by Emery Jacobs
“See ya around, Henley.”
She gives me a small wave. Her face void of emotion as she watches me walk away. She has to understand that this time, it’s me walking away. I’m leaving her—not the other way around. I can’t afford to have a stressor in my life that could potentially push me back into the lifestyle I barely walked away from. Maybe one day, she’ll figure out what the hell she wants. Until then, she doesn’t have to worry about me harassing her. I maneuver through the small crowd of people and out of the courtyard.
Chapter 12
Henley
“You had a phone call today.”
I look toward my open classroom door to find Mrs. Fowler leaning against the frame with her arms folded across her chest. She smiles softly. This woman is amazing. Not only is she a great principal, but she’s also Heath’s mom. I hope that little guy knows how lucky he is to have such a caring mother.
I continue to place the tablets on the small shelf in the back of the room. It’s three-thirty, and all my students are gone. And today, I don’t have any after-school tutoring, so there is no one here to interrupt our conversation.
“Who was it?” I ask.
For a brief moment, Caleb’s face flashes in my mind, but I quickly remember he doesn’t know where I work. And, after our last encounter, it’s clear he doesn’t want to know anything else about me. I believe that the reason he walked away from me was because I pushed and pushed until he figured out that I wasn’t worth the fight.
“Not sure. Shirley answered the phone. She said it was a woman.”
Shirley is the school secretary but doesn’t always get the messages right. I’ll never understand why she’s allowed to answer the phone.
“A woman?” I ask.
“Yes, but unfortunately, she didn’t leave her name or number.”
“I can’t imagine who would call me here,” I tell her.
The only people I know in New Orleans are my co-workers and the guys at The Drunken Peacock. But Smitty is the only one who knows I teach here. Plus, Shirley did say it was a woman.
“Didn’t you tell me that you were going to get a cell phone?” her voice stern, almost motherly.
“I have a Tracfone for emergencies. I keep minutes on it, but nobody has the number. Actually, I’ve never even used it. And you know where I live in case you need me.”
“I worry about you, Henley. How are you?” Her eyes scan my face searching for the truth because she knows I won’t give it to her.
“I’m great. Everything is wonderful. I love my job and the kids. I’m doing exactly what I want to do.”
Except I’m lonely, but it’s my choice. I sometimes think I miss Caleb, but then I remember I barely knew him. And he was never mine to miss. Plus it’s only been a couple of weeks since he left me in the courtyard. How can I miss somebody that soon?
“You know what I mean. When’s the last time you saw the doctor?”
She walks into the room, the sternness in her voice gone. I tell myself that she cares, and she wants what’s best for me. But damn her for sticking her nose into my personal business.
“I don’t know. A while. But I’m going to make an appointment soon,” I say.
“I’m confused,” she says.
I turn and face her. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. She is not happy with me.
“Confused why?” I ask.
“When you took this job two years ago, it was my understanding that you wanted to live in New Orleans so you would be near your doctor. You mentioned he had been treating you for years, and you trusted him. Am I right?”
“Yes. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to live here. But if you remember, I also wanted to escape the confinement of my mother. I was looking for peace and happiness without the constant nagging and negativity of the woman who thought she was the perfect parent.”
My heart clenches and a wave of sadness shoots through me. I haven’t spoken of my mother since I arrived in the city, and I rarely think of her either, but with the woman calling me today, it makes me wonder if it was her. I’m not in hiding. She can find me if she decides to. But I guess, for now, she’s letting me live my own life. Like I asked her to.
Mrs. Fowler looks at her watch before glancing over at me.
“It’s only 3:45, so why don’t you go down to my office and call and schedule that appointment? And if you need to take a full day off from work, don’t hesitate to ask. Because I’ll give all the time you need,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I don’t argue with her because it wouldn’t do any good. I drop my gaze toward the floor and make my way out of my classroom and down the hall to her office.
I step into Mrs. Fowler’s office, and Shirley greets me with a smile. I guess she knows why I’m here because she nods toward the phone.
As I make my way to the phone, she pushes her chair back and hops up. She smiles at me and then exits the room.
I clutch the receiver in my hand before taking a deep breath. At least Dr. Bartholomew’s number is easy to remember. It’s three short words that make up the seven digit number. I. See You. How clever. I press each key slowly, still unsure that I’m truly ready to do this. Now that Mrs. Fowler is involved, I guess I really don’t have a choice.
I squeeze my eyes shut and relax my shoulders.
Mrs. Fowler is right. I have to do this. My time is running out.
“May I help you?” The voice on the other end prompts me to schedule my appointment with Dr. Bartholomew.
Now, I’ll spend the next couple of weeks waiting for my appointment and praying my life is not about to change.
Chapter 13
Caleb
“She was always so volatile. I’m sure there are plenty other women out there with that same personality, but I just haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of them.” I laugh.
Even though I only had a few interactions with Henley, she embedded herself into my mind. I rarely have a day go by that I don’t think about her at least once. I worry about her being alone in the city. And I wonder why she was always so secretive. At least when I’m thinking about her, I’m able to push Piper out of my mind.
