Blindsided Page 9

  “Oh. Okay. Well, maybe another time.”

  “Sure, that’d be fun,” Natalie agreed, although she knew she didn’t mean it. It would be terribly awkward. And she would be terrified.

  “Take care, Nat.”

  She smiled. “See ya.”

  Jake Handelman had asked her to go to the football game, right? Maybe. Or maybe he was just being nice. She wondered how Meredith would assess the situation. Thank goodness Jake hadn’t wanted to buy any cheese, she thought. She wouldn’t have been able to deal with the money. It would have been so embarrassing. Miss Karen’s words walked out and stood in front of her, like little protestors in her own mind, waving signs: IT IS EASIER TO BE BLIND THAN TO PRETEND YOU’RE NOT BLIND. Angry, Natalie shook her head and knocked the little protestors out of her mind. She readjusted the brim of her hat and tightened the elastic in her ponytail. Living between two worlds. She pressed her lips together. Where in the devil was her mother? What was taking her so long?

  Later in the morning, Professor Brodsky from Frostburg University stopped by. Natalie had helped in his campaign for state senator during the summer. She stood to shake hands with him and listened as he tried to convince her mother to sign a petition banning wind-power turbines in state parks. “I’m not against wind power now, don’t get me wrong,” he pointed out. “I just don’t want to see those huge turbines spoiling the view of our western Maryland mountaintops. You know what I mean, Jean.”

  Natalie’s mother signed the petition, but Natalie wasn’t old enough.

  “Stay in touch with me,” the professor told Natalie. He touched her shoulder. “After I’m elected, I’m going to need some good interns the next couple years in Annapolis, where the state legislature meets.”

  Natalie smiled at his optimism—and his offer—but swallowed hard.

  “I guess he doesn’t know about my sight,” she said to her mother after he had left.

  “Not true. Dad and I saw him at the firehouse barbecue. He knows.”

  “He does?”

  “All about it,” her mother confirmed.

  Sunday morning came way too fast. The only bright spot was that Meredith was expected for blueberry pancakes. Natalie was hoping there would be time for a short walk, even just out to the barn, so she could tell Meredith about the cane and her roommate, about running into Jake at the farmers’ market—and about Arnab and how he always found a seat on the bus next to hers. Along about eleven o’clock, however, the phone rang. Meredith had overslept.

  “Nat, I’m really sorry,” she apologized. “I should have told my mom to get me up. Now I have to get ready. This guy, Richard, is coming.”

  “Richard? Who’s Richard?”

  “This kid at school. He’s nice. Yeah. Anyway, a bunch of us are going down to the lake. They have a boat rental for noon.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nat. If I hadn’t overslept, we would have had more time together. It is totally my fault.”

  It was Meredith’s fault. But what was Natalie supposed to do about it? Make her feel guilty for having a real date with a boy?

  On the bus, on the way back to school, Natalie took the HOPE stone out of her pocket and sat mindlessly rubbing it, and wondering if God took their deal seriously, while she stared out the bus window. Her view was nothing but a gray-green blur. But old habits died hard. If there was a window, you looked out.

  She thought back to Miss Audra talking about clues and landmarks, how the landmarks were permanent, but how clues changed and couldn’t be counted on. She guessed that, like clues, there were other things in her life she couldn’t count on either.

  PERSPECTIVE

  Oddly, a group of adults was clustered outside of Natalie’s room when she arrived back at school. As she and Serena walked wearily down the dormitory hall carrying their duffels and backpacks from the weekend at home, the evening counselor rushed forward to stop them.

  “It’s all right,” the counselor assured the girls, nevertheless turning and guiding them back to the living room.

  “What happened?” Natalie asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Is it Gabriella?” Serena asked. “Did she try to commit suicide or something?”

  There was an exasperated sigh. “No,” the counselor said. “She did not try to commit suicide. I’ll thank you to keep a lid on your comments, okay?

  “Natalie,” the counselor said, “I’m going to have you spend the night in Paula’s room.”

  “Is Bree all right?” she asked.

