What Love Sees (13 page)

Love to all, Jean and Chiang

She sealed the letter, crawled into bed and relished the feel of cool sheets against her skin. Still, she didn’t sleep well. The dogs were supposed to be kept tied to the beds. Chiang was restless and kept flopping over on her other side, and so her chain rattled on the bare floor. Each time Chiang flopped over, Jean did, too. At least she had a large rug in her bedroom at home.

She relived the struggles of the day. Tending to Chiang was like taking care of a baby. Always there was tension. Jean couldn’t let up, even for a minute, just to relax. Too many times Chiang wouldn’t do what she wanted. Sometimes when she said, “Forward,” nothing happened. It was embarrassing to have to repeat the command again and again. All she could do was stand there like a fool and wait. And when she did get Chiang walking, sometimes she stopped to sniff something. The others’ dogs didn’t do that. And they didn’t let out noisy smells under the dining room table, either.

Chiang breathed a deep, satisfied snore, puffing air out the side of her mouth. And the rest of the dogs don’t snore like a doddery grandfather. Getting adjusted to a dog must be something like getting adjusted to a husband, she thought. So what was that supposed to mean?

Idly, she wondered what Vic Gulbransen looked like. He was always so kind to her and had a soft voice. She could tell from the direction of his voice that he must be tall. And he liked music, too. She and Vic were going to buy the
New World Symphony
for Lee. Vic must be good looking to be that nice to everyone. But that was a silly thought. Entirely illogical. Still, she hoped it was so. Then she realized maybe she’d never know. Unless she asked Mrs. Campbell. Vic wasn’t married. That she knew. But she also knew that St. Louis was a long way away. After this class, they’d probably never see each other again.

She rolled over. It was too hot even for a sheet. At home, she’d sleep without one, but here, she wasn’t sure who might walk into her room by mistake. But if it was a student, what would it matter? She pulled it part way up and turned her pillow over to put her face on the cool side. She kept thinking of the final test. It would be on the downtown streets of Newark with traffic and noise. They would have to use city buses during rush hour. She’d gotten nervous and headachy all day just thinking about it. It was unknown territory to be faced alone. “You’re not alone,” she remembered Lee saying. “You have your dog.” But sometimes that didn’t seem enough.

The next day heading out for the routes, Ham bumped into Jean. It wasn’t the first time. He did it practically every day. His heavy shoe scraped against her ankle. “Damn it, José,” Ham said to his dog. “Get away from Chiang’s ass.” She heard Ham shake his harness.

The comment stunned her. She just stood there. “Move on ahead, Jean,” Lee said.

“Forward,” she said quickly to Chiang. Her voice quavered. Chiang turned back toward José. “Forward,” Jean pleaded again. Chiang pulled her around backwards right into Ham’s sweaty stomach.

“Speak up, Jean,” Lee scolded. She panicked and yanked on Chiang’s harness.

Ham shouted, “Heel,” yanked on his harness, and José obeyed.

“Quarter turn left and forward, Jean,” Lee directed and Jean followed.

“Forward,” she said with all the voice she could muster. Her heart was racing and she stepped quickly. “Hop up,” she said. She wanted to get clear away from wherever Ham and José might be. She felt perspiration slide the harness in her hand.

“Don’t be so passive,” Lee told her after dinner that night. “No dog will mind you with that timid little voice. You’ve got to sound like you mean it.” Lee sounded like he meant it. She felt like she was being chastised by Mr. Klimke in Latin class.

“Wanting a dog to do something and telling a dog what you want are two different things,” he went on. “The difference has got to be your voice and a firm hold on the harness. Those are the only two ways your dog will know she has to obey.”

“No matter how many times you tell me, it’s the only voice I’ve got.”

“You’re wrong.” She heard him sit down next to her. “Jean,” he said quietly, “I see the blind living under some self-imposed cult of meekness as if, by being blind, they have to be milquetoast, apologizing by the way they stand or speak for the space they’re taking up on this planet.” She felt like he meant her alone. It made her feel worse. She hoped no one else was around to hear him say this. “But that doesn’t have to be. Whether you or your family recognized it or not, you didn’t come here just to get a dog. You came here to learn independence. The Seeing Eye intends to shatter that meekness and replace it with self-esteem and self-reliance. So speak up and stand up straight.”

