So Different (10 page)

“You’re right. I understand, but I don’t know if I can help you.”

“
Si
, I can clean for you. You have house, yes?” she asked.

“I live in an apartment with not much dirt.”

“It’s okay. I clean for you until you tell me to stop,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said, hesitating.

“We can no afford teeth. We use money to send Jenny to good Catholic school, to make a better life for her,
si
? I have green card, I have ID,” she said, her face earnest, hoping to compel him to accept her proposition.

“
Si
,” he said. “Okay, you can clean. Just a few times, I guess.” The business was doing well enough that he could help her out. “Sure,” he said, more firmly this time, and smiled.

“You very handsome,” she added, and smiled, standing up. “Thank you again, Dr. Junior Barnett,” she said, backing out of the office as he rose from his chair.

“You give me address. I be there, take good care of you. I’ll wait in the office with Jenny,” she said, giving one final smile before leaving.

“Sure,” he said.

“
So what happened?” Maggie asked, sticking her head in to his office.

“We came to an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” she asked.

“A bartering one,” he said.

“What?” she asked again.

“Barter,” Adam said again, “Like as in, ‘I’ll give you a goat in exchange for some bread.’ ”

“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised. “So it’s not enough that you’re losing your dad’s patients one by one, that we’ve had to increased our malpractice insurance to cover your mishaps. Now we’re getting paid in goats,” she said, her smile belying her words.

He laughed and shook his head at that.

* * *

Fourth week in April

When you thought of the benefits of living in Austin, most people thought of the live music, the restaurants, the Keep Austin Weird campaign, ACL, SXSW, the Fun, Fun, Fun, Fest—all great attractions. The restart of the derby, the ROT Rally, the university were all big parts of this town. But a major fact that escaped notice was that if you were visually impaired, or blind, Austin was one of the best places in the country to live.

Here a visually impaired person could live a life of self-sufficiency. There was a great bus system in town, and transit available to take you to places where the bus didn’t travel. The blind had opportunities to live out their lives, the ability to take care of themselves and their children, the same as the sighted population.

She’d been working here at the center as an O&M instructor for three years. It was a twelve—to eighteen-month program designed to train those who had lost their sight later in life to live on their own if they desired.

She loved the center and loved meeting different students. No two days were the same. She was able to get out of doors, walking or riding the bus with a client. She’d never been the sit-behind-a-desk type, and this was a perfect fit for her in that regard.

No one here ever complained about the way she dressed, her multi-hued hair, tattoos, piercings, or her race. They could only see with their souls and their sprits, and that was an encouraging and comforting approach to life.

Mariah stood and walked out of her cubicle, heading toward the meeting room to meet her 10-12 appointment, Thomas, T for short.

“Hey, T,” she said as she entered the room and walked over to sit next to him. Thomas had lost his sight in a car crash, had been at the center a week now. “Getting settled in okay?”

“Yes. I’m getting used to my room, to moving around now,” he said.

“That’s good. We’re going to work with your cane skills some this morning, work on getting better acquainted with the facilities and its grounds. Just walking around the halls, back and forth, taking the stairs, maybe go outside,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

“So grab your cane and let’s get started,” Mariah said, standing up, pushing her chair under the table.

She watched as he went to retrieve his cane from the wall hook.

“Okay. So, let me look at your grip,” she said, and watched as he placed the cane in his right hand.

“Remember, the cane should be loose in your hand. Why do you think that is?” she asked. Teaching here meant not providing all of the answers, but rather allowing students to work through and puzzle out as much of the answer as they could. Once they graduated, they would have to find answers for themselves, for the rest of their lives, same as everyone else.

“So that if you knock into something or someone, it will give way,” he said.

“Yep, that’s it. Let me see your grip again,” she said, walking to stand close to him.

“Okay, open your hand a little,” she said, touching his hand, placing the cane in the center of it. “See, the cane should lay in the palm of your hand, these two fingers, your thumb and pointer, form a circle around it. The three remaining fingers of your hands are what moves it; see, like this,” she said, moving his fingers to the correct position.

“Let me see you move the cane from side to side,” she said.

Thomas moved it right and then left, right and left.

“It’s lighter than my old cane,” he said.

“I bet. What was that, an old Andre 5000?” she asked.

“What?”

“My twisted humor. Keep your wrist still,” she said, holding his wrist steady for a while as Thomas moved the cane back and forth.

“Okay, how does that feel?” she asked.

“Good.”

“Let’s try adding some walking to that,” she said, a smile in her voice. Thomas chuckled.

“Okay, next question. How far should your cane travel from left to right?”

“The width of my shoulders,” he said.

“That’s correct. Let me see you walk out this room, tapping your cane on the floor. The cane provides you with information. Listen to the sound it makes as it taps cleanly on the floor.”

“Okay,” he said, starting to walk the two feet to the door leading out into the hall, feeling the side of the door, before moving his cane, tapping, and finding the empty space. That indicated an open doorway.

“Remember to always listen, right? The sounds from an open door sound different than from a wall, right?”

“Right,” he said, coming to stand in the doorway.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” he said.

“Good. So when you leave the room, let’s turn left and walk to the end of the hall.”

“Okay,” he said, turning and exiting the room.

He slowly walked a few steps, headed for the left wall. Mariah watched as his cane hit the wall and he stopped.

“So what do you think happened?”

“I’m running into the wall. I’m moving left?” he said, more answer than question.

“Yep. So when that happens, just correct yourself and walk away from the wall. You don’t have to stop your stride, just change the direction of your next step. That make sense?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, let’s keep going. Remember, your cane should tap the opposite direction of the leg you’re walking with. Why is that, you think?”

