Blindsided Read online

  Miss Audra gave her a gentle hug. “See you tomorrow.”

  But Natalie was sorry she hadn’t asked for more help, because it was next to impossible to get her T-shirt off over the sling. She gave in and decided to just sleep in her clothes. In bed, she managed to maneuver an extra pillow under her arm, then cradled the teddy bear in the crook of her neck and used it to help hold an ice pack against her throbbing temple. When she was finally in the most comfortable position she could manage, she realized she’d left a bottle of water on the bureau.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, “my drink.” She sighed, wondering if it was worth the effort to maneuver herself out of bed.

  “Can I get it for you?” a small voice in the darkness asked.

  Natalie rolled her head toward her roommate. “That would be great,” she murmured softly. “My water bottle—it’s up on our bureau.”

  Gabriella folded back her covers and crossed the room. Natalie could hear her bare feet pad across the tile floor, then her hands as they explored the bureau top and knocked something over—probably her own cologne bottle.

  “Got it,” Gabriella said.

  She brought it to Natalie and, while making sure it was in her grasp, their fingers touched.

  “Thanks very much, Gabriella,” Natalie said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “We heard about your accident,” she said. “Are you hurt bad?”

  “My shoulder mostly. I think I’ll be okay,” Natalie said.

  Gabriella didn’t say anything else but returned to her bed. Natalie listened as the girl pulled her covers back up.

  Silence again, until Gabriella said, “You can call me Bree.”

  CLUES AND LANDMARKS

  In the morning, Natalie rubbed her sore shoulder, then gingerly crouched, and with one hand searched her closet floor for the cane she had heaved in there.

  “I’ll be in the lobby,” Bree said, “unless you need help.”

  Natalie looked up. “Thanks,” she responded, still amazed at the overnight change in her roommate. Her fall down the stairs must have jarred loose a chunk of sympathy, Natalie thought.

  But there was a change in Natalie, too. She felt it as she found and retrieved her cane, then stood, unfolding each section a little more carefully than she had in the past.

  At breakfast, everyone made a big fuss over Natalie’s accident and peppered her with questions and offers of help.

  “Shall I dish out the scrambled eggs for you?” Sheldon offered.

  JJ’s voice: “Were you scared?”

  “Do you want your toast buttered?” asked Eve, her face smack in front of Natalie’s.

  Natalie repeated her story several times, including how difficult it was to get comfortable in bed. “I was so grateful when Gabriella brought my water bottle over.”

  The table fell quiet. Natalie was sure that no one had forgiven her roommate for the insulting remarks she had made on her first day at school. But Natalie was eager for them to know there had been a softening in the girl’s hard-core attitude.

  “I want to talk about clues and landmarks,” Miss Audra announced at the beginning of cane instruction that afternoon. She said they would “give the wrist a rest” and take a walk outside using sighted guide. It was a warm September day and the sun felt good after being inside so many air-conditioned classrooms.

  “Now, a clue is something that may or may not be there to help you find your way, whereas a landmark never moves,” Miss Audra explained. She reached out to rattle the metal trash basket near them on the sidewalk. “This trash basket is a clue. The car parked on the circle here”—she thumped on the vehicle’s roof—“it’s a clue, too, because the car might not be here next time, just like the trash basket.”

  They moved on. “The big bush here in front of Norland Hall is a landmark,” Miss Audra said as she took Natalie’s right hand and had her touch the thick green boxwood. “The elevator, the water fountain, they’re landmarks. You can pretty much count on them being there. You need to remember these landmarks—they’re part of the ‘orientation’ portion of ‘orientation and mobility.’ Making a map with landmarks in your head.

  “Let’s rest a minute,” Miss Audra said, gently guiding Natalie to a bench outside the gym.

  Natalie had been waiting for a chance to say something. “Miss Audra,” she began, “first, I want to thank you for being there for me last night. And second, I want to apologize for being such a pain-in-the-you-know-what last week.”

  Miss Audra scoffed. “No more than anyone else.”