Mike and I stop walking just before we make it to the exit door at the end of the hall. I lean against the wall before continuing, “What really makes me mad at myself is that I spent entirely too much time trying to figure out why she is the way she is. Why is she fine one minute and then angry the next? I even asked Smitty about the kid.”
Mike raises his eyebrows, which causes his eyes to look like they’re gonna pop out of his head. I hold in the laughter because Mike’s cool, and I don’t think he knows his facial expressions are borderline comical.
“What kid? You never mentioned Henley had a kid.”
“That’s just it. She doesn’t. One Saturday after you and I had coffee at the café, I saw her with a young boy. Just the two of them. So, I assumed he belonged to her, and that’s why she was so moody. But Smitty swears she doesn’t have any family here. Especially not a kid. So, I guess she’s just a fickle bitch for no reason. None of it matters now, anyway.”
“The crazy ones always seem like the most fun for a while, but having to deal with one on a daily basis becomes old—fast. After a while, you’re basically walking on eggshells. Trust me, I know from firsthand experience,” Mike says as we walk out of the building that houses the AA meeting we attended earlier this morning.
“Firsthand?” I ask.
“My ex-wife. She was as looney as they come. And it only took me a couple of months living with her to figure out I wasn’t staying on that crazy train.”
I throw my head back and laugh. Listening to middle-aged Mike give me relationship advice is funny as shit.
“But, seriously, Caleb, you know the rules. You don’t need to be in a relationship this early in your recovery anyway. And I know you two didn’t really know much about each other, which actually makes it worse. Live your life one day at a time, a
nd everything will work itself out.”
He pats me on the shoulder before walking down the steps in front of the building. Once he reaches the last step, he turns around as if he’s about to say something. But, instead, he just nods and steps onto the sidewalk with the dozens of other people making their way through downtown New Orleans.
“Yeah, I know the rules, but Henley was reason enough for me to break them,” I mumble.
I slide my finger over the screen of my phone to unlock it. Almost eleven o’clock. Damn. I walk in the direction of the shop, hoping to make it there without running into anybody I know. Since I’ve been here, I’ve built a decent sized client base already, and I tend to run into them on the streets from time to time. The person I really don’t want to see is Henley because, as long as I don’t see her, then I’m not tempted to charm her back into my bed.
Over the last several weeks, I have avoided the café, the courtyard, and any other area of the French Quarter where she may be performing. She hasn’t been back in front of The Drunken Peacock in weeks. I actually can’t even remember the last time she played there. I know, eventually, my luck will run out, and we will cross paths. Until then, I’m going to attend my meetings, avoid the bars, work my shifts at Smitty’s place, take my bike out at least once a week, and hang out with my middle-aged sponsor, Mike.
As I round the corner, making my way down the final stretch of sidewalk to my apartment, I see Henley. She’s standing in front of the shop talking to fucking Rex. Every muscle in my body tenses. My breathing picks up, and a sudden pain shoots through my jaw from clenching my teeth. Our eyes meet only briefly as I walk by, but then she quickly looks back at Rex and continues talking.
“Hey, man, what time you coming in today?”
I don’t want to look at his face because I may lose my shit. There is no doubt in my mind he’s trying to piss me off. But I also know Henley’s not interested in him. If she were, something between them would have already happened.
“Around five,” I answer with no signs of anger or jealousy in my voice. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that seeing him with Henley bothers me. I jog up the stairs to my apartment, hoping by the time I head to work, they will both be gone.
Chapter 14
Henley
“Your central vision has changed some, but your peripheral is significantly worse,” Dr. Bartholomew says as the light flashes in front of my right eye.
“I’ve noticed a huge change over the last couple of years. I can’t see people when they approach me from the side. Let’s just say, I’m startled a lot.” My voice is wobbly. Being here makes me nervous. The room reeks of cleanliness—a sterile environment. A place where you discover your destiny. And mine—pretty much sucks. I immediately push all negative thoughts to the back corner of my mind because I need to stay positive to make it through this day.
“Are you still driving?” he asks as he walks over to his computer.
“No, sir. I stopped driving when I moved here two years ago. I knew that privilege would be taken away from me eventually, so why prolong the inevitable?”
Retinitis Pigmentosa. Those two words have defined me since I was ten years old. Of course, the diagnosis didn’t mean much to me as a kid, but as I got older, it became my identity.
My night vision went first, but I learned to adapt because not many people see well at night anyway. At least that’s what I told myself. Then when my peripheral vision declined, I panicked. That’s when I knew this shit was real.
Statistics tell me most people with Retinitis Pigmentosa are legally blind by the age of forty. This statistic, as bad as it is, doesn’t sound too terrible to me. At least not at twenty-six years old, because it gives me about twelve more years to take in all the beauty this world has to offer.
Unfortunately, forty is not always the magic number. Sometimes, it’s twenty, or thirty, or forty-five. No one has a definitive answer because everyone progresses at a different rate. So, basically, I’m playing a waiting game. Waiting to wake up one morning to darkness. And it fucking sucks.
“I see your attitude hasn’t changed since our last visit.”
