Lila and Hadley

by Kody Keplinger

  “I ain’t sure about all that,” Shelby admits. “I know his kitchen is real organized, and he has come up with ways to make it work for him, though. He’s a good cook. Grandma started insisting we have Thanksgiving at his house instead of hers so he can cook for all of us. Mmm. Now I’m hungry.” She chuckles. “Anyway. I don’t think it was easy for him or anything. But he’s doing all right. I don’t know if it’ll be the same for you. I hope so, of course, but … I don’t mind listening if you want me to. Sorry if that ain’t much help.”

  “No, I appreciate it,” I tell her. “Everybody else—my sister and my teacher—they all wanna talk about it just to tell me it’s gonna get easier. And maybe they’re right. But sometimes I don’t wanna hear two people who ain’t been through this tell me how it’s gonna be. I just wanna be upset a little. Even if it does get easier—even if I end up doing real well like your uncle—it still stinks right now.”

  “My mama calls that venting,” Shelby says. “When she gets home after a bad day and tells my dad about it, sometimes he tries to make suggestions for how to fix things, and it just gets her madder. She says sometimes people just gotta vent.”

  “Why’s it called venting?”

  “No idea,” Shelby says. “Just what she calls it. So if you ever gotta vent to me, go right ahead.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I turn my eyes back to Lila and Pilot, still walking just ahead of us, leashes a little loose. Now that Pilot’s gotten used to me and Lila being around, he’s actually doing pretty good on the leash. I’ve got this theory that he and Lila are trying to impress each other, because sometimes as they walk, one of the dogs will look over at the other for a minute and then wag their tail. It’s pretty cute, if I’m being honest.

  We decide to go to the dog park for a little bit to let the dogs run around before we separate and head back to our houses. As soon as we’re inside the fence and we’ve taken their leashes off, Lila and Pilot start racing around the dog park.

  Lila still don’t play with the other dogs much—just Pilot—but at least she ain’t hiding behind the bench anymore.

  Shelby and I find an empty seat in the shade. And after we’ve been sitting for a minute, I say, “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “When I saw you that day at the picnic tables—I realized you were staring at me. And, at first, I got real upset. Because I thought you were looking at me because of my cane. I thought you were gonna tease me about it or something.”

  “Really?” Shelby asks, clearly surprised. And maybe a little hurt. “That’d be awful. I’d never do that.”

  “I know that now,” I say. “I was real relieved when I met you here and realized you were only staring because you wanted to be friends with my dog.”

  “And you.”

  “Mostly my dog.”

  “Well, maybe.”

  We both laugh, and I try to ignore the fact that I’ve just referred to Lila as “my dog” even though she ain’t mine at all. Even though Vanessa says it probably won’t be long before we can find her a real home. I shake off the thought. It was just a slip of the tongue. I know she ain’t mine. And I got other things I’m worrying about right now.

  “Shelby,” I say, “do you think people at your school will tease me about it?”

  “About you being almost blind?”

  “Yeah.” I fidget with Lila’s leash, which I’m still holding in my hands. “I’m gonna be living with my sister for a while, so I’ll probably be going to your school when it starts up in a few weeks. No one at my old school really made fun of me about it. But I didn’t use a cane. And also I’d known everyone there since kindergarten. So my vision getting worse slowly like it has wasn’t as big a deal to them. And … I’m just nervous about being made fun of, I guess.”

  Shelby takes a minute to answer. When she does, she says, “I don’t know. I wanna believe they wouldn’t. Most people at school are pretty nice. I know my friends, Cate and Cassie, wouldn’t, but … I can’t say for sure, Hadley. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah …”

  “But.” She touches my arm and waits to speak until I’ve looked over at her. When I do, she’s staring back at me, real direct. “If anybody does act like jerks, just let me know. And I’ll kick their butts.” She lifts her arm and flexes it with a grin.

  I can’t help but laugh. The idea of Shelby—with her pigtails and her big smile—fighting anyone is pretty silly. But it does cheer me up a bit.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Anytime.”

  Later, when Lila and I are walking back to Beth’s house, I can’t help but think that it’s interesting: Shelby didn’t try to make any promises about how things would get better or easier. Or try to tell me she understood what I was going through or any of that stuff people often do when they know I’m losing my sight. But she also didn’t act like she pitied me, either. Instead, she just offered to let me talk, and promised to be there for me if I needed her to.

  To my own surprise, I believe her.

  And, for the first time in a while, I do actually feel a little better—a little less angry and afraid—about what’ll happen in the future. At least where me and my eyes are concerned.

  It’s the end of July, only a couple weeks before the start of the school year, when Cilia gives me my biggest challenge yet. She’d warned me at our last lesson, while the younger kids were packing up their things, that the next session would be one-on-one and that, instead of meeting me at the community center, she’d be picking me up from Beth’s house.

  So on Monday afternoon, Mrs. McGraw—with Lila’s leash in hand—waves me off as I climb into Cilia’s minivan. I shut my door and buckle my seat belt before turning to look at my teacher. “So where we going?”

  “Not too far,” she answers, backing out of the short driveway. “You’ve been doing well with your cane technique, and you picked up on street crossing methods really fast. So I thought today I’d give you a bit more of a challenge.”