  “I know for a fact that I’ve had a bad attitude. I guess I’m a little angry at what’s happening. And I’m frustrated with a lot of the things I have to learn.”

  “What else besides the cane? The Braille?”

  “Definitely the Braille—although I do understand the need for it. I was thinking about other things, like that social worker I have to see.”

  “Ms. Kravitz?”

  Natalie nodded. “I know that some of the kids here might need someone like that, but I don’t. It’s insulting for someone to lecture me on the need to face someone when I’m speaking with them, or how to respect someone’s personal space.”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” Miss Audra said. “On the other hand, Natalie, I have actually known people who lost their sight after years of having it who needed to be reminded about how to start a conversation, and how to know when to laugh at a joke. Without being able to see, it’s more difficult to pick up these social cues. All of us are just trying to prepare you. Ms. Kravitz is only doing her job.”

  “But even if I lost my sight, Miss Audra, it wouldn’t turn me into an idiot.”

  “Well, that’s a little harsh, Natalie, because you know blind people aren’t idiots.”

  Natalie winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But that’s what you implied,” Miss Audra said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Be careful what you say then. And remember, sometimes you just have to go with the program here. Try not to take everything so personally.

  “You’re a very bright young lady, Natalie. Just look at what you’ve accomplished these past two weeks.”

  “Yeah! I nearly killed myself falling down the stairs!”

  “Well, there was that. But now that you’re using the cane you’ll be a lot safer. Once you put your mind to it, you’ll pick up the technique very quickly. In fact, I’d like you to try to earn the Forestville Pass.”

  “The Forestville Pass?”

  “Yes, you earn this pass by learning to walk a mile from school down Dunbar Avenue to the shopping center. There’s an intersection with a traffic light and several other streets to cross. Once you have the pass, you’re free to visit the shopping center on your own, whenever you like in your free time.”

  “A whole mile?” Natalie asked doubtfully. “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Now that she thought about it, there weren’t many times when Natalie was ever truly alone. It seemed she was always with someone—at school, in the car, in the house, in the barn. Had it always been that way?

  But alone in Baltimore? Walking to a shopping center? What if she got lost? What if someone was mean to her? What if someone tried to steal her pocketbook or make her get into a car? It seemed crazy and irresponsible for Miss Audra to even suggest it.

  “I’d be too afraid,” she told Miss Audra. And that was the truth. The absolute rock-bottom truth.

  “Trust me, it’s not as hard as you think,” Miss Audra told her.

  Natalie turned away. Easy for her to say, she thought.

  “Really, Natalie.” Miss Audra’s voice seemed so matter-of-fact. “You can’t live in fear the rest of your life.”

  A DEAL WITH GOD

  I . . . hear . . . the . . .” Natalie read slowly, moving her fingertips at a snail’s pace across the workbook’s bumpy Braille. It was still an incredible challenge. But the amazing thing? It was actually starting to
make some sense. “M . . . u . . . mu . . . s. Music! I hear the music!”

  “Good!” Miss Karen exclaimed.

  Natalie pulled her hands back. “But look how slow I’m going,” she said. “I mean, I could never read an entire book like this.”

  “Oh, but you will!” Miss Karen assured her. “Eve is reading one of the Harry Potter books right now. In fact, she left it on my desk.” Miss Karen turned around to retrieve the book and put it in Natalie’s hands.

  “Whoa!” Natalie exclaimed, setting it down because it was so heavy. “Which story is this?” she asked. She’d read the entire series herself, using her magnifier the entire way.

  “See if you can read the title,” Miss Audra said.

  Natalie sat up and positioned both hands on the cover. Slowly, she moved her fingertips forward. “The . . . o . . . r”—the r was easy because it actually looked liked an r—“ . . . d . . . ord. Order! The Order of the Phoenix!”

  “Right, but just the first volume,” Miss Karen said. “The entire story is actually thirteen volumes in Braille.”

