Girl Next Door

by Erik Schubach

  She laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “Breathe Brandye. I can feel your muscles tensing, you're starting to panic. Let's just start over and you don't have to change the way you are. Hi, I'm Robin Hartford.” She offered her hand.

  I exhaled and took her soft hand. “Hi, I'm Brandye Franklin-Callahan. I'm pleased to meet you.”

  I didn't release her hand, it was like a lifeline bringing me down from my irrational panic. Why did I have such a hang up about needing everyone to feel comfortable around me? Lessa didn't suffer these mini panic attacks. She never panicked about anything, but she had a way of calming me when I did, she has always kept my secret never even telling our parents. Robin was having that same calming effect on me now.

  I whispered, “Sorry.” I slipped the silver dollar back in my pocket. She tilted her head slightly down toward the motion.

  She shook her head and then said, “Let's get to know each other a little better. We are neighbors after all.”

  We talked for hours. I learned so much about my neighbor. She knew I wouldn't broach the subject of her sight so she volunteered that she was born without sight, but she feels that it is the sighted people who can see that are truly blind. She says she experiences more of the world and truly sees it, where a sighted person simply looks at it.

  Her parents moved to Florida to retire, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the city she grew up in. It was scary for her at first, being on her own. She had always had the safety net of her parents. But after spending four years in New York for school... she felt like she could do anything.

  I learned that the procession of people at her house were either people commissioning her art or her handyman or therapist or the social worker that had helped her through things when she was younger, who sort of befriended her. She is always pushing her to go out and do things instead of holing up in her 'dank dungeon.' She grinned. “Ha. Now I can tell Annette that I went to a neighborhood party and met new people. Maybe that will get her off my ass for a while.” The scrunchy nosed smile warmed me and caused the spontaneous growth of a matching one on my face.

  Her art sounded fascinating. I couldn't wait to see it. She encourages people to physically touch her work, to experience it the way she did, to truly see what she was trying to share. She had paused and asked, “You are doing art studies. What kind of art do you create?”

  I got embarrassed and said, “Well it isn't anything as glamorous as yours. Just graphic arts for advertising. I've also dreamed of assembling my own book of art from the masters I enjoy, and explaining why I enjoy them instead of the cold, clinical descriptions you get from the art critics. I swear half of them are just spouting nonsense to sound 'in the know' but are really just hip deep in bullshit.”

  She smiled wistfully at that and said, “That sounds like something worth pursuing. It is not often I let my lack of sight bother me, but something I truly wish I could see are the works of the masters. Picasso, Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Jacobs, Raphael, Rembrandt. All I can experience are descriptions of their work. It makes me yearn to witness their mastery myself, but museums sort of frown upon you if you try to touch the canvases.”

  I don't know why this struck such a nerve with me. “Are there museums geared specifically to visually impaired people?”

  She nodded.“Oh yes. Not as many as there should be, I display some of my works at them. There are some seriously talented artists that have exhibits at those museums, but it isn't the same as experiencing a Da Vinci. Nobody has reproduced the Mona Lisa in a manner that has shared that ambiguous smile that is so famous. They have tried but failed. That is why he is one of the masters.”

  I was dwelling on this subject in my head and asked, “How would you describe experiencing a piece of art tacitly?”

  She chuckled. “How would you describe your sense of sight to someone who has never seen before?”

  I nodded to myself and smiled. “Fair enough. But you have to start from some kind of analogue though right?”

  She smiled again, she was having fun with our bantering. “I don't know. How would you describe the color red to me? What does it look like in terms you think I would understand?”

  I stopped dead at that. I couldn't compare it to other colors or even to objects of the same color. How do you describe the experience of color? It isn't like you can feel it or smell it or anything. None of your senses could experience it but sight, so how could you explain it so it made sense to someone without it?