  I ain’t sure what that means, and if I’m being honest, it makes me a little nervous. But I don’t got a lot of time to think about it because Cilia only drives for a couple minutes before parking the car and cutting the engine.

  We’re on a busy street—well, as busy as any of the streets around here seem to get—with cars parked on either side. There are several buildings, too, clustered close together, but I can’t tell what they are. Shops or offices or something. We must be downtown.

  “Okay,” Cilia says, undoing her seat belt and swiveling to reach into the back seat. She grabs something that looks like a binder before easing back into the driver’s seat. “So today I’m going to have you go on a route. But we’re going to do it a little differently than usual. Instead of walking close behind you and directing you where to go, I’m going to make a map for you to memorize. I’ll be walking behind you at a distance, but I won’t be saying anything unless you really need help. The goal is for you to feel like you’re doing this on your own.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I guess. But you’re forgetting one big thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not gonna be able to see a map real well, I don’t think.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Cilia says. She opens the binder and places it in my lap.

  On one side of the open binder there’s a sheet of black Velcro. On the other, there’s a zipped pocket filled with various thin pieces of plastic. I ain’t sure what the heck this is supposed to be, even when Cilia unzips the pocket and shows me that the plastic pieces—most of which are long, thin rectangles—have Velcro on the back.

  “What’s this?”

  “This is how I’m going to make a map,” Cilia explains. “One you can see, but also feel if you need to. These pieces will be streets. I’ll lay out the route here, then give you a couple minutes to memorize it before we get started.”

  Cilia walks me through placing the plastic pieces onto the Velcro sheet, letting the l
ong, thin pieces serve as the path I’m meant to take. She even has me put little spaces between the pieces to show where I’ll need to cross a street. And when we’re done, I’m holding a sort of 3-D map I can run my fingers over as I try to memorize the several turns I’ll have to make, which will eventually lead back to my starting point, near the van. And, according to Cilia, right in front of the best ice cream shop in town.

  “I know this might seem silly,” Cilia admits. “You have a cell phone and you can probably pull up a map on there and even have the phone give you directions with the voice-over function. We’ll do a route like that at some point, if you want, but there are going to be times where that might not be an option. Maybe your phone is dead or you don’t have signal or Wi-Fi. So it’s always a good idea to have a route in mind before you go somewhere alone. Since you can’t see street signs, you’ll have to know exactly where you’re going. Counting street crossings and stuff like that. Making a route like this—something you can memorize by touching it if you want—is always an option.”

  “Right.” But my stomach is tying itself in knots. I’ve done a lot of walking around Beth’s neighborhood, but it’s always been with her or Shelby. The farthest I’ve had to walk alone is to the dog park, and that’s mostly a straight shot from Beth’s house. Not a lot to remember.

  As if she can sense my worry, Cilia says, “Like I said, I’ll be walking behind you. If there’s any chance you’re in danger or if it seems like you’re struggling, I’ll be right here to help. Just take a couple more minutes to get a feel for it, and we’ll get started.”

  I run my hands over the plastic pieces, trying to learn the map both visually and tactilely. My lips move around the words as I say the route to myself a few times. “Two blocks up. Turn left. Three blocks. Turn right …”

  But eventually Cilia gently takes the binder from my lap and closes it, tucking it under her arm. “All right,” she says, popping open her door. “Let’s get started.”

  I climb out of the minivan and unfold my cane while I wait for Cilia to come around. She meets me on the sidewalk and gives me an encouraging smile—which honestly just makes me feel irritated because it’s more pressure if I mess up—before sending me off.

  The first block is easy, of course. I just gotta walk straight down the sidewalk to the curb. I try and focus on my cane—on keeping the sweeps in step with my feet, on catching myself once it gets caught in cracks to avoid stabbing myself in the belly. This really ain’t so different from walking in Beth’s neighborhood.

  But then I reach the first street crossing, and this is real different from Beth’s neighborhood. Because Beth’s neighborhood ain’t got a lot of traffic, but we’re downtown today, and even though this ain’t a big town, there are still more cars here than where Beth lives. I can hear them all whooshing by, but watching for them is hard since my vision is so tunneled now.

  I’ve crossed busier streets than this before, but only with someone else telling me when it was safe to go. Or with Cilia, who taught me how to do it safely but was still always right near me when I did it. Now Cilia’s way behind me, and I’m on my own.

  Don’t make this a big deal, Hadley, I scold myself. She taught you how to do this. It ain’t that hard.

  I turn to watch and listen to the traffic at my left. It’s running north, the same direction I’m walking. Once it starts moving, that’ll mean it’s safe for me to cross because the cars heading east and west won’t be able to go through the intersection. Cilia always tells me it’s okay to use what vision I got left, but to trust my ears more. So I do. And when it sounds like the first car is about halfway through the intersection—so I know it ain’t gonna turn—I start walking.

  I gotta fight the urge to run through the crosswalk, to get to safety faster. But I know if I do that, I might trip over my cane, which really ain’t meant for jogging, so I walk. Fast. And when I reach the other side, I feel a huge sense of relief.

