The Schwa was Here (15 page)

They let me ride in the back of the ambulance with him as they ran red lights and took the wrong side of the road halfway to Coney Island Hospital.

“Why did you want me to come?” I asked Crawley. “Why not Lexie?”

“I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“She can’t.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, you know what I mean.” He shifted positions and grimaced. “Tell them you’re my grandson at the hospital, and weasel your way into the ICU. You’re good at weaseling.”

“Thanks, I think.”

The paramedic checking Crawley’s blood pressure threw me a quick glance, but didn’t say anything. I guess whatever went on at the hospital wasn’t his business.

Then, when the ambulance pulled to a stop at the emergency room, Crawley grabbed my arm again. His nails dug into my forearm, although I don’t think he did it to hurt me, and he said: “Don’t let them leave me alone.”

I sat beside him in a little curtained emergency-room cubicle, listening to him complain about everything from the antiseptic
smell to the flickering fluorescent lights that “could send someone into a seizure.” Everything in the hospital was a lawsuit waiting to happen, and he was prepared to bring in his lawyers at any moment.

I called my parents to tell them where I was. Never open up a conversation with your mother with the words, “I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh, my God! Did you get hit by a car? Oh, my God! Is anything broken? Oh, my God, Antsy, oh, my God!”

She was so loud, I had to pull the phone away from my ear, and Crawley could hear every word. It was actually a comfort to hear my mother showing concern, so I let it go on for a moment before I stopped her and told why I was at the hospital.

“Mr. Crawley’s really shaken up. I guess I’ll be here for a while.”

“Is he okay?” Mom asked. “Is he gonna live?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Crawley let out a single loud guffaw at that. It was the first time I had ever made him laugh.

“Call when you need a ride home,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a cab.”

At the mention of that, Crawley’s eyes got a little wider, and his lips pursed a little tighter. After I hung up he said, “You leave when I tell you to leave. I’ll pay you time-and-a-half for overtime.”

“Not everyone in the world does things for money, okay?”

“You do.”

“Well, not all the time.”

“Good. Then I won’t pay you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Aha!” he said, pointing his finger at me.

Now it was my turn to laugh.

Crawley glanced out the little opening in the curtain. Doctors and nurses whooshed past every minute or so, but never whooshed in. “Hospitals are the greatest failure of civilization,” Crawley proclaimed.

“You’re not the only patient. They’ll get to you eventually.”

“So will the coroner.”

I looked at him for a moment, remembering what he had been like when they wheeled him in. As soon as they had opened the door to the ambulance, he had covered his face with both hands, like a vampire afraid of the light of day, all the while calling to me in a panic.

“Why are you so scared to be alone?” I asked him.

Crawley ignored the question so I tried another.

“Why am I here instead of Lexie?”

Crawley took a long moment to weigh his answer, then sighed. This was a good thing, because when people sigh, it usually means they’re about to tell the truth. A sigh means it’s not worth the energy to lie.

“The more Lexie knows, the more she’ll tell her father—my sson,” Crawley said. (He spat it out, like it was a four-letter word instead of three.) “I don’t want my sson to know anything. He’s already convinced that I need to be in an ‘assisted-living facility.’ An old folks’ home.”

“Well, you’re an old folk.”

“I’m venerable, not elderly.” And at my puzzled expression he said, “Look it up.”

“I don’t need to. I’m sure it’s just a word that’s supposed to make ‘old’ sound good, like they say ‘restroom’ when they really mean ‘bathroom,’ and they say ‘bathroom’ when they really mean
‘toilet.’” Then I added, “It’s called a euphemism. Look it up.”

He waved his hand at me. “I don’t know why I waste my breath. You couldn’t possibly understand what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

I thought he’d just wave his hand at me again, but to my surprise he was actually listening—which meant I had to find a way to put into words what I was thinking. I began slow, just in case I flew into some speed bumps that sunk my train of thought.

“Right now everybody knows you as kooky Old Man Crawley, with fourteen dogs in his window and enough power to shut down the egg supply to half of Brooklyn.”

He grinned. “They still remember the eggs, do they?”

“Who could forget? But once you get put in a rest home, you’ll just be some old fart playing checkers and waiting for the aquacize instructor. You won’t be a mysterious force to be reckoned with anymore. And that’s scary.”

He looked at me for a long time. I figured he was generating a really good insult, but instead he said, “You’re slightly brighter than I gave you credit for.”

“You know, your son will find out about this. Lexie will tell him—she probably already has.”

“Just as long as I’m out of here and back in my apartment when I face him.” Then he added, “I just hope Lexie’s all right with that lackluster friend of yours.”

“I’m sure your granddaughter and the Schwa are having a great time. They probably got their hands all over each other’s faces or something.” The image of that was just too disturbing. I had to stand up and pace in the little space, peering out of the curtains to see if the doctor was coming. The greatest failure of civilization. Maybe Crawley was right.

“My granddaughter is very upset with you.”

This was news to me. “What does she have to be upset about? She was the one who dumped me for the Schwa.”

Crawley looked at me square in the eye. “You’re a moron.”

“I thought you just said I was brighter than you gave me credit for.”