  She smiled in triumph, then said slyly, “I can actually describe the tactile experience of art to you because you possess a sense of touch. But even then, we still experience that differently. You can close your eyes and approximate my experience, but you know you can simply open your eyes when you feel something you can't identify or that confuses you.”

  I cut her off. “Hey now... I haven't admitted defeat yet. The sense of touch is a contact sense, like taste. Sight is like touching at a distance and experiencing it in a new perspective. It is no different than hearing or smelling, it is a distance thing. If I peel an orange, you can smell that orange and hear me peeling the rind. The senses are all connected, drawing a picture in your mind with those bits of information. Then if I hand you a slice of that orange, you can feel the texture and when you take a bite, you can taste the tangy citrus that matches all the other input from your other senses. Right?”

  She squinted her eyes a little then tilted her head cutely, curious where I was going with this. “Ok?”

  I said, “Then red is like a hot burner that sizzles at your touch. A hot pepper on your tongue. A shrill whistle. It conveys a feeling of warning mixed with excitement. Yet at times it can be complex at and convey warmth, and security, and home. The sweet taste of an apple or strawberry, and the feel of cotton fabric of a checkered picnic blanket. The burn of a blush on your cheeks. Red is that kind of exciting dichotomy.”

  I was watching her soft smile as I spoke. “And when you mix it with white, it becomes pink. Sweet like the frosting on a cupcake. Something uniquely soft like a puppy's fur, feminine and graceful like a slow dance. The soft tones of a mother humming to her child. The gentle touch of a lover. A symbol of femininity.”

  I trailed off... thinking about it. Lost in thought. She leaned against me her head on my shoulder. “I think I like red. Tell me about blue.” Did she just sigh?

  We spent the night with me trying to explain what I could see, and her describing how she experienced the world and those same things. At one point, she whispered to me that she never talks about her blindness to anyone and didn't understand why she was confiding in me when she had technically just met me today.

  She had a way of comforting me when we spoke, keeping me from stressing, a feat only Lessa could accomplish before her. At one point, I had taken out my silver dollar and started fidgeting with it. She laid her hand over mine and the coin, feeling it. “Why do you do that?”

  I tilted my head and replied, “Do what?”

  “When you get nervous or talk about hard subjects, your pulse increases, you start tensing up like you are stressing then you take this coin out and play with it.”

  I shrugged and felt self conscious and slipped it back into my pocket, I hadn't even realized I had taken it out. “I dunno. It focuses me. I... I get these little panic attacks all the time. Ever since mother's divorce and Victor forced her out of the house... out of our lives. Lessa helps me through them. It... it has always been our little secret... but then she left me. To move in with Devon. The coin helps me a little, someone who loves me gave it to me. I sound like a mental case, sorry.”

  She turned her head toward me and grabbed my wrist and made her way down to my hand and clasped hands with me. “Have you seen anyone about it?”

  I shook my head and whispered, “No.”

  Things were getting heavy, I wanted to take out the coin again. But the urge left as she laid her head back on my shoulder and said quietly, “You should. It helps. It helped me.”

 
Then she changed the subject abruptly to puppies since Daisy woke up and came trundling out of the bedroom and into the living room, and was trying to jump up on the couch with us. I reached a hand down and scooped her up. She curled in between Robin and me, looking up at us and wagging her tail.

  It was past dinner time and I didn't want to lose this woman who was quickly becoming a confidante of mine. “Dinner?” I asked.

  She smiled. “That would be divine.”

  I could have got up and just made us a meal with all the leftovers from the party but I felt so comfortable beside her. So I just grabbed my phone and dialed up Geovoni's and ordered up a pizza instead.

  She chuckled. “I like you, you are almost as lazy as me.”

  I giggled and her smile doubled, causing me to blush. We discussed therapy dogs and what I did with the Callahan Foundation whenever I had free time. She kept looking at me oddly. Finally, she blurted out, “Where is your 'me' time? You just said that you 'took the day off' to have this party. You are either in school, working, or volunteering. I don't hear anything about what you like to do, or even if you have any spare time to devote to yourself.”

