Blindsided (17 page)

“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.”

Natalie was frowning as she turned toward Serena. “I thought your right eye was your good eye.”

“No. My right eye’s gone.”

“The sight, you mean.”

“No. The whole eye. It’s gone.
Enucleated,
if you’ve never heard the term.”

“But—”

“Hold out your hand.”

“What for?”

“Hold out your hand,” Serena repeated.

Natalie opened her hand slowly, unsure of Serena’s intentions.

Serena put something small in her palm and closed Natalie’s fingers around it. “Can you feel it?”

“What is it? A stone?”

Serena leaned in to whisper, “It’s my
eye
dummy
.
My glass eye!”

Startled, Natalie sucked in her breath and put her other hand on her chest.

“It’s okay. It’s not going to bite you!”

“I’m not afraid.”

“What, then? You’re grossed out?”

“No!” Natalie insisted. “It’s just that I’ve never—
held
anyone’s eye before.”

“Go ahead. Feel it.”

Delicately, Natalie touched it with her index finger. It was very smooth, rounded on one side, flat on the other, about the size of a peach stone—and about the same size as her HOPE stone.

“That’s the one good brown eye you thought I had. My real eye, the one I actually see some out of—well, it’s not so great, and I’m sure I’ll lose that one, too.”

“Gosh,” Natalie sympathized.

“Yeah. Did I ever tell you why?”

Natalie shook her head. “No.”

“Okay. You ready for this one? Toxoplasmosis. Courtesy of my mother when she was pregnant with me. It’s a disease you get from cats, like from their litter,
or
from uncooked meat. My mother doesn’t even like cats, so she says it was probably an undercooked burger or something. Who knows? So anyway, bad luck is the bottom line. That’s why I get depressed. And that’s why I’m at the school in Baltimore. So they can be sure I take my meds, and keep an eye out—ha! so to speak!—that I don’t cut myself, too. I was a big-time cutter back in my public school. But you would be, too, if you had to deal with those kids.”

“Serena. The whole strap of your pocketbook has safety pins on it!”

“I know! They’re there just in case. You’d think somebody would say something, wouldn’t you? But honestly, I don’t think a single person has ever noticed. Anyway, I’m over it now. The cutting stuff. That was juvenile crap anyway. You know? My little cry for attention.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

There was a slight pause before Serena replied. “Because I want you to know that you’re not alone, that I truly understand how you must feel right now. And I want you to know that I’m sorry if I’ve ever said anything that offends you.”

Natalie sighed. “I appreciate it,” she said, with a mere trace of a smile. “Especially since I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for anything.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say: seeing is believing. So I guess you’ll never know for sure. You’ll just have to trust me. I am definitely apologizing.”

Natalie’s smile became full. “Thanks, Serena,” she said. “And oh, here’s your eye back.”

C
old weather always came early to Garrett County, but there was one last farmers market on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Baskets of apples, jugs of cider, and a colorful array of squash and pumpkins were displayed on hay bales. The Amish brought eggs and fresh, warm baked goods. Natalie’s mother had already scooped up two of their pies, as well as a few cream-filled pumpkin gobs for Uncle Jack. The flea market was open, too, with everything from Beanie Babies and hand-painted saws to secondhand dishes and old irons for door stoppers. Or so Natalie’s mother told her.

Natalie, wearing jeans and a heavy sweater, moved her cane over the rough, uneven ground outside, staying close to her mother’s side. She was self-conscious using the cane in public, but she knew it was crucial now.

“A few craftspeople are here. They have hand-knit baby clothing and blankets. And—oh, gosh—who in the world is going to buy a box of old LP records?” Her mother kept up a running commentary that was becoming a little too loud and embarrassing, Natalie thought. And why did she have to sound so upbeat? Was she getting some enjoyment out of this? But even as she thought it, Natalie knew she was just taking her anger out on her mother again.

“Nat, the honey lady is here. She’s waving us over.”

Natalie wondered if the honey lady would say anything about the cane, but she didn’t. She just rambled on in her Southern accent about what a nice day it was and how they simply had to sample her new goldenrod honey. “Y’all have to try it. I’m gonna insist. Here, I’ve got some little crackers. There you go.” Talking as if nothing was different. But everything was different. So what was she thinking? She must have been thinking
something.
Natalie wanted to see her face and her expression and the way she moved her hands. You could tell so much from the way people moved their hands. But nothing. A cracker with honey sat in Natalie’s mouth.

Back at their van, cheese sales were brisk. Natalie was busy filling bags and inserting flyers all morning. Lots of people had questions about the cheese, and different voices filled the air. But along about noon, a familiar one struck a chord. “Natalie. It’s Jake. Jake Handelman.”

Turning toward the voice, Natalie smiled. “Hi!” With her foot, she pushed the folded cane under her chair.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay, Jake. How are you?” It was weird running into him again at the market. Natalie wondered if it was possible that he actually came looking for her.

