Blindsided Read online

  As she compiled her mental scrapbook, a vague uneasiness gnawed at her insides and a corner of her heart felt pinched. Natalie knew she was preparing herself. If hope was a flame, it was flickering on a short wick.

  And still—still it came as a whopping surprise. A shock, really, to awaken one Wednesday, an ordinary morning in the middle of November, only to see a solid sheet of—not foreboding blackness—but indecisive gray. A massive, ethereal gray screen, up close, with tiny, flickering splotches of light.

  Natalie blinked. Several times she blinked, and rubbed her eyes hard with the palms of her hands, trying to clear her tiny window into the world. But nothing changed. She sat up and turned her head from side to side as though that would shake it loose, but nothing changed. Her heart began to beat faster; she could feel the rapid thumping in her chest, and the tightening of her throat.

  Across the hall, Eve’s Carolina wren on the bird clock sang at 7 A.M. When her own alarm went off, Natalie reached over to turn it off, scooped up the pink HOPE stone that she regularly left on the desk beside her at night. Scared, squeezing the stone in one hand, she lay back down, pulling, with a trembling grip, the sheets up to her chin. She clenched her eyes shut and yearned desperately to go back in time, holding her breath until it hurt and she had to breathe again.

  Was this it? Would her sight come back later in the day? In the week? She already knew that even on the darkest of days, she would have hope.

  Did she need to call the doctor? Her parents? What should she do, she wondered. Tears collected and began to trickle down her cheeks.

  And where was God? What happened to the deal? Why did he let her down? If it had to happen, why did it have to happen at school, where she was so far away from home? Maybe there was no God! Because if there really was a God, why would he do this to her?

  Bree heard the sniffling, and when the sniffling became sobs, she seemed to know instantly what had happened overnight while both of them had slept peacefully and unaware. She took a seat on the edge of Natalie’s bed and, without a word, reached over and gently took Natalie’s hands away from her face and held them in her own. She leaned in, her forehead touching the top of Natalie’s head, still saying nothing, just letting Natalie know—as only another blind person could—that she was not alone.

  “DON’T STAY THERE”

  Word spread quickly. Natalie could hear the quiet voices in the hall. Eve came to give her a hug and Serena stopped by the door to say she was sorry. Bree even offered to stay with her, but the day counselor said all the girls needed to go to class.

  “Have you called your parents?” the woman asked, after placing a cup of coffee in Natalie’s hands. Natalie didn’t drink coffee, but she took it anyway.

  “Yes,” replied Natalie, who was still sitting on her bed. Just sitting, with her back against the wall. Out of habit, she wore her tinted glasses and her Cougars cap, not even knowing for sure whether the light would bother her, now that she was officially blind.

  Odd that there was no pain, she thought. The transition from sight to blindness would be mentally and emotionally wrenching, but the pure physical fact of it had been silent and painless.

  “You talked with them—your parents?” The question was repeated.

  Natalie nodded numbly.

  The counselor stood for a moment. She was close to the bed, and smelled faintly of perspiration and flowery cologne. “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked.

  Natalie shook her head.

  “Well. Here’s a muffin for you, too, hon. It’s there, on a napkin to your right.”

  “Thank you,” Natalie mumbled. For some reason she had a flashback to the school’s Halloween party, how one of the refreshments set out was a tray of “Halloween Eyes”—rounds of cucumber with a squirt of sour cream and a thin slice of green olive for the iris. The iris that Natalie didn’t have.

  “I know Miss Karen is on her way over to see you.”

  Natalie didn’t say anything, just leaned forward to set the coffee on the corner of her desk.

  A few moments later, she heard the Braille instructor and her guide dog approaching the room. Herky’s dog tags jingled and his toenails clicked on the tiled hallway. They paused at the doorway. “Natalie, it’s Miss Karen. May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Natalie said. “There is a chair at my desk, Miss Karen. When you come in, it’s to your right.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Karen said. She sat, and Natalie could hear Herky plop down on the floor beside her. She didn’t have to see the dog to know that he rested his head on his paws, eyes alert.

  “You know that I went through this myself when I was fifteen years old,” Miss Karen said to Natalie.

  “Yes. You told me,” Natalie said, feeling as if her comments were on automatic pilot this morning. Nothing Miss Karen could say was going to make her feel any better. Nothing anybody could say would make it better.

  “A lot of people will tell you how sorry they are that you have lost your sight, Natalie. I am one of them. It’s an enormous loss, there’s no question. . . . You know how much I’d like to see that digital display on my bread maker.”

  The corners of Natalie’s mouth lifted slightly.

  “But I am not going to get all emotional about it,” Miss Karen went on. “There is one thing I want to tell you though—and I hope you’ll think about it. It is this: acknowledge the loss. But don’t stay there.”

  All morning, different people came and went. Natalie figured they didn’t want her to be alone. She was glad no one forced her to go to class. It was like a sick day, but worse—so much worse.

  Before too long, Miss Audra came, and Natalie stood for the embrace she knew would come from her cane instructor. When Natalie hugged her, she felt the long braid down Miss Audra’s back.

