I shove my phone back in my pocket, irrationally angry that they’d tag me in that right now, when I’m in the middle of trying to find Lila. I know that’s silly. Ain’t as if they know what’s going on. But still. I wish they’d just stop tagging me altogether. All it does is remind me that I’m not there. That my face ain’t squished between theirs in that selfie. That even if they miss me, they’re still having a good time without me, while I’m miserable.
I take another walk around the block before giving up. I’m not gonna find her. I’m gonna have to explain to Mrs. McGraw why I’m coming back with scraped knees and no dog. And she’ll call Beth …
Beth’s gonna be so mad at me.
That thought makes me more upset than I imagined it would.
My feet drag and I choke back tears as I make my way back to Beth’s house. My stomach hurts and there’s this heaviness in my chest. I’m going over and over in my head what I’m gonna say to Mrs. McGraw and then to Beth. But then I reach the front steps and still, none of it sounds right.
Just as I’m walking up to the door, I hear a quiet little bark. It’s like the dog version of someone saying psst. I freeze on the top step and look around, but I still don’t see nothing. Then I hear it again, coming from right beneath me.
I stumble down the steps and crouch, looking under the little porch. It takes me a minute to spot her—it’s kinda dark in there—but sure enough, I see Lila lying in the dirt, staring back at me. I hold out my hand and she gets up, walking toward me with her head down, like she knows she’s done wrong.
“I ain’t mad,” I tell her. My voice cracks on the words as I grab hold of her leash. I wrap it around my wrist, an extra bit of security just in case. “Not at you, anyway. Come here.”
I take a seat on the steps, and Lila flops down at my feet. I can feel tears starting to slip down my face. I was only barely holding them back before, and the sense of relief after that stress makes the dam break. Still, I can’t shake the sensation of a heavy weight on my chest.
“You scared me, you know,” I tell her. “If you hadn’t come back here …”
Lila looks up at me, then lowers her head again, covering her face with one paw.
“It ain’t all your fault. You shouldn’t have run like that, but … if I hadn’t fell …”
If I’d had a cane …
I hate the thought, mostly because I know it’s true. Mama’s brought up the idea of me learning to use a cane a few times over the past year or so. And now that I’m here, Beth keeps bringing up the idea of orientation and mobility lessons. I’ve been saying no to the idea for so long, telling myself I’m all right, that I can see well enough to get by without any help. But if I’d had a cane today, I might have noticed that tree root. I might’ve been able to stop and hold on to Lila’s leash.
I reach down and scratch Lila behind the ears. I don’t say nothing else for a while, but I think she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Things are gonna have to change.
The front door swings open behind me, and Mrs. McGraw’s gravelly voice exclaims, “There you are! I was getting worried. Had half a mind to come looking for you.”
“We weren’t gone that long,” I mutter, keeping my head down so she can’t see that I’ve been crying.
“Maybe not,” Mrs. McGraw replies, “but after the way you left … Well, never mind that now. Come on in. You can have some casserole for lunch.”
“Fine.” Slowly, I stand up and turn toward the door.
“Oh, Hadley!” Mrs. McGraw gasps. “Are those scraped knees? Did you fall? Bless your heart. Come on inside so we can get those cleaned up.”
I make eye contact with Lila. She looks about as tired as I feel. After a second, we both head inside. Even if things do gotta change, everything that happened today can stay our secret.
The doctors first told me I was losing my sight a couple years ago, but apparently it’d been happening for a while before that. It happened real slow, so I didn’t hardly notice.
I remember walking out of the grocery store with Mama one night in the winter. The sun had set, and the lights in the parking lot had come on. But as Mama walked toward the car, pushing the grocery cart and expecting me to walk behind her, it hit me all of a sudden: I couldn’t see.
I could see the headlights from cars pulling in and the glow of streetlamps, sure, but they just looked like bright, gleaming spots surrounded by darkness. The lights were just little orbs of contrast, but they didn’t actually light up anything around them for me. Later, the doctors would explain this had something to do with how retinitis pigmentosa affects the rods and cones of my eyes or something like that, but at the time, all I knew was that I used to be able to see in situations like this, and then I just couldn’t. And I hadn’t been able to for a while.
It wasn’t scary. Not really. Because my vision hadn’t gone away all at once. It was more that I noticed the change all at once, even though it’d been going on for a long time. Like, standing on the edge of that parking lot, I realized that a year or two before, I’d been able to see in places like this, even when it was dark. And the change had happened so gradually, I didn’t have a clue when I’d stopped being able to see.
The same thing was happening with space at the edges of my vision. I was having to turn my head more and more to see things out to the sides and stumbling over things I should’ve been able to see without looking down.
So Mama took me to the eye doctor, who sent me to a fancier eye doctor, who ran all sorts of tests before telling me I was going blind. I wasn’t legally blind just yet, but I would be soon, and it would just keep getting worse from there.
At first, I really didn’t know what legally blind meant. But as far as I understand, it basically just means my eyes are bad enough that, as far as the government or laws or whatever are concerned, I might as well be blind. Even though I can still see some. According to my doctor, most blind people actually do have some vision. It just ain’t a whole lot.