“Things are great,” he said with his usual enthusiasm. “I’m going to the student council conference in Omaha next month.”

“Congratulations!” Natalie told him.

“Yeah. I’m excited, even if it is just Nebraska. But heck, I’ve never been anywhere west of Ohio.”

“No, I haven’t either,” Natalie said. “It should be fun.”

Jake’s voice became more subdued. “I wish you were going, too, though,” he said. “We miss you on the council, Nat. We miss you at school.”

Natalie’s throat got tight. She wanted to tell Jake that maybe she’d be back next year—by senior year for sure—but couldn’t seem to get the words out. And she wondered if he knew she was blind now. Could he tell? Natalie would have given anything to have been able to see his face. Was he looking at her? Feeling sad? Indifferent? What?

“Hey, so anyway, we love your cheese. My mom, she loves that new spread with the ginger in it.”

Natalie nodded and smiled. “My mom invented it. I like it, too. My dad said a major grocery chain is picking it up for the holidays.”

“Cool!”

Another silent pause. Should she tell him she was blind? But maybe he was in a rush to go. Was he? Or did he want to stay and talk? Was there a customer waiting? How was she ever going to know these things?

“Well, anyway, have a great Thanksgiving, Nat.”

“Yeah! You too,” she replied, not really wanting him to leave.

 

Then, two days later, in late afternoon, Meredith showed up. Natalie hadn’t talked to her for nearly three weeks.

“She’s coming up the front walk now, Nat. Shall I have her come in?” Natalie’s mother asked. “She must really want to see you, coming over in all this snow. There must be three inches already.”

Natalie sat on the living-room couch and pushed the mute button on the television’s remote control. “Does she
know
?”

A slight pause. “Yes,” her mother said. “I saw Meredith’s mother at the post office a couple days ago.”

Suddenly angry, Natalie sat up. “What? Did you ask her to bring Meredith over or something?”

“No! No, I didn’t,” her mother insisted.

There was a knock at the door.

Natalie sighed. An exasperated sigh.

Her mother was waiting.

“Yeah, sure,” Natalie finally said. “Go ahead and let her in.”

Natalie turned the television off. As the heavy front door was opened, cold air rushed into the room, and Natalie heard her mother and Meredith greet each other. There was the stomping of boots and the unzipping of a coat. Natalie pictured Meredith in her burgundy parka—with a scarf. She always had a scarf knotted around her neck. Footsteps. Natalie could smell the snow that must have clung to Meredith’s long hair. The sleeves of her parka brushed against her sides and made a rustling sound as she came closer. Natalie stood, but wasn’t sure if Meredith was right in front of her or taking a seat.

“I am so sorry, Nat,” Meredith said. When she spoke, Natalie could tell she was to her right, very close. Meredith sniffed and her voice had a nasal timbre to it, as if she’d been crying. “I had no idea you were actually going to lose all your sight.”

“Yeah. Well, I guess I never wanted to believe it myself.”

“And here I am, the world’s worst friend. . . . I’m sure you hate me.”

“No.” Natalie took a breath. “I don’t hate you, Meredith. Actually, I understand. Richie’s like the first real boyfriend you’ve had.”

An awkward, quiet moment followed.

Natalie’s mother, who must have been listening, called into the room: “Nat, be sure to tell Meredith the exciting news!”

Annoyed that her mother was eavesdropping, Natalie said, “Mom!”

“What?” Meredith touched Natalie’s wrist. “What’s the news?”

And Natalie couldn’t help but grin. “Nuisance is pregnant. She’s due at Christmastime.”

“No way!” Meredith exclaimed. “Nat, that’s exciting!” She reached out then to touch one of Natalie’s hands. “Come on. Can we be friends?”

Natalie nodded, and the old friends hugged for a long moment.

 

A trip to the mall was not Natalie’s idea of a fun thing to do, but Meredith had begged her. “Come on. We
always
go shopping the day before Thanksgiving when we don’t have school. My mom said she’d drive us over to LaVale and drop us off. We can have lunch with Coralee and Suzanne, and then you and I can shop and talk and catch up.
Please.
It’ll be fun.”

“I’m not sure, Meres. I can’t see anything.”

“But I can describe stuff to you, and if you bring your Christmas list we could get a little of it done.”

Nervous, Natalie licked her lips and pressed them together, thinking. “The other thing is that I’m not sure I can use my cane very well. I wouldn’t want to run into someone.”

“Oh.” Meredith sounded disappointed.

“I mean, I guess we could do sighted guide.”

“What’s that?” Meredith asked.

“Where I just hold your elbow and let you lead.”

“Yeah! Let’s do that! It’ll be fine. Just show me what to do.”

 

So at the mall Natalie carried her cane in a tote bag (just in case) and reminded Meredith to take it slow. “I’m going to tuck my right hand in around your elbow and walk maybe a half step behind. But you just walk normal—and let me know if something big comes up—like stairs!”