  “I’m going to take you to see the school’s doctor on call,” she said. “Dr. Leanders said she would stop by this morning.”

  “Why?” Natalie asked. “What can she do?”

  “Probably nothing for your sight. But what she can do is check the pressure and adjust your eyedrops. You don’t want to damage your eyes.”

  Natalie wondered what difference it would make if her eyes got damaged now. But the doctor took a look anyway, and, just as Miss Audra predicted, adjusted the eyedrops to bring the pressure down. She did not give Natalie hope that things would change. “I’m sorry,” she said when the exam was over.

  Sorry. Was that it? Was that all she was going to say?

  No. There was more. “You should see your own doctor within the month.”

  When they returned to Natalie’s room, Miss Audra left Natalie with a bag of peanut M&M’s (a consolation prize?) and the reminder that they would walk to the Forestville Shopping Center on their first lesson following the Thanksgiving break. “What do you say? Let’s celebrate with pizza at the Parthenon. Arnab is taking the test with his instructor, too. We can meet at the restaurant and eat together.”

  Did Natalie ever respond? She couldn’t remember.

  Midway through the afternoon, Natalie heard familiar voices in the hall. Her parents! Why hadn’t someone told her they were coming? She rose quickly and walked partway across the room, opening her arms and letting her mother rush into them.

  Her father embraced her, too, and for a moment the three of them stood, clinging to one another. Just knowing they had left the farm and made whatever enormous arrangements they had to make for the goats—then driven five hours to get to the school—made Natalie cry all over again.

  “We’ve come to take you home,” her father said.

  “If that’s what you want,” her mother quickly added.

  “We can pack you up and have you out of here in twenty minutes,” her father said.

  It caught Natalie off guard. She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “I have an exam tomorrow—” she started to say.

  “Who cares?” her father said.

  “And we’re going out for sundaes because it’s Serena’s birt
hday. . . .”

  Her father grunted.

  “It’s Natalie’s decision,” her mother said firmly.

  “Who’s taking care of the goats?” Natalie asked, steering them away, if only momentarily, from the subject at hand.

  “Uncle Jack,” her father said. “He said he’d stay the night in case we didn’t make it back.”

  Natalie knew this was a huge inconvenience for them.

  The counselor returned and suggested the family get out of the dorm and go somewhere together for a while.

  “We don’t know Baltimore,” Natalie’s mother said. “What do you suggest?”

  “Oh, gosh. Well. You could go down to the Inner Harbor. All kinds of things there: paddleboats, restaurants, gift shops, the aquarium. There’s even a carousel to ride up by the Science Center.”

  What a waste of time and energy, Natalie thought. If she couldn’t see, why would she want to ride around in a paddleboat? Or go up and down in a circle on a wooden horse? If she couldn’t see the fish, why would she want to go to the aquarium?

  “I think it’s a great idea,” her mother said, surprising Natalie. “Let’s get directions and go.”

  Instead, they got lost. A gas station attendant in a place called White Marsh gave them new directions, but Natalie could feel the frustration growing. They weren’t talking about anything—least of all Natalie’s blindness. It was almost as though they were driving around to avoid it. Plus it was hot in the car. Plus she couldn’t see anything. . . .

  “Can’t we just stop somewhere?” Natalie pleaded.

  “Sure. Of course we can. How about an early dinner?” her mother suggested. “We never did have lunch. Did we, Frank?”

  They stopped at a diner. “Home-cooked food,” Natalie’s mother said, reading an outdoor sign.

  Natalie didn’t have much of an appetite, but again, that wasn’t really the point. She held her mother’s arm, but used her cane, too, to make her way into the diner and slide to an inside seat at one of the booths. Her mother squeezed in beside her.

  When the waitress brought glasses of water, Natalie blurted: “Do you have a Braille menu?” But why did she do that? She probably couldn’t even read it.

  “I’m sorry,” the waitress said. “We don’t.”

  “That’s fine,” her mother rushed to reassure everyone. “I can just read everything to her.”

  She had probably embarrassed her parents, Natalie thought. Especially her father, who had grown so quiet. He would have to finally accept the fact that she couldn’t see now, wouldn’t he? Her poor father. Tears sprang into her eyes. Natalie felt herself shrinking backward into the booth.

  Her mother began reading from the menu: “They serve breakfast all day, Nat. There’s French toast, pancakes, omelets—”

  “An omelet,” Natalie said to stop her. “A cheese omelet.”

  “Okay.”

  The waitress returned to take orders, but Natalie’s mother still needed a second, so Natalie’s dad ordered first. “I’ll try your liver and onions,” he said. “Comes with mashed potatoes, right?”

  Natalie’s mother ordered a BLT.

  “And what about her?” the waitress asked. “What will she have?”

  What? Was she a child now? Now that she was blind? Miss Karen’s words echoed in her head: Don’t stay there. Natalie knew she should sit up and assert herself by placing her own order. But she remained, stolid, in her slumped position in a corner of the booth, her face tilted down, the folded cane on the seat beside her.

  When the waitress brought their food, Natalie’s mother put an arm around her shoulders and asked if there was anything she could do.