  “We’ll explain later, okay?” was the response.

  Another room? Without her things? Disappointed, Natalie turned, adjusted the duffel strap on her shoulder, and followed the dorm counselor. Paula was already in bed, propped up on pillows and listening to music on a CD player. Her wheelchair was parked against one wall, its large battery plugged into an outlet, charging up for the following day. Beside the bed, on the floor, was a large rubber mat with a set of clothes neatly laid out: shorts, T-shirt, underwear, and socks.

  Paula pulled the earphones out of her ears. She tilted her head. “Welcome!” she said to Natalie.

  “Thanks, Paula. Sorry to intrude on you like this.”

  “No, no. I’m glad to have you.”

  The counselor helped Natalie make up the extra bed with clean sheets and a blanket. Natalie then took her pajamas to the bathroom to change. When she came out, she heard a giggle and thought she saw Eve sitting on the end of Paula’s bed with something on her lap.

  “I’ve got cake,” Eve whispered. “Leftovers from my brother’s birthday.”

  “Is this the party?” Serena asked, coming in the door.

  “Shhhhh!” Eve warned. Food was prohibited in the rooms.

  Serena closed the door and Eve passed out chunks of cake on paper towels. Serena and Natalie sat cross-legged on the rubber mat beside the bed.

  “So what do you think happened to Gabriella?” Eve asked.

  “Bree. She likes to be called Bree,” Natalie said, using a finger to scrape some of the frosting off her cake.

  “Oh? I didn’t know she had a nickname,” Eve said.

  “She should have told us,” Paula added.

  “I think she came back to school drunk,” Serena declared.

  Paula was shocked. “Oh, Lord!”

  “She can get kicked out for that!” Eve said.

  Natalie was skeptical. “Serena, how do you know she was drunk?”

  “I don’t! I’m just guessing,” Serena said, shrugging. “And so what if she was? Haven’t any of you guys been drunk before?”

  Silence for a moment.

  “No,” Paula said.

  “I had beer once,” Eve added, “but I didn’t get drunk.”

  “So what about you, Nat? You ever been drunk?” Serena giggled.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Of course not!” Serena echoed. “You’re too perfect, you know that?”

  Natalie did know it. Even her friends back at Western Allegany High kidded her about being perfect. But they didn’t understand why Natalie skipped the Friday and Saturday night parties. She didn’t stay home because she didn’t want to drink. She didn’t go because it was nighttime, and she couldn’t see!

  In the morning, Natalie was awakened by the jolt of Paula’s alarm. Reaching over the desk beside her, Natalie pressed the button on her watch: The time is . . . six . . . o’clock . . . A.M.

  Six o’clock? There was at least another hour to sleep.

  “Sorry if I woke you,” Paula apologized through the darkness.

  “It’s all right,” Natalie replied, sleepy and confused.

  There was not enough light in the room for Natalie to see, but she heard Paula roll off her bed and land on the mat with a heavy thump. The girl groaned and there were rubbing noises. Paula crawling? And Natalie realized that this must be her morning routine.

  Slowly, Paula made her way across the room, disappearing into the bathroom. She didn’t close the door, an
d Natalie could tell by the sounds that Paula had gotten herself up on the toilet and then flushed it. Natalie next heard water running. Had Paula managed to stand up at the sink? The sound of a washcloth dipped and wrung out in water, a sink emptying with a gurgle, and teeth being brushed confirmed it. A good thirty minutes had passed, Natalie guessed, when Paula crawled back toward her bed.

  Natalie turned on the light, put on her glasses, and sat up. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” Paula replied. On all fours, and grunting with effort, Paula made it to the rubber mat and collapsed. After a couple deep breaths, she rolled over onto her back and began to dress. Which is why, Natalie realized, the clothes had been laid out the night before.

  By seven fifteen, just as Paula was securing her leg braces with Velcro, Natalie was dressed, too. She finished packing up her books and sat on her bed, watching as Paula pulled herself up into the seat of her wheelchair.

  “It’s not fair,” Natalie said.

