I'll Scream Later (No Series) Read Online Free PDF

you?”
    “Liz.”
    I giggled. “Hi, Liz, where do you live?”
    “In an apartment.”
    “You are now my best friend!”
    No discussion, no debate. And so we have been for nearly forty years now.
    The relationship that Liz and I have has been a defining one in my life, and I can’t imagine it without her. We were soon inseparable, spending weekends, vacations, any time we could together. We’ve shared secrets and growing pains—from our first boyfriends, first French kiss, first joint, and the list goes on.
    We’ve been there for the births of each other’s children, through marriages and divorces. We’ve had good times and bad, and we’ve both done things to each other that have left a few scars. We’ve weathered it all together, and when trouble comes, I always know that Liz has my back, and I have hers.
     
    W HEN I WAS seven, I would also discover music. You might not think music would be a turning point in my life, but it was.
    The summer of 1972 my parents sent me to a day camp specially designed to work with Deaf children and their hearing siblings. Although my brothers didn’t go, I did and I loved it. Dr. Pat Scherer, who was running the camp, first came into my life here. She says:
    “We were doing things in the camp like music, poetry, memorization, art—activities you would do with normal six- and seven-year-olds. One of the songs they picked to do was ‘John Brown’s body lies amouldering in the grave,’ and I noticed Marlee really liked doing this, so I encouraged her to perform it with the hearing children. And when we had the program for the parents, she really stood out. The love for what she was doing just showed through.”
    I remember standing on stage, signing as the others sang, feeling the vibrations of the music rumbling up through the floor under my feet and up through my body as I moved to the beat. I remember the audience, the faces smiling at me, watching, the hands applauding. I loved it. I felt at home and knew I wanted to have this feeling again. I was hooked.
    This time in my life was the beginning of my education about living in the real world beyond the safety of my Morton Grove neighborhood, where I knew just about everyone and they knew me.
    While my mother focused on the schools and the doctors, my dad focused on acclimating me to the world. When we would go out to eat, which was pretty often, he always had me order my own food. He says, “Marlee had some Deaf friends who would not speak yes or no, couldn’t speak. I always wanted her to order, to keep repeating it until the waiter got it.”
    In what would become a tradition for years to come, just about every Sunday my dad would take us on a family outing, to petting zoos, to carnivals, apple picking, strawberry picking—if there was a fruit that could be picked, the Matlins were there—water parks, bumper cars, and on special occasions to the Dells in Wisconsin, a big amusement park filled with rides, anything to make sure I experienced the world at large.
    Dad had just one rule when we hit the amusement parks—be willing to try everything once, even if you’re afraid, still try it once. There wasn’t much I was afraid of—except a massive roller coaster. Liz, who often came with us, and I stood in front of it and trembled. Surely we wouldn’t really have to ride this. We were both terrified. But my dad insisted, despite the tears and the trembling.
    I had never been on anything so fast in my entire life, with its wild swoops and stomach-churning dips and razor-sharp turns, the wind rushing past my face, our screams trailing behind us. It was amazing, and I blame my love for speed on those early rides.
    Later I would graduate to cars that I loved to push to the limit, the wind rushing past, the radio cranked up so I could feel every thud of the bass, every beat of the drum, my laughter trailing out the window behind me.
    During one weekend trip to the Dells, we saw a helicopter flying over the park. On the way