  Natalie stared into the gray wall that was her world now and remembered something from an earlier meal in the dormitory kitchen.

  Her mother squeezed her shoulders.

  “Look at my plate, Mom,” Natalie said.

  “Okay. I’m looking at it.”

  “If my plate was a clock, what would be at twelve o’clock?”

  “A clock . . .” her mother repeated softly, at first confused. “Oh—well, the toast is at twelve o’clock, Nat. There are some hash browns at three o’clock. The omelet is at six o’clock, and you’ve got a couple orange slices there at nine.”

  “Thanks,” Natalie said. She sat up, put the napkin in her lap, and found her fork. Advice from the first few days of school—ignored then, but stored away—suddenly came to mind: Mashed potatoes and toast make good “bumpers” because you can push your food against them. . . . Remember to stab your food, so it doesn’t fall off the fork.

  There was a lot to learn. For all of them.

  SEEING IS BELIEVING

  The next morning, Natalie regretted not returning home with her parents. She would have to force herself to get through the next couple days, she figured, maneuvering her cane through the hallway to her first period class. Heck, she would have to force herself to get through life, because how could anything be fun anymore?

  “A federal appeals court has ruled that the U.S. currency system discriminates against blind people,” Mr. Joe told the students when they had taken their seats. “They say it discriminates because all paper money feels the same. In Canada, paper money has embossed dots that vary by denomination. And the euro—the currency used in Europe—has a foil feature so you can feel the difference in bills.

  “Here is your assignment for the Thanksgiving break,” he continued. “I want you to examine both sides of this issue. Should the American government—and our businesses—change the shape and feel of our U.S. currency to help people who can’t see? Why or why not?”

  “Of course they should change our money. It’s not fair!” Murph blurted loudly.

  “That’s what the American Council of the Blind said!” Mr. Joe exclaimed. “They’re the ones who filed a suit over seven years ago—and the court agreed. The court ruled that the current system violates the federal Rehabilitation Act, which does what? Sheldon, go ahead,”

  “The Rehabilitation Act is intended to ensure that people with disabilities can fully participate in society.”

  “Correct,” Mr. Joe noted. “But the U.S. Treasury says blind people can simply use credit cards instead of cash. What’s more, they said, changing the size of our bills will force companies to spend billions of dollars to redesign their vending machines.”

  Serena didn’t wait for Mr. Joe to call on her. “Yeah, but not everything can be paid for with a credit card,” she pointed out. “And besides, I’m not old enough to have one!”

  “Okay,” Mr. Joe said. “Eve, did you want to add something?”

  “Yes. If someone gives me change, like in a store? I have to have faith that it’s the right amount. That or else I have to ask a stranger for help and I shouldn’t have to do that.”

  “All right, guys! These are all good arguments. Save them for your papers! I want at least two pages supporting your position. Go online to gather your research. You’ve got two more days at school, so if you need to use the computers here, do so before you leave.”

  Natalie sat quietly, listening but not participating, and not taking much interest in class other than to think that the money thing would just be one more hassle she would have to deal with now.

  On the bus heading home for the Thanksgiving break, Natalie reflected on how, through the dreary darkness of the past two days, her friends at school had been a bright spot. Serena had even urged her to join the swim team, or be a cheerleader for the wrestling team that started practice in a week. Eve helped her gather information for the American government paper online with the talking JAWS computer program. And Bree had been eager to both listen and talk. Natalie’s loss of sight, it seemed, had brought them all closer.

  “You’ll be glad to know I’m taking my cane home,” Bree had told Natalie before the buses came. “So you don’t have to remind me this time. I’m using it, too. Despite what my boyfriend thinks.” Natalie put on a happy face and embraced her. “Good luck,” she said.


  Arnab tried to comfort Natalie as well. After Teen Group, he sought her out. “After my accident,” he confided, “I was very depressed when I awoke in the hospital and could see nothing. My father said to me, ‘Arnab, you can moan and groan about it—or you can pick up and go.’ ”

  Pick up and go. But truly, the only place Natalie wanted to go was home. She pulled out her iPod and curled up to listen to music.

  They were about halfway into the ride, just outside Frederick, with the deaf students aboard, when Serena tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she could sit beside her.

  “Sure,” Natalie said. She sat up and lifted the heavy Brailler she was taking home for the holiday break and set it on the floor to make room.

  “How’s it going?” Serena asked.

  Natalie shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “I’m glad you stayed so you could come to my birthday party,” Serena said.

  “Sure. It was fun. Good ice cream.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “So! Do you want me to teach you how to say ‘asshole’ in sign language?”

  “What?! Is that what you sign with the deaf kids? You’re cussing with them?”

  “Hey, they’re the ones who taught me!”

  “Serena! . . . No. I don’t want to know how to swear in sign language.”

  They rode in silence for a ways, until Serena said in a serious voice, “I just want you to know that I know how you feel.”

  “Thanks,” Natalie said. “I appreciate it.”

  “No. Like I mean that I really know how you feel,” Serena went on. “Like when I lost my right eye I was devastated. Ms. Kravitz says I’m still angry about it and that’s why I’m always saying mean things to people. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am still angry.”