  Natalie was stunned, and awed by the thought of wading through that enormous ocean of bumps for pleasure. How could anyone? And yet—she looked up—Miss Karen, who sat across from her, knew Braille so well she could read it upside down, while facing Natalie.

  “I don’t understand,” Natalie said. “How in the world do you do it?”

  “Do what, Natalie?”

  “Everything. I mean, not just the Braille. But you went to college. And now you ride two different buses and walk a whole mile by yourself to get to work every day. You make it seem so easy.”

  Miss Karen made a funny noise—like a snort? “I don’t know about the easy part,” she said. “Gosh, how do I do it? Long story, but I’ll make it short.

  “Like you, Natalie, I had vision when I was younger, but I was born with retinitis pigmentosis. It’s a hereditary disease. My grandmother had it, my aunt has it, but my sister never got it. Where is the justice, right? When I was fifteen I lost everything. I was in high school then and, boy, what a difficult time that was. More difficult in some ways than my life now.”

  “More difficult? What do you mean?” Natalie asked.

  “Because I felt as though I lived between two worlds. I went to a high school where, basically, I knew my way around and not everyone knew I was losing my sight. I used to sit in class and pray that no one would call on me to read. I needed large-print everything, but I didn’t want the kids to see my large-print books, so I didn’t even take them out of my backpack. I’d lie and say I forgot them. Then, of course, it was hard getting through the hallways if I didn’t have a friend with me. I could have asked to leave class early in order to avoid those crowded halls, but I didn’t want to stand out.”

  Exactly. It’s how Natalie felt! It’s why she had used her friends to get around, too. Even now, she didn’t plan to use a cane when she returned to Western Allegany High. She didn’t want to become known as “the blind girl.” Most of the kids didn’t even know she had a vision problem.

  “I remember,” Miss Karen went on, “how at lunch or in study hall, or if I was outside waiting for my mom to pick me up, I pretended that I was just looking down reading so I’d have an excuse for not seeing someone.

  “I wasted so much time pretending,” she said. “I just decided one day I wasn’t going to live that way anymore. I mean this when I say it, Natalie.” Miss Karen leaned forward and placed a hand on Natalie’s, which rested on the Braille book between them. “It is easier to be blind than to pretend you’re not blind.”

  At Teen Group that afternoon, the students talked about activities they might do together, including ice-skating, windsurfing, hiking, bowling, and sailing on a skipjack in the Chesapeake Bay. Natalie sat silently, wondering how in the world they could bowl if they couldn’t see the pins. And ice-skating? Yikes. Yet these were activities that the kids routinely did, year after year. It confused Natalie—she would have to find an excuse not to go—and added a whole new layer of fear to the one she was already tamping down.

  After burgers and boxed drinks, the kids split up into small groups to play UNO. Even Bree sat in on a game, with a little help from Sheldon on reading the Braille labels on each card. Natalie was glad that Bree was slowly becoming part of the group. Back in their dorm room, Natalie and Bree often talked, comparing notes on teachers (Miss Karen was awesome, they both agreed; Mr. Joe in American government was tough, but smart—and really cute, too); the music they enjoyed (Bree loved hip-hop and rap while Natalie was a shameless country fan); and food in the dining hall (the school’s chicken anything was gross, no question about it, but they loved the tacos and the macaroni and cheese). One evening, Bree asked Natalie about the framed pictures on the wide bureau top they shared. “Can you tell me who is in them?”

  “Sure,” Natalie said. She knew the pictures by heart. “The biggest one is of my mom, dad, and me at my Honor Society induction. And then there’s one of my best friend, Meredith, and me dressed like cats for Halloween. The picture in the sparkly frame is of my pet goat, Nuisance, and—”

  “Your goat?” Bree laughed, interrupting. “You’re serious? You have a goat?”

  “I live on a goat farm.”

  “Awww. Do they have names?”

  “Wow. We have about eighty goats now. They don’t all have names, but some of the older ones do. Let’s see, there’s Jasmine, she was one of the first goats we owned. Then there’s Morning Dew, Tootsie, Joy and Jess, Lacy, Crayola, Lazy Bones. Our two bucks are Bucky and Buddy.”