“Attitude. I’m sorry, but I’m not following you. I didn’t realize I had a bad attitude,” I say.
This is one reason I don’t like to come here. Even though Dr. Bartholomew is a great doctor, he always gives me shit.
“I didn’t say you have a bad attitude. What I meant was you have been preparing for doomsday, so to speak, ever since you were a teenager.”
Unfortunately, I know Dr. Bartholomew too well. He became my Ophthalmologist a year after I was diagnosed. My mom thought he could fix me. So, we made trips to New Orleans twice a year to see him. Ultimately, he’s the reason I moved here. I thought being near him would somehow slow the progression of the disease.
Once I got settled into my routine, I decided that I didn’t want to know the truth about how bad my eyes were or how fast my vision was deteriorating. I was alone and scared, but would never tell anyone. I figured that maybe if I just ignored the disease, then it would somehow go away. I wanted to live—have a life—be normal. And that’s what I’ve been doing. At least, trying to do.
I avoid arguing with him about my ‘bad attitude’ by changing the subject back to the original question, “I don’t have a need for a car here, anyway. I live three blocks from work, and if it rains, I use an umbrella or Mrs. Fowler, my supervisor, gives me a ride.”
“What about your mom?” he asks.
“What about her?”
“She’s not living here with you?”
I don’t want to explain this to him, but until I do, he won’t let it go.
“No. I needed to be on my own. Once I graduated from college, I left that life behind and started a new one here. In case you haven’t noticed Dr. Bartholomew, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my mother living with me.”
“Henley, you know I was not insinuating that you couldn’t take care of yourself. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be alone with your declining vision.” His voice is full of concern.
“I’ll be fine. My goal is to do this declining vision thing by myself because I don’t want to burden anyone else with my problems,” I mumble.
“I hardly think your mother would consider taking care of you a burden. She’s probably worried sick about your decision to do this alone,” Dr. Bartholomew says.
“Has she called you?” I question him because it would not surprise me at all if she has.
“No, of course she hasn’t. Even if she did call, I would not tell her anything. These visits are only between the two of us.” He shuffles some paperwork around and then looks at me before continuing, “Have you made any new friends since you’ve been in New Orleans?”
“Only the principal at the school where I work and maybe a few teachers, but not really,” I explain. I don’t tell him about Caleb or Smitty or even that I play my guitar on the streets.
“Well, at least you do have the principal that you seem to be relatively close to. Does she know?”
“Know what?” I play dumb because I want him to ask me the full question. He needs to say it aloud so I can hear it. Hearing the words spoken aloud helps me to stay focused on reality and not run around the city with a smile on my face like a lovesick puppy.
“Does she know about your vision?” he asks.
“You mean—does she know that my vision is slipping away from me? And that one day, I will awaken to total darkness? Yes, I’ve told her. Mrs. Fowler is actually the reason I’m here today.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, curiously.
“She forced me to make the appointment. Because she’s ‘worried’ about me.”
“I’m thankful you have her to look out for you, Henley,” he says.
The sadness of this entire situation is not really the fact that one day I’ll say good-bye to my vision, but that I’ll say good-bye to it alone. God, I don’t want to be alone.
; I lower my head, so Dr. Bartholomew won’t notice my eyes filling with tears. I don’t want him to know how much all of this upsets me. But, somehow, he does. Because he says, “I’m not trying to upset you, Henley. I just want you to understand how difficult it will be for you to be alone. Especially in the beginning. Later on, after you’ve adjusted, being on your own is a possibility.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Dr. Bartholomew. Don’t ever feel sorry for me because I don’t need your pity,” I blurt out.
He glares at me from across the room with his lips pursed, forehead wrinkled, and eyebrows drawn so near they are almost touching. I lose my focus on him for a second, but as soon as he takes one step in my direction, my vision clears. I have never been afraid of this man, but the look on his face right now along with the quickness of his gait terrifies me.
“Let me explain something to you, Henley,” he says as he approaches me, and then continues, “You will not do this alone. I won’t allow it, do you understand?”
“This is not your choice, Dr. Bartholomew. It’s mine. My life—my choice. I’m telling you like I told my mother. I’m leaving now, alone. I will not be back, ever. So, don’t attempt to find me.”
I step around the small-framed, gray-haired man. As I reach the exit, hundreds, maybe thousands of tears fall from my eyes. It’s been so long since I’ve let loose and cried, but it feels so damn good. I feel almost normal. Deep down inside, I know he’s right. Yes, I’m scared. Yes, I’m afraid to do this alone. I live in a world called denial, and it feels great because reality lives somewhere far away.
The sound of his voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Henley, I’m sorry I’ve upset you, but you need to take some time and think about your future.” I glance back over my shoulder and see Dr. Bartholomew standing behind me.
There are no words left to say, so I push the door open and find myself in the lobby. I weave through the furniture until I exit the building. The day is bright, sunny, and warm. Typical fall day for the south.
I tilt my head slightly and let the sun dry my tears. No more crying and no more fear. Now is my time to live my life to the fullest. And I know exactly what I’m going to do first. I puff out a breath, tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ears, and make my way toward The Drunken Peacock.