Jean blinked away the wetness, stood, and walked toward the doorway to the yard. She bumped into the doorjamb, adjusted, and went outside. She touched her forehead. Already there was a lump forming. Tears came. The early evening air hung heavy and her palms, her underarms, the crease opposite her elbows all felt damp.

She didn’t actually want to feel sorry for herself. It wasn’t very grown up. All the others were facing challenges as great as her own. New Jersey was sweltering, and training entailed a lot of walking so everyone was losing weight. Ray Johnson sat on a woman in the bus one day. Louey Bruner, who had lost his sense of taste when he lost his sight, ate half his paper plate with his hot dog one night. But still it was worth it. The struggle must have its purpose, or the others wouldn’t do it, either. She didn’t question that for a moment.

She walked along the side of the building. Her hand traced a row of bricks. She had never wanted anything before as strongly as this, so strongly that it hurt. She squeezed the hurt out of her eyes in warm tears. But she hadn’t known what it would be like. She had thought a dog could replace people and could lead her around. Maybe instead, she herself had to replace other people. The dog was only a vehicle. Maybe that was what she had to want, self-direction. If she could just turn the force of that desire into doing the right things, then she could master this dog business. She pursed her lips. The desire for a dog wasn’t the same as the will to succeed, though. The will had to come from within, from concentration based on commitment, not just to prove to Father she had made the right decision, but to prove it to herself.

Concentrating, she turned a quarter turn, paused to think, then did another, then two more. She stretched out her hand. The bricks were where they should be.

Chapter Eleven

Two more weeks at The Seeing Eye widened their routes and welded the group closer. Jean rolled a clean sheet into her typewriter and wrote:

Dear Lorraine,

I was so excited when I read your letter. Certainly, I’ll be a bridesmaid at your wedding. I think I could do just about anything now. The dogs have helped us so. I hope you’ll be able to have a real church wedding, no matter how small. I’d get married out in a field at this point, if only to be married.

Your second page of Braille was quite elegant, and I could read the first page, too, even though it was backwards. You keep it up. Tell me anything you want after you’re married because I

Oops. I was interrupted by Lillian, my usually unsociable roommate, and forgot my last word. Anyway, I’ll be coming home Monday. Hooray! I’ve worked hard here and can do so much more on my own now. My parents will have to let me do things they didn’t before. I feel like a new person.

Ever, Jean

“Christ, it’s hot,” Ham said the next evening in the recreation room.

“Stifling,” Jean agreed. “I don’t feel a hint of breeze. Are all the windows open, do you think?”

“I checked them twice.”

They played cards with Braille cards and called out their plays. The dogs dozed beneath the table.

“I’m glad I’m not a dog,” Jean said. “All that hair. Those poor pooches. It must be like wearing blankets. I didn’t even want to sleep with a sheet last night.”

“Oo-ee. Did you?” Ham’s voice reached a rough falsetto.

“Never mind.”

“Aw, come on. Tell us,” Ray teased.

“Of course she did.” It was Vic’s voice.

“How do
you
know?” Ham chortled.

“She’s from New England, isn’t she?”

Jean felt a smile creep over her face. Here she felt more womanly than she ever had before. Vic often came to her rescue when they teased her. It was kind of him, but he didn’t need to. She enjoyed it. She wondered for the hundredth time what they all looked like. They were from all walks of life, from different social classes, of all ages. In spite of that, she felt like them. Their one similarity united them in a way she could never feel united with Lucy or the rest of the family—or with any man.

“What does a chiropractor actually do?” she asked Vic.

“Manipulates the joints to get them into alignment.”

“How do you know if they’re not?”

“Feel. I can tell what needs to be altered by how it feels under the skin.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. Usually not.”

“Mostly for people’s necks?”

“Backs, mainly. You mean you’ve never had someone rub your back?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Here. Lean forward.” He walked around to the back of her chair. Gently he put his hands on her shoulders. She tightened up. “Relax.” He rubbed the back of her neck until her head fell forward naturally.

“Ooh, it feels good.”

“Ssh. Just relax.”