  I shrugged and said, “I... like to be around people... helping people.”

  She smiled almost sadly. “But what about you?”

  I just replied, trying not to think about what she was saying, “Too much to do, there will be time for me after I graduate.”

  She shook her head. “Bullshit lady. Take tomorrow off. Let's have a Brandye day. You can come watch me bowl and we can go out on the town. Annette made me join a league to get me out of the house. I gave in just to shut her up about it.”

  This startled me. “You bowl?” I felt like an idiot for asking. Of course she did, she just said it.

  She chuckled. “Yes I do. There is a blind bowling league in town. I bowl a one thirty two average.”

  I couldn't stop my smile. “I had no clue it was possible. I feel like an ass, making assumptions again.”

  Her smile was adorable when she said, “Well hang around with me more Bran and I'll give you plenty more chances to feel like an ass.” Then she stuck her tongue at me which made me giggle and blush. She wanted to hang out more? It made me supremely happy for some reason that she used my nickname.

  “Well at least I'll get an education which I am apparently in need of.”

  She nodded with a satisfied look. “Apparently.”

  I bumped shoulders with her. “Hey now Goldilocks.”

  When the pizza delivery guy showed up, little Daisy was barking and howling at him in tail wagging excitement, I grinned, I'm going to have to do something about her shy streak.

  As we ate, I would flick small pieces of Canadian bacon off my pizza, saying, “Oops.” Which Daisy would quickly hoover up.

  This got me a silly look. “You'll spoil her. You're a soft touch!”

  I grinned. “Sorry, I have a weak spot for furry babies.” She suppressed a laugh.

  After dinner, I put a little throw blanket over Robin's shoulders and we walked out to the porch with Daisy and set her loose on the lawn to do her thing. Then we went back inside and I set up the food and watering station for Daisy in the kitchen. The whole while thinking about Robin's desire to experience the art of the masters that I wanted to catalog. We knew Mia Jacobs, she mostly secluded herself away at her house, but we had a lot of mutual friends that coaxed her out from time to time. She was on Robin's list... I think I'll give her a call later.

  Then we just sat and talked about everything. I enjoyed the nothings as much as the somethings. It was just nice having someone I could share my thoughts with after Less moved out. We still talk every day on the phone just after midnight, but it isn't the same as sitting down with someone and feeling comfortable enough to share your inner self with them. That will always be Lessa, but Robin has also slid her way into that role like there was no effort to it at all. Nobody else has ever accomplished that, not even the guys I dated.

  Then before we knew it, it was almost midnight. She finally said, “I better get back home. You're getting sleepy.”

  I looked at her, she had a disappointed look on her face. It was cute. I said, “Ok.” Then thought about something. “You seem to be up all hours of the night. Don't you ever get tired.”

  She shrugged.“Without a day job or anything, my sleep patterns are all screwed up. A lot of visually impaired people have this problem since the light of night and day doesn't influence our circadian rhythm and we can't get into a normal sleep cycle.”

  Hmm... I never thought of that. I walked her to the porch with her warm, soft hand in the crook of my arm and when we reached the steps I automatically said, “Step.”

  She grinned at me. “I can find my own way home you silly lady.”

  I blushed. “I know, but this way I get the hang around with you a minute longer.”

  It was her turn to blush as we silently walked up my walkway to the sidewalk, and then over to her front walk. Just enjoying each others company in the crisp night air. I could see her counting her steps. I'm glad it was important enough for her to want to know where my front walk was.

  I walked her up to the bottom of her porch then said, “G'night Robin. It really was a pleasure meeting you... finally.”

  She grinned and said, “I agree... stay right here. I'll be right back.”

  I nodded. “Ok.”