“You know, Bean,” Mama said one night last autumn. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
We were walking out of the movie theater after seeing the newest Pixar movie. Back then, Mama liked to have Girls’ Night once a month, where we’d go to a movie or out for dinner or spend a couple hours at the mall together. Just the two of us.
“Hmm?” The movie theater had been dark, and it was dark outside now, too, so I was holding on to Mama’s arm as she led the way to the car.
“Well,” Mama said, “with how things are going with your vision, I was thinking it might be a good idea to start looking into … I don’t know. Some classes maybe? Like you could learn to read Braille. Or maybe we can find someone to teach you how to cook? The kinda things that might be hard once your eyes get worse. And I could look into you getting one of those white canes. I don’t know a lot about it, but I could find out. I’m sure your school could work with me.”
“Meh. I don’t need any of that,” I said.
“That so?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t need Braille because I can still read all right. And I don’t gotta learn to cook because you do that for me.”
Mama gave me a playful bop on the back of the head when I said that.
I grinned up at her, even though I couldn’t see her face too well in this lighting. “It’s true!” I insisted. “And as for the cane—I get around fine.”
“Bean, you can’t see real well right now,” Mama pointed out.
“That’s just because it’s dark,” I said. “I’m fine during the day, and I ain’t got no reason to go anywhere by myself at night.”
“Don’t say ain’t, Hadley.” Mama stopped next to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for me. Once I was inside, she shut the door before going around to her own seat and hopping in next to me. “Seat belt, please,” she said, then continued with what we’d been talking about a second ago. “And I know you don’t go anywhere by yourself at night right now. But someday you’re go
nna want to. You’ll be in high school, and you’re not gonna want to hold on to your mama’s arm.”
“Sure I will,” I said. “I won’t ever be embarrassed of you, Mama.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said. She started the engine, but she didn’t back out of the parking spot yet. “I’m being serious, Hadley. I think … some sort of classes, just to make sure you’re prepared, could be good. I’m gonna do my best to teach you everything I can, but … but this is new for me, too, Bean. I’ve never been blind, and I’m not sure how to teach you everything.”
I sighed. “I’m okay, Mama. You can teach me fine. Do we gotta talk about this?”
“I’m afraid so, Bean.” She reached over and stroked the back of my head, her fingers sliding through my hair. “Why are you so resistant to this?”
“I dunno,” I mumbled. “I just … I guess I wouldn’t mind learning to cook or something. But I don’t wanna use a cane. People will think it’s weird and they’ll laugh at me.”
“What people?”
“People people,” I said. “People at school. My friends …”
“Do you really think Joey or Maya would think you were weird for using a cane if it helped you?”
“No … Or maybe? I don’t know.”
“I don’t think they would, Bean,” Mama assured me. “And if they did, they aren’t the kinda friends you deserve.”
“Even if they don’t, other people will.”
“Oh, Hadley.” Mama sighed as she leaned across the center console and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I wish I could tell you nobody will be jerks and laugh or say mean things. But I can’t promise that. What I can promise you is that the people who do laugh are the ones with the problem, not you. And they won’t be worth a bit of your time.”
I shrugged, because I knew she was right, that those people would just be jerks, but I wasn’t sure that mattered. Who cared who’d be laughing at me if there were people laughing at all?
“I can also tell you that if it’s being laughed at that you’re worried about, a lot more people would laugh at you for having your mama around in high school or college than if you used a cane,” she said. But now there was a note of teasing in her voice. “I’m sure glad you aren’t embarrassed of me. I love that you’re still willing to hold my hand in public. But you won’t always want me next to you. And I’m not always gonna be able to be there. And I want to know that you’re still safe when I’m not there.”
“I guess.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, pulling away from me and leaning back into her own seat. “We don’t have to do anything right away. But I’ll start looking into classes and stuff—figure out how it all works—and then we can talk about it again. Maybe we get a good start on this when you’re in seventh grade? That way you’ll have all sorts of time to get set for high school. You’ll be able to go out with your friends without me tagging along. And hey, if you learn Braille, you could teach Maya and Joey, and y’all could send little coded messages.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“If that’s as close to a yes as I’m getting for now, I’ll take it,” she said as we pulled out of the movie theater parking lot. “We’ll put this on hold for the moment. In the meantime, how does some ice cream sound? I’m feeling like a trip to Dairy Queen is in order.”
Truth was, the idea of starting high school using a cane sounded awful. But I knew Mama had a point. Still, I didn’t want to deal with it right then. I wanted to put it off as long as possible.
And, without knowing it, I got my wish. It wasn’t long after that that the calls from the lawyers started and Mama got all distant and upset. She didn’t look into those classes. Or, if she did, she forgot to talk to me about it. And I tried to forget, too. To pretend I didn’t need any of it.
Even though she’d been right. She wasn’t always gonna be there to hold my hand.
She isn’t here right now, after all.
When Beth gets home that night, after my disastrous walk with Lila, I come out of my room to talk to her. She’s real surprised by this, I can tell. She don’t do a good job hiding it from her voice.