Relax? His touch made her do anything but relax. His fingers were firm and penetrating and sent a ripple of feeling across her shoulders. She took a big breath and let it out loudly.

“Hey, what are you doing to her, Vic? You might at least have the decency to go somewheres else,” Ray said.

“Jealous, eh?” Vic said. It made Jean giggle. “Relax. I can’t do this when you’re laughing.” She obeyed and her shoulders sagged. It felt exciting and comforting at the same time to have his hands on her. He rubbed until she felt hypnotized by his hands and then he told her, “Stand up and clasp your hands behind your head.” He put both his arms through hers, pulled upwards and then down and up again sharply.

“Yeow! What was that?”

“Just cracked your spine.”

“Ooh, I have prickles all down my back.”

“See? You didn’t know how tight you were.”

“It feels all tingly.” He was right. Tight. She felt suddenly freer.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, Jean. Watch out.” Ham chortled.

“I’m watching, but nothing’s happening,” she said with the confidence of knowing she was lovely to the men who sat around her in the sultry recreation room.

“You’ll make Lillian upstairs jealous,” Ray said.

Jean smirked. “That’d be something new, somebody jealous of me.”

“Naw, that’s not Lillian’s problem. She’s just stuck up,” Ray muttered.

“Frigid, probably,” Ham added after a pause. “Now Jean here, she’ll never have that problem.”

“How do
you
know?” Ray teased, echoing Ham’s joke.

“She’s down here with us, ain’t she?” Ham countered.

There was a new pleasure in this give-and-take playfulness with sexual undertones. She stretched and settled back into the chair, into the center of men’s attention for the first time in her life. “Do you want to play another hand?”

“Eh? What’s that you say? Do I want to play with your hand?”

She laughed. Typical comment for Ham.

“No, too hot.” Dale’s drawl.

“Too hot to play. Too hot to go to bed. Might as well stay up,” said Ray.

“We could tell ghost stories. Or jokes,” Jean said.

“What’s the funniest thing that ever happened to you?” Ray threw out the question to the group.

“The time I walked into a women’s restroom,” Ham said. “Some screamy broad didn’t believe I couldn’t see. Thought it was a trick and that I was about to rape her. ‘Lady, I wouldn’t touch you if you were built like Mae West,’ I said. She had a voice like a hyena.”

They all laughed. “Boy, she mighta had a couple of big ones to bump into.” Ray snorted through his laugh.

“Lady present,” Vic cautioned, but Jean listened intently.

“What was the most embarrassing thing?”

“Going to a job interview with shoes that didn’t match.”

“Same thing happened to me with socks.”

In the oppressive heat, without their instructors there, without their families and friends, without the world, they were finally free to reveal their private selves. Out spilled stories of buttoning shirts wrong and of cutting themselves re-learning to shave. They told of the panic of dropping keys and forgetting phone numbers. Everyone had a story of getting lost. They laughed at the universality of their experiences.

“Just because we can laugh about it now doesn’t mean we’ll never get lost again, even with our dogs,” Ham said. The stark realization quieted them.

“Getting lost is more than a surrender and a lowering of pride.” Dale Richardson spoke even more slowly than usual, and his voice sounded hollower. “You’ve got to admit it. I’m not the only one who feels it. Why not say it? Terror.”

Jean swallowed. Yes, that was it. In Munich on the bridge, that was it. In New York when Madame Flagstad grabbed her arm in the crowd. And the countless times she didn’t know where she was—at school, at Icy’s house, in the riding ring. Terror. No one with sight could possibly know.

The word hung there in the darkness and then it unleashed a flood of talk. “What’s worse even than that is to have to admit to my kids when I need help,” said Louey. “When panic is private, it ain’t so bad, but when you have to ask, then it’s public and—”

“Humiliation, that’s what you mean. It’s humiliating to ask for the privilege of movement.” It was the first entirely serious thing she’d ever heard Ray say.

“But our families won’t have to help us so much any more,” Jean said. She felt the conversation digging itself in and wanted to stop it. “They’ve got to see that we can do more for ourselves now. And look at what all of you have already done, earning your own living. That makes me feel I haven’t accomplished anything.” Her voice cracked. “They can’t help but see we’re even more able now.”