  She climbed her stairs and deftly grabbed her easel, paints, and canvas from the porch and brought them inside. A minute later she came out with another canvas and walked down her stairs and handed the canvas to me. “My housewarming gift to you. It is your giggle.”

  I looked at the canvas, there was a single sloping and undulating line, about as wide as my wrist, of black tar-like paint that swooped effortlessly from the upper left to the lower right of the canvas. It flowed like silk. Around it and covering parts of it were little explosions of color, thick paste-like paints like the black, giving it deep texture. There seemed to be almost a pattern to it, they trickled away to nothing at the bottom. It made me smile for some reason.

  “It's beautiful,” I said and meant it.

  Then she was taking it from my hands and leaning it against the porch railing. She reached out her hand in a wanting gesture. I timidly put my hand in hers. She smiled and said, “Now close your eyes.” I did so and she placed my hand on the canvas and she dragged my fingers down along that swooping wave of black. My fingers conformed to it to stay on track with it, the black swoop was guiding my hand, like a rail.

  She put my hand back at the top and let go. “This is what I see when I hear you giggle next door.” I kept my eyes closed and just concentrated on what I was feeling. Trying to put it in context. The wave was almost fun, it was punctuated by the texture of the added colors, giving it life beneath my fingertips. It felt bubbly, almost swirling. I couldn't stop my smile.

  I opened my eyes, she had her hands pressed together against her lips like she was in prayer. In heavy anticipation. So I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you so much. Is this really what you see when I laugh? I don't have the words to describe it.”

  She seemed to exhale and relax and then she gave a wicked grin and corrected me, “Giggle... you don't laugh.”

  I bumped shoulders with her. Then she smiled and turned to the stairs and said, “Welcome to the neighborhood Bran. Goodnight.” Then she added, “Remember, take the day off from the Foundation... be here at ten, we have bowling to do.”

  I chuckled and said, “Yes ma'am.” Still enraptured by the art she had just gifted me. I looked at it all the way back home in the pale light of the streetlamp a couple houses down at the corner. Then my smile increased. There are museums and galleries that are fighting to get her work and I have a personal piece from her.

  I took the time to hang it, using my new tools and a picture hanging bracket from the jar. I closed my eyes and felt the canvas again. I grinned and hugged myself then went to my bedroom with Daisy hot on my heels
.

  I paused at my bedroom window and saw Robin on her couch in the dark with the light from her tablet bathing her face. I rapped once loudly on my window and she smiled and looked over and waved. I smiled inwardly and got ready for bed.

  I hopped in and reached down to retrieve a whining Daisy and put her under the covers with me and she curled in by my side. I turned off the light on my nightstand just as my phone started vibrating where I had plugged it in to charge beside the lamp.

  I didn't look at the screen, I just smiled and answered, “Hi Less.” We talked for an hour then said our goodnights. I often catch myself wondering if other siblings are as close as Lessa and me, or if it is just a twin thing.

  I hung up then cuddled in with Daisy and slipped into a warm and pleasant sleep.

  Chapter 5 – Blind Bowling League

  I woke up to Daisy whining. I hopped up and walked to the back door and opened it for her. I watched her sniff around for a while before she did her thing near the fence that enclosed the back yard. I made a mental note to myself to install a dog door in the back for her.

  We didn't have a yard back home so we had to walk the dogs down to a small park in the neighborhood that funds from my parents renovated in another urban renewal project. My back yard was like a little mini park that was now Daisy's domain, surrounded by a cute Vinyl picket fence with gates on either side of the house, leading to the front.

  I looked around the small concrete patio at the door. I'll have to set up some lawn chairs and a little table with an umbrella out here. I clomped my heel on the ground and called her over, but she was too busy ignoring me and rubbing her side into the grass.

  I grinned, I was so used to all of our dogs being well trained. My smile got bigger. This would be the first time I got to train a dog on my own. I disappeared into the kitchen then walked back out with a barbequed hotdog and broke off a little piece. Might as well start now.