  At least until I remember that, based on the route Cilia made me map, there are about twelve more to go before this is over.

  But really, it ain’t quite as scary after that. As time goes by, I’m focusing more on remembering the rest of the route than I am on being nervous. About halfway through, I stop at a corner because I can’t remember if I was supposed to keep going straight or turn.

  “Dang it,” I mutter, trying to remember. I know I’ve gone two blocks since that last turn. I’ve been counting streets like Cilia taught me. But I’m completely blanking on what I was supposed to do next.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second, trying to remember the little plastic pieces on the Velcro. I imagine running my hands over it the way I had, tracing it with my fingertips. I follow the route from the starting point, remembering all the crossings and turns, right up until I reach where I am now and …

  Straight. One more block straight and then I turn again.

  I keep moving.

  It takes me about half an hour to walk the full route. Which ain’t real fast—I probably could have done it better—but I know it ain’t about speed. And in all the time, I didn’t get lost or run over by a car or even have to stop and holler to Cilia for help. I did it completely on my own.

  And I only jabbed myself in the belly with my cane three or four times!

  So when I reach the place where we started, I’ve actually got a smile on my face. And when Cilia catches up, I think she notices.

  “You did it!” Cilia says to me. “Nice work!”

  I know it seems like a silly thing to feel so proud of—I just took a thirty-minute walk by myself—but I do. It’s left me feeling energetic and excited, wanting to map out paths on my own.

  “That one street crossing was kinda hard,” I admit. “The T-shaped one? That took me a minute.”

  “I know, but I knew you had it under control,” Cilia says. “And now that you’ve done this once, we’ll get more practice soon, with longer routes and different types of street crossings. But for today, you did a very good job, Hadley.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And now,” she says, looking past me at the ice cream shop. “We still have a bit of time before I need to get you back home. What do you say we grab some ice cream?”

  After Cilia and I each eat our cones of ice cream and step back outside, I pass her my phone and ask if she wouldn’t mind taking a picture of me.

  “Sure,” she says.

  I take a few steps away from her, then strike a real cute pose. With my cane held out in front of me. Right there for the camera to see.

  When we’re back in the van, I look at the picture. I hesitate for a minute before taking a deep breath and posting it.

  Hadleybean13: I got a new fashion accessory. And it’s actually kinda useful, too.

  I feel anxious about sharing it as soon as I hit post. I’m still nervous about people making fun of me or feeling sorry for me for having to use it. But, after the last few weeks—and today especially—I can’t deny it’s helpful. I’m still pretty scared about the future, about what’s gonna happen as my vision gets worse, but …

  But today I feel a little less scared, I guess.

  I gotta accept that the cane is just gonna be a big part of my life now and probably forever. I ain’t gonna be able to hide it, and I shouldn’t have to. So might as well let everyone see it on my terms, I guess.

  We ain’t even back to Beth’s house when my phone buzzes with notifications from Joey and Maya commenting on the picture.

  MayaFairLady: You’re so cute, @Hadleybean13! I miss you so much! When you come back to visit will you show us how you use it?

  babykangaroo42: You look kinda awesome holding that thing! Also are you allowed to trip people with it? (Just kidding lmao)

  babykangaroo42: Come visit us, @Hadleybean13!

  And then, a few minutes after that, Shelby comments, too.

  ShelzBellz: So stylish! This picture would ONLY be better if Lila was in it with you. Ha-ha.

  I type ou
t a quick reply. Well, not “quick” because seeing the phone is hard and it takes me forever to type things out, but still.

  Hadleybean13: Thanks, y’all. So glad I have friends like you.

  Once we get back to Beth’s house, I say goodbye to Cilia and hop out of the van, hurrying up the sidewalk and to the front door. I’m so happy about how the lesson went that I’m not paying attention, so I don’t notice that Beth’s car is in the driveway, even though she isn’t supposed to be home yet. Instead, I just bound up the steps and push open the door, assuming I’ll find Mrs. McGraw and Lila waiting for me inside.

  But it ain’t Mrs. McGraw sitting on the couch when I walk into the living room. It’s my sister. Her long blonde hair is pulled back, and she’s still wearing her work clothes while she reads something on her phone.

  “Hey, Beth,” I say. Lila runs up to me, tail wagging, and I kneel down to scratch behind her ears. “You’re home early.”

  “Yeah …” Beth sets her phone aside. She hesitates for a second before asking, “How was your lesson?”

  “Good,” I say. “Real good, actually. Cilia helped me make this raised map, and I did this route by myself. Well, she was behind me, but I was mostly by myself. Anyway, I did pretty well.”

  “That’s great, Hadley,” Beth says, but she sounds a little distracted, and it makes me deflate a little.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all,” Beth says. “I just … Come sit down a second. I wanna talk to you about something.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses up. I don’t like it when grown-ups tell me they wanna talk about something. Last time it happened, Mama told me she’d be going to jail.

  “What is it?”

  “Come sit down, Hadley.”

  “No,” I say, my hands frozen behind Lila’s ears. Lila butts at me with her head, wanting me to keep petting. “Tell me what’s going on.”