  “Do you mean billy goats?”

  “Actually, male goats are bucks, not billys. Everybody thinks the females are called nanny goats, but they’re not. They’re does, like deer.”

  “Are they nice, Natalie?” Bree asked. “Are the goats friendly?”

  “Very friendly. The only thing a goat loves more than another goat is a person. They hate being alone. They’re very curious and very smart, too.”

  There was a pause.

  “I don’t have any pictures with me,” Bree said. “Why would I, right? But if I did, I would have a picture of my aunt, because she has taken care of me ever since I was ten. That was about a year before my mother died. And I would have a picture of my boyfriend, Kirk. I don’t really have any friends.”

  Natalie wondered what she meant by that. “But you have Kirk,” she said. “You’re lucky. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  “Well. I don’t know if I’m so lucky. I think he sticks around out of pity more than anything else. I’m sure he blames himself for the accident.”

  “A car accident?” Natalie asked gently.

  But Bree didn’t answer. She rolled over on her bed and didn’t say another word. Natalie let the question drop and went to brush her teeth.

  There was a lot to think about on the long bus ride home. The week behind her, the weekend coming up at home. She would run her secret vision test in the morning, but Natalie didn’t think things had worsened. As long as she had that tiny, precious, sliver of sight, she could get by. She even thought she could make a deal with God about this and, while the bus groaned its way over one of the steepest mountains toward the end of the trip, Natalie squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her hands together in her lap, and implored silently: Let me keep what I have and I promise to have a good attitude. I will learn what I have to and I will help others.

  In the morning, the window test confirmed her vision hadn’t changed, and Natalie figured that maybe God was listening. Maybe there would be a deal. Buoyed by the thought—and the fact that her shoulder felt so much better she didn’t need the sling—Natalie rushed downstairs, hoping it wasn’t too late to accompany her mother to the farmers’ market.

  Her mother was glad for the help. “What about your cane?” she asked as she stood by the kitchen door, waiting for Natalie to put on her hat.

  “Don’t need it,” Natalie replied crisply.

  “Really? Even after the fall at scho
ol?”

  “Mom! I don’t need it here!” she shot back, knowing full well she probably did. She added softly. “I just don’t want people seeing it. Not yet.”

  Her mother didn’t say anything more. But sitting in the front seat of the van a few minutes later, Natalie could feel her mother’s disapproval. All Natalie would do at the market was put cheese into plastic bags and stuff in a flyer. Why would her mother care if Natalie had her cane or not?

  After arriving at the market, they set up a folding table and two chairs at the back of the van. Then, before the first customers arrived, Natalie’s mother dashed off to trade goat cheese for an Amish apple pie.

  While she was gone, a familiar voice said, “Hello.”

  Startled, Natalie turned toward the voice.

  “It’s Jake Handelman—from school.”

  Still unable to see him, Natalie continued, bravely, to look in the direction of his voice and greeted him warmly. “Hi!”

  “So how’s it going?”

  “Good,” she told him. She hoped to high heaven she was looking in his direction. “How about you?”

  “Fine, I guess. Heavy workload this year.”

  Finally, yes, she was able to glimpse part of him. She was looking at him. “Me too. A lot of homework.”

  “What are you taking?”

  “Oh—let’s see, I’m taking American government—and English—we’re doing Shakespeare!” She hoped that would suffice. She certainly didn’t want to mention the Braille, or Orientation and Mobility, and her dreaded meetings with a social worker.

  “Cool,” Jake replied. “Do you come home every weekend?”

  Natalie nodded. “Yes. Every weekend.”

  “Well, heck. There’s a football game tonight. I still play in the band. Are you coming? I have my license now. I could pick you up.”

  Pick her up? That sounded like a date!

  “That’s really nice of you,” Natalie began. But a football game at night? No way! “I can’t,” she told him. “Not this weekend.”