maybe you will also be able to meet new people, including girls, and that will help you to stop having sinful thoughts about the person you are never supposed to think about ever again.
Red star.
You return to typing the email to Mrs. Clara Shuster.
When male and female interpreters comes to Abilities Institute they will recognize ME since I will be ONLY 23-year-old MAN with a WHITE cane and DOG who does NOT look up when Interpreters CALLS OUT NAME. Again JOKE. (Big Smile) DARK HUMOR. I am not RUDE MAN. Of course I DEAFBLIND. HA HA HA. Please tell all interpreters I DO NOT LIKE SWEATY HANDS or bad breath or too much perfume which stings my nose.
Before, when you were small, everyone at the Kingdom Hall was taller than you, so your head would come up to their chest and shoulders. They always smelled like armpit. Now you smell the tops of their heads, which smell like hair cream, shampoo, or dust.
You like short people better than tall people.
Mama was short. Molly is short. Your old friends from the Rose Garden School, Big Head Lawrence and Martin, were short. Martin also had lots of fat on his body. (You also like fat people.) The person-who-...