  “What?” Paula asked while still trying to catch her breath. “What’s not fair?”

  “That you have to be in a chair and that your eyesight is bad.”

  “But they’re related, you know. The CP—the cerebral palsy—it affects my muscles, and we have muscles around our eyes, too. I do this every morning—unless my muscles lock up, then I need to wait for Miss Riley to come and get me undone. One night I got stuck behind the bed.”

  Slowly, Natalie shook her head. “You’ve got such a great attitude about it, Paula.”

  “Yeah. I try not to get down about it. I know that it’s all how you look at it. Perspective! Ms. Kravitz says it’s all about perspective— that no matter how bad off you are, there’s always somebody worse off than you. So be grateful. And I am. Still, sometimes I get the blues. I call it my blue funk.”

  Just then, an aide knocked softly on the door and came in, greeting the girls. Natalie assumed it must be Miss Riley, Paula’s aide. The woman checked to see that Paula was buckled in properly and then unplugged the wheelchair’s battery from the wall. “All set?” she asked.

  “All set!” Paula replied. She pushed the joystick with her right hand and maneuvered the motorized wheelchair through the door.

  “Natalie,” Miss Riley said, “if you could just stay behind a second. I want to talk to you about your roommate.”

  “Is Bree okay?” Natalie asked.

  “She had a seizure last night. That’s why we wanted someone else to stay with her for the night. She has these seizures from time to time. They’re from injuries related to her accident. We just wanted to tell you that. If you think she’s having a seizure, you should get help immediately.”

  “How would I know she was having a seizure?” Natalie asked.

  “You’d know; she kind of spaces out and shakes uncontrollably.”

  “Is there something I could do for her right away?”

  “Sure. You could help her get down on the floor and loosen up any tight clothing near her neck. But most important, get some help.”

  “Of course,” Natalie replied.

  “Thanks, hon. Well, I’ll let you get on your way to breakfast.”

  Natalie nodded, picked up her backpack and opened her cane. Feeling humbled, she left the room and followed Paula down the hall.

  Later that day, in gym class, Mr. Lee added yet another thought about perspective.

  “The number one reason people are victims is that they are nice!” the karate instructor declared. “They don’t want to offend anyone! Everyone teaches children to be nice little girls and boys,” he continued, his voice again echoing in the gym. “But this can get in the way of your intuition, your gut feeling. You need to pay attention to that gut feeling!”

  He talked about setting boundaries. “Draw a circle around your personal space and make it clear that this is your space.”

  “Two ways you can do this,” Mr. Lee told them. “Verbal and physical. Verbal means you say something. If someone takes your arm and wants to help you, poor blind person, across the street, but you don’t want to cross the street, then you need to say loud and clear: ‘Thank you, but I don’t need your help.’ If they don’t let go, you have to be more forceful. Twist your arm away! Yell at them! ‘Take your hands off! Let go of me!’

  “Your voice is important,” Mr. Lee emphasized. “Practice making your voice strong and loud. Yes. Nice little children are taught to be quiet and soft-spoken. But, blind people, it’s important for you to use a strong voice.”

  “Okay!” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s practice saying: ‘Stop! Leave me alone!’ Everyone!”

  “Stop!” the girls shouted together. “Leave me alone!”

  “Louder!” Mr. Lee cried. “I want you take in a big breath and push the words up from your belly! Again!”

  “Stop! Leave me alone!” the girls hollered again, their voices filling the small gym and bouncing off the walls.

  “Good! Now. What did the book say about telling a lie?” Mr. Lee asked.

  Serena’s hand flew up. “The book says it’s okay for blind people to lie,” she said.

  A few of the girls chuckled.

  “It’s true.” Serena went on to explain: “The book says that if you’re, like, at a bus stop and a stranger asks if you can see faces, he may be trying to scope out if you’re an easy hit. Like maybe you won’t be able to recognize him later. But he could be a serial killer or a rapist or just some weirdo. Don’t feel you have to answer somebody’s dumb question with the truth, especially if the question, like, makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Excellent!” Mr. Lee exclaimed. “Pretty soon, we get physical!”