“I stand corrected.”

As it turns out, Crawley had fractured his hip again. It wasn’t bad, but a fracture is a fracture. He couldn’t keep the news from his “sson,” but as Lexie’s parents were still in Europe, their war was limited to transatlantic phone calls. They insisted he spend time in a nursing home, and he told them what they could do with their nursing home. In the end, Crawley agreed to hire a full-time nurse, but in the meantime was happy to torment the nurses at the hospital.

From his hospital room, Crawley commanded Lexie to go to school the next day rather than visit him, and he raised such a stink she did as she was told. My parents, on the other hand, let me take off school that day, since I had been up all night with Crawley, and that gave me time to take the subway down to the Academy of the Blind before school let out.

At the end of their school day, the students left with precision and care, unlike the mob scene at most other schools. Many students were escorted by Seeing Eye dogs, parents, or nannies. A few older ones went out alone with white canes tapping the pavement in front of them. Some of Lexie’s schoolmates seemed well accustomed to their state; for others, it was
a serious hardship. I never imagined there was such a range in how people handled being blind.

The strangest thing of all was the way drivers used noisemakers to guide their student to the car. Some clicked, some whirred, some whistled—and no two were the same. It was amazing, because every kid found their way to the right car with just a couple of toots or clicks.

Moxie spotted me before I spotted Lexie, and he brought her to me.

“Moxie? What’s wrong, boy?”

“Hi, Lexie.”

It only took an instant for her to recognize my voice. “Anthony, what are you doing here? Is my grandfather all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. I’m here because I needed to talk to you.”

“So you came all the way here? Couldn’t you wait till I got home?”

“Yeah, I guess, but I didn’t want to.”

Someone pulled up to the curb, rolled down the window, and blew a slide whistle.

“Do they do that at all blind schools?” I asked Lexie.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “This one is just weird.” She turned her head slightly to the side. “I hear my driver further up the street. C’mon, you can ride home with me.”

She led me to a black Lincoln—a car service that the Crawleys had hired to take Lexie to and from school. The driver had a Pakistani look about him, and rather than using a plain old noisemaker, he was playing the harmonica. Badly.

“My father started him off with a kazoo. I gave him the harmonica
because it’s so much more dignified. I figure he might actually be able to play by the end of the school year.”

We got in the car and sped off, with Moxie lying across our feet.

“Your grandfather says you’re angry at me.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah, and I think I’ve got a right to know why. I mean, you dumped me in the middle of a concert, and now you’re the one who’s angry at me?”

Moxie sensed a little anger on my part, and he barked. It was the first time I had ever heard him bark.

“Dumped you? Is that what you think?”

“No, I guess not. I guess you just fired me. That’s just as bad. So now I want to know why you’re the one who’s angry. If anyone should be mad, it’s me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m just . . . disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because
you
dumped
me
.”

“Now you’re just playing games with me.”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “As long as you were being paid, we couldn’t really be dating, could we? I even said that at the concert, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“So if Calvin is my paid escort, my grandfather gets what he wants, and then you could ask me out for a
real
date.” And then she added, “But you didn’t.”

My jaw swung open like Wendell Tiggor in math. Words failed me.

“I swear,” said Lexie, “you sighted people don’t see anything unless it’s staring you in the face.” And then she leaned forward
and planted a kiss square on my mouth. It was a perfect hit, like she had a radar lock on my lips. Then she said, “Is there anything unclear about that, or do you need a Hallmark card?”

I looked around, self-conscious as anything, but there was no one to see us but Moxie and the Pakistani driver, who kept his eyes on the road like it was the hardest level of a video game.

“I guess I get the picture now,” was all I could say. Then a nasty little thought surfaced to ruin the moment.

“What about the Schwa?”

“Calvin’s my friend,” Lexie said. “He’ll understand.”

“I don’t think so.
He
thinks you’re going out.”

“Don’t be silly. No, he doesn’t.”

“Hey—you don’t know him like I do.”

“He’s my escort. We have fun together. He knows there’s nothing more to it than that.”

“You don’t get it, do you? If we start going out, it will crush him. He’s one of us handicapped sighted people who believes what he sees.”

Lexie pulled her shoulders back, getting all offended. “I think I’m a much better judge of character than you think I am.”

“All I’m saying is that we can’t do this to him.”

“So you don’t want to go out with me?”

I sighed. “I didn’t say that either.”

Unlike my parents, I don’t know much about cooking. According to them, the only recipe I know is a recipe for disaster. I actually have a few of them. Here’s the latest: Take one blind girl who’s not nearly as insightful as she thinks she is, add one Italian ham, sprinkle generously with Schwa, then put in a pot and turn up the heat.

I asked Lexie out to dinner, and she suggested we go to a movie first. It didn’t occur to me that the movies with her would be an altogether different experience. Since I was no longer her paid escort, I had to shell out the money for it myself. I didn’t mind. It felt like an accomplishment.

I knew the Schwa would have a cow if he knew about the date—more than a cow, he’d have a whole herd—but I put him out of my mind, for once allowing the Schwa Effect to work in my favor. I forgot him and let myself have a good time with Lexie.