I don’t look American, tall skinny and pale with huge eyes and cheekbones and a ribcage that you could quite possibly cut yourself on. And when I listen, I stare intently at the speaker’s face with obvious concentration, occasionally interrupting to have them repeat themselves.
I take my facial expressions from the immigrants I see- the Chinese, the Russians, the Italians, the French, everyone who does not speak English perfectly. I turn my face into a question mark of non-understanding.
Then I speak with an accent. Not a Massachusetts accent, not a New York accent, and not an overtly deaf accent. Part “she has allergies” and part “She’s from somewhere else.. Britain? France? Czechslovakia?”
New Yorkers play this game. Guess where the accent is from. They’ll rattle down a list of countries, looking increasingly crestfallen and finally they’ll give in.
Where are you from?
I smile. “Massachusetts”.
Their face turns into the question mark that I’ve since abandoned in the humor of the game, and in having heard all the names of the countries so many times already that the best guesses are emblazoned in my memory.
…Massachusetts
I nod. “You know, up north near Rhode Island and New Hampshire? Massachusetts.”
The confusion increases, and they try to figure it out. No, I mean where are you originally from? What country?
Massachusetts. That’s always the answer. Eventually I tire of playing cat and mouse, and say “Oh, you mean my accent? I’ve got a bit of an ear problem.” I brush back my hair to point out the hearing aids that I wear in both ears.
They blush. I guess it’s something like asking a fat lady when she’s due. Socially inappropriate. I don’t mind, though. In a way it’s sort of a compliment. I don’t think they try to play that game with someone when the accent in question is something ugly or mundane.
You have a beautiful accent. they murmer, and rush away.
