should explain what I meant, that I was referring to the husband I lost a dozen years ago. But I hardly know Andrew and Ialready feel ridiculous enough, so I force a laugh and say, “Sorry. Long day.”
He smiles, although I can still see lingering concern in his eyes. “I know the feeling. But trust me, these burgers make everything better. They’re magic.”
I smile back and take another big bite, marveling at how juicy and perfect it is and trying not to think about fat grams and calories, which Dan would surely be pointing out. I’m so fixated on not thinking about how unhealthy the burger is that I don’t register how quickly it’s disappearing until I’ve almost finished. I look up to see Andrew, his plate empty, looking amused.
“Told you you’d love it,” he says.
“I can’t believe I ate so much!” I exclaim, looking down at my hands as if they were wholly responsible for my lapse in nutritional judgment. “How embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” he repeats. “No way. Believe me when I say that only chauvinistic pigs are turned off by a woman who can eat. Personally, I think it’s awesome.”
My cheeks burning, I start to set the remainder of my burger down, but he leans forward and says quickly, “No more ASL until you finish that, young lady.”
“Well, you drive a hard bargain,” I say, then it occurs to me that I sound like I’m flirting. I quickly wipe the smile from my face and clear my throat. “So, um, what made you decide to go into teaching sign language? Is this your full-time job?”
“You first,” he says. “What brought you to ASL class?”
I take another bite of my burger to buy time, since I can’t exactly say I’m learning sign language so that I can communicate with my fake daughter in my fake dream world with my hamburger-loving dead husband. So instead, I swallow and tell him, “I’m a music therapist.” I hesitate and say, “And, um, I’ve been hearingabout advances in music therapy for deaf kids, so I thought it might be worth looking into.”
Andrew’s face lights up. “Really? That’s awesome!” He pauses. “Okay, I’m going to sound like an idiot. I’ve heard of music therapy, of course, but I’ve never known a music therapist before. How does it work, exactly?”
“Lots of different ways.” I glance up to see him watching me intently, so I go on. “It’s hard to sum up, and actually, even in the music therapy community, there are a lot of definitions of what music therapy is, and a lot of applications to what we do.” I pause and remind myself that Andrew likely doesn’t care about the academic debate over the meaning of music therapy. I try to boil it down. “In music therapy, we basically use music to promote the physical and emotional health of a client—whatever that means in that particular client’s context. So for example, a music therapist might use music to help a child overcome a speech disability. But along the way, once he grows to trust you, there might be something about a song lyric that triggers something in him. Maybe he confides a secret or says something offhand that helps you to understand where he’s coming from better.”
Andrew nods. “So what you do is kind of like what the doctor does in the movie The King’s Speech ?”
“Not exactly. That was speech therapy. Using music, the way the doctor did in the movie, is actually a very common technique in that field,” I say. “Music therapy is more about establishing a relationship with a client using music and then working within that relationship to promote whatever it is the client needs. Music can open a lot of doors, once you’ve built that bridge.”
I stop abruptly, feeling a bit foolish, but Andrew is smiling and nodding vigorously. “Yeah!” he says. “I know exactly what you mean. There are more ways to communicate than just saying words out loud. So do you have any deaf patients now?”
I shake my head and dodge his gaze as I finish the last
He smiles, although I can still see lingering concern in his eyes. “I know the feeling. But trust me, these burgers make everything better. They’re magic.”
I smile back and take another big bite, marveling at how juicy and perfect it is and trying not to think about fat grams and calories, which Dan would surely be pointing out. I’m so fixated on not thinking about how unhealthy the burger is that I don’t register how quickly it’s disappearing until I’ve almost finished. I look up to see Andrew, his plate empty, looking amused.
“Told you you’d love it,” he says.
“I can’t believe I ate so much!” I exclaim, looking down at my hands as if they were wholly responsible for my lapse in nutritional judgment. “How embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” he repeats. “No way. Believe me when I say that only chauvinistic pigs are turned off by a woman who can eat. Personally, I think it’s awesome.”
My cheeks burning, I start to set the remainder of my burger down, but he leans forward and says quickly, “No more ASL until you finish that, young lady.”
“Well, you drive a hard bargain,” I say, then it occurs to me that I sound like I’m flirting. I quickly wipe the smile from my face and clear my throat. “So, um, what made you decide to go into teaching sign language? Is this your full-time job?”
“You first,” he says. “What brought you to ASL class?”
I take another bite of my burger to buy time, since I can’t exactly say I’m learning sign language so that I can communicate with my fake daughter in my fake dream world with my hamburger-loving dead husband. So instead, I swallow and tell him, “I’m a music therapist.” I hesitate and say, “And, um, I’ve been hearingabout advances in music therapy for deaf kids, so I thought it might be worth looking into.”
Andrew’s face lights up. “Really? That’s awesome!” He pauses. “Okay, I’m going to sound like an idiot. I’ve heard of music therapy, of course, but I’ve never known a music therapist before. How does it work, exactly?”
“Lots of different ways.” I glance up to see him watching me intently, so I go on. “It’s hard to sum up, and actually, even in the music therapy community, there are a lot of definitions of what music therapy is, and a lot of applications to what we do.” I pause and remind myself that Andrew likely doesn’t care about the academic debate over the meaning of music therapy. I try to boil it down. “In music therapy, we basically use music to promote the physical and emotional health of a client—whatever that means in that particular client’s context. So for example, a music therapist might use music to help a child overcome a speech disability. But along the way, once he grows to trust you, there might be something about a song lyric that triggers something in him. Maybe he confides a secret or says something offhand that helps you to understand where he’s coming from better.”
Andrew nods. “So what you do is kind of like what the doctor does in the movie The King’s Speech ?”
“Not exactly. That was speech therapy. Using music, the way the doctor did in the movie, is actually a very common technique in that field,” I say. “Music therapy is more about establishing a relationship with a client using music and then working within that relationship to promote whatever it is the client needs. Music can open a lot of doors, once you’ve built that bridge.”
I stop abruptly, feeling a bit foolish, but Andrew is smiling and nodding vigorously. “Yeah!” he says. “I know exactly what you mean. There are more ways to communicate than just saying words out loud. So do you have any deaf patients now?”
I shake my head and dodge his gaze as I finish the last
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