“Oh, Hadley!” she says, looking up from the pot she’s stirring at the stove. “Are you hungry? Sorry it’s taking me a bit to get dinner going. It was a long day. And I’m not used to making food for two people just yet.”
“I ain’t hungry,” I tell her. “I mean, I could eat, but that ain’t what I wanna talk to you about.”
“Oh.” Beth finishes stirring the pot, then leaves it to simmer before coming over to sit at the tiny table. “Why don’t you sit down. What is it you need to talk about?”
I don’t sit. “It ain’t a big deal,” I tell her real quick. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
“Make what a big deal?”
I sigh. “That thing you talked about. That … that movement training, or whatever it was called. To help me get around better because of my … because my eyes are getting … you know what I’m talking about.”
“Orientation and mobility,” she says calmly. “It would help you as your vision gets worse. What about it?”
“Right, that.” I catch myself chewing on the inside of my cheek and force myself to quit. “Um … could you get me signed up or something? So I could … start classes or … training or whatever it’s called.”
“Of course,” she says. She sounds even more surprised now. “I thought you weren’t interested. What made you change your mind?”
I shrug. I sure as heck ain’t gonna tell her I fell and lost Lila today. She’d get all freaked out and lecture me, probably, or ask me if I’m okay a hundred times. I’m wearing my long pajama pants right now, even though it’s hot, so she can’t see my scraped knees. Mrs. McGraw probably told her about them, but I don’t wanna remind her and risk any questions. “I dunno. I just figure … it’s boring around here. Might as well have something to do.”
“Hmm.”
She don’t believe me. Before she can ask any more questions, though, I say, “Also can you buy some baby carrots?”
“Baby carrots?”
I nod. “Not for me. I don’t like carrots. But they were in that salad Mrs. McGraw brought over the other day. I gave mine to Lila and she really liked them. More than she’s liked the dog treats you brought from work.”
Beth sighs. “Hadley, you’re supposed to be training her. Not giving her table food.”
“I know, I know.” I wave my hand. “But it ain’t table food if the carrots are just for her. And … and if she likes them so much, it might help me train her. It’s worth a try, ain’t it?”
“Hmm. Well. If she does like them more than the dog treats, then … sure. I’ll pick some up.” She goes to check the pot on the stove before she asks a question. “So have you thought more about it, then? Are you going to try and train her?”
“I …” I’m chewing on my cheek again. “Maybe. Yeah. I guess.” I shrug. “I started looking stuff up on the computer this afternoon. There are a lot of YouTube videos about dog training. Watching those is easier for me than reading a bunch.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that.” She turns off the stove and starts opening up cabinets, grabbing dishes and utensils. “Videos being easier for you, I mean. It’s a good idea. Do you need help finding more? I can do some digging and—”
“I got it,” I snap. I don’t mean to. I know she ain’t doing anything wrong, really. But she’s just so eager to help all the time, and it makes me feel kinda bad. Like she don’t think I can do anything on my own.
“Okay, okay,” Beth says. And now she sounds irritated, too. Clearly I’m trying her patience real hard. “Dinner will be done in just a second, but how about after, I can maybe show you a few things that might help? We can do a bit of training with Lila together.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “I guess.”
Mama calls right after dinner. As she does every night. And, as I do every night, I refuse to talk to her. So while Beth spend
s fifteen real awkward minutes talking to her—catching her up on her own life—I wash the dishes, grab Lila, and head into the living room to wait. When my sister is off the phone, she comes to join us, a bag of dog treats in her hand.
“We’ll have to wait on the baby carrots,” she says. “These will do for now, though. First, make sure she knows you have them. Give Lila a treat so she knows what she’s working for.”
I take one of the treats from Beth and offer it to Lila. She sniffs it for a long moment before taking it. And nearly swallowing it whole.
“Careful,” I tell her. “You’re gonna choke on one of them if you keep that up.”
Lila just tilts her head at me, like she’s expecting more.
“Good,” Beth says. “Now she knows what she’s working for. Let’s start with teaching her to come when called. That’s a pretty simple one.”
But it sure doesn’t seem simple. Every time I try, Beth tells me I’m not doing it right.
“Lila, come?”
“A little firmer,” she says. “Not a question. You gotta let her know you’re in charge.”
“Lila, come!”
“Not so harsh,” she says. “You don’t wanna scare her.”
“Lila, come.”
“Louder.”
“Lila, come.”
“Softer.”
And through all of it, Lila doesn’t get off her butt and come over to me even once. She just stares at Beth and me, like she thinks we’re ridiculous. Even when I hold out the treat to her, trying to lure her over, she just stares at it. Like it ain’t enough to convince her, and she don’t got a clue why I’m not just bringing it over to where she’s waiting.
Eventually, she gets bored with Beth and me. She stands up and walks right out of the living room, back toward my bedroom.
“Ugh!” I throw the dog treat in my hand onto the ground in frustration.
“Calm down,” Beth says. But she sounds frustrated, too. Except I’m guessing her issue ain’t with Lila. She picks the treat up off the floor before saying, “I’ll go get Lila, and we’ll try again.”
Lila and Hadley Page 4