  Things kind of fell into a routine about then. Bree seemed to be trying more, and Natalie wasn’t quite as homesick, even if she still looked forward to daily phone calls to and from home.

  “How’s the cat?” she asked her mother one night. “Does he still wait outside the milk room for his scraps every morning?”

  There was a pause.

  “Actually, we haven’t seen the cat for a while,” her mother said. “But he’s wild, Natalie. You know how they are.”

  Natalie was sad to hear the cat had disappeared.

  “A guy caught a fifty-one-pound carp in Deep Creek Lake,” her father suddenly recalled. He probably didn’t want her moping about the cat. “Everyone’s talking about that. Hey! And the Steelers won last night! I bet the kids were excited.”

  “Actually, Dad, the kids here are all Ravens fans,” Natalie had to tell him. “Remember? Most of them live in Baltimore.”

  “Oh, gosh,” he replied. He sounded disappointed.

  Her mother jumped in next to report what the cousins were doing. “Uncle Jack says Florie and Tiffany helped tag monarch butterflies so scientists can track their flight to Mexico,” she said. “Isn’t that something? Those little things flying all that way?”

  Then, midway through the week, there was a call from Meredith.

  Meredith: Nat, I wanted to tell you something really exciting. I’ve been asked to the homecoming dance this year—with a senior! Can you believe it?

  Natalie: Homecoming. Wow, Meres, that’s wonderful! (Natalie forced herself to sound cheerful. She had never been to a formal dance herself.) Who’s taking you?

  Meredith: That guy who took us to the lake last weekend, remember? Richard. Except everyone calls him Richie.

  Natalie: Richie.

  Meredith: Richie Mengler. He’s on the basketball team. Maybe you can come to a game this winter if you get home early enough on Friday. Yeah. So it’s exciting, but now I have to find a dress. There’s got to be something out there that will look good on me.

  Natalie: I’m sure you’ll find the perfect dress.

  Meredith: Look, I gotta go. Richie’s calling at eight thirty and I need to get my homework done or Mom won’t let me talk. See ya.

  There was a click and Meredith was gone.

  “Thanks for calling,” Natalie said sarcastically into
the dead phone.

  It was happening, wasn’t it? Meredith was drifting away and there wasn’t anything Natalie could do to stop it. She was having a normal life while Natalie was struggling to have a life, period. It wasn’t anger Natalie felt right then, not even jealousy, just an enormous wistfulness. A sadness.

  Bree, who sat on her bed practicing Braille, moved a piece of paper. Surely, she had heard. Out in the hall, a door closed and the sound of a cane hitting the wall echoed down the corridor.

  “Hey, my aide gave me this book today,” Bree said.

  Natalie rolled her eyes. She was not in a mood to chitchat.

  But Bree got up and started patting the top of her desk. “Here it is.” She bumped into her chair, but walked across the room to Natalie and pushed the book into her hands. “You have a little magnifier thingee to read, don’t you?”

  “Bree, I need to be doing my homework—”

  “Come on,” Bree urged her. “My aide was reading this today and it was really corny, but funny, too. Just open to a random page and read it.”

  Natalie clicked on her light and focused on the title: 14,000 Things to Be Happy About. She knew Bree was only trying to cheer her up because of the phone call. Opening to the middle of the book, she ran her finger down the page. A wan smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Dogs nose-deep in wrapping paper,” she read aloud. “An herb-stuffed pillow. Leisurely bubble baths. Slices of fresh pineapple. Bengay muscle rub.”

  “Oh, I hate that stuff!” Bree interrupted.

  “Me too,” Natalie agreed. Then she read the next one: “Walking into your dreams and coming out a new person . . .” And she stopped. “You know, I have that dream. I dream sometimes that I can still see as well as I did years ago. Like I’m running through the fields or chasing goats. I can see everything so clearly.”

  “You had good vision then?” Bree said.

  “Pretty normal until I was about eight years old.”

  “Me too,” Bree said. “I had perfect vision until the accident in June. Now I have nothing.”