“My cane tells me what’s ahead, and it should be tapping the area where I will step next. Right?

“Right, T. The smart guy,” she said, smiling. “Let’s go.”

They made their way down the hall, stopping at the end.

“That’s good. You corrected yourself well. How do you think you’re doing so far?”

“I’m trying to remember to hold my cane the correct way and to walk with my right, tap with my left. It’s a little hard.”

“It is, but after a while you won’t even think about it. It becomes second nature,” she said.

“Hope so.”

“I know so. Trust me, I’ve had to learn.”

“You did?”

“Yep, and still do. It was part of my training, had to have over six hundred hours of getting around town without sight. I had to make my way back to the school after I was dropped off in another city in order to graduate. Plus I get out once a week with my sleep shades and my cane and train with my students,” she said, glancing at the sleep shades that covered Thomas’ eyes.

People arrived here with varying degrees of sight. The center’s goal was to teach clients to rely on their other senses. All students where required to wear sleep shades during training hours. Sleep shades were a black mask that rendered everything completely black.

“Okay, enough of my jabbering. Let’s walk a bit more,” she said, working with Thomas as he made his way down the hall again.

She loved working with people who wanted to learn, helping them to learn that they were competent and could take care of themselves. Most importantly she felt like she was making a difference in someone’s life, giving back, paying it forward, whatever the expression; something she’d learned she needed for her own personal happiness, food for her soul, making life and its challenges a little easier to take. She continued to watch as T made his way back to the meeting room.

* * *

Last Saturday of April

Demented Divas vs. Thunderstorm

Mariah stood just inside the entrance of the Rail Yard, gazing at the crowd in attendance tonight. She had a few minutes before she had to put in some off-skate—aka volunteer—time. WTFTA was now owned by women and run by women, a change from the derby days of old.

Tonight she was responsible for the distribution of programs. Helpful to those new to derby, it had the rules of the game on the back. She arrived early and picked up her box. Now she was standing a little ways down from the ticket takers in order to catch the crowd as they started in.

She was dressed in one of her roller derby outfits. The more flamboyant part of her liked nights like these, when she didn’t have to worry about odd looks. Most people attending fit right in with her, no second glances, just a day in the life. She was also blessed to live in Austin, where most people didn’t look twice at you anyway. She always tried to pay that back, to judge someone as they were, but she’d always struggled to avoid judging the more affluent, especially guys like Adam.

Adam, Adam, Adam. He’d been on her mind and it had her making a pact with herself. If he showed up tonight, she was on board. They could be together, one time, with no recriminations, nothing but fun. She’d say when, and she’d say how.

* * *

Adam spotted her as soon as he entered. This was his new pastime, searching for Mariah. He’d gone by her practices a few more times, always with the same result. He would walk her out and watch as she drove away in her little red car, leaving him standing alone in the parking lot.

She looked great tonight, he thought, making his way over to her. His blood started humming energetically. She was in another short skirt, this one blue and white plaid. She was handing out something as she stood next to the counter, smiling and talking to fans.

He examined her further, taking in that bustier he so loved, the white one from the website that pushed her breasts up just so. His eyes traveled downward over toned arms, bare shoulders, legs encased in knee-high sheer socks—a schoolboy’s dream—feet in heels that highlighted her slim legs to perfection. He looked back up, stopping again at the corset, admiring the wonders that it did to her breasts. He’d been a breast man for as far back as he could remember.

He made his way over to her and watched as she turned and looked at him, surprised to see him. Was there desire in her gaze, too?

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“I don’t,” he said and smiled his dentist smile.

“Hum,” was all she said.

She was really something else—hair blonde and spiky tonight, a contrast to her skin—and he so loved blondes; just hadn’t considered it working on her. It did, somehow working with her attitude and derby girl persona.

“I give you the award for being persistent,” she said.

“I am,” he replied, moving to stand at her right shoulder.

“So your friends Casper and Delusional are taking on the Divas,” he said. He knew his derby now, or least he was beginning to.

“Yes. It should be a tough bout. Divas have lost one, but they are the closest team in our league to competition for Thunderstorm.”

“What about your team?”

“We’re in last place, same as last year.”

He had known that. “You’d hoped differently?” he asked, watching a line form in front of her. She reached into the box, gave him a handful of programs, grabbed a handful for herself.

They handed out the programs until the box was empty.

“Sorry, that’s all I have,” she said to the last person in line.

“Come here alone?” she asked when they were free of people.

“Yes. I was hoping I could convince someone into letting me tag along with them after the bout.”

“Really?”

“Yep. There is this woman, tough and sexy,” he said, looking at her, a grin on his face. “She playing really hard to get, which I can appreciate, stood me up the last time we were to meet for drinks, leaves me hanging in the parking lot as she drives away after practice. I get all the sad looks of pity from her girls. It’s enough to hurt my feelings if I wasn’t such a tough guy.”

“You could give up,” she said, but she was softening. He could tell, noticed it right off.

“Nope, not when I’ve found something I want. I’m persistent that way.”

“So do you want to come to drink with us afterwards?” she asked.

“I would love to.”

“Well, in case you aren’t told, we really
are
going to Pinky’s Place this time. We usually get there around ten,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got other stuff to do. I’ll see you later,” she said, turning to face him, moving to stand close to him, her head tilted to the side. He ran his fingers over the tops of her spiky blond hair.

“Like the hair color,” he said.

“Me, too. I find that I’ve been in this really odd mood lately, more aggressive for some reason,” she said, stepping closer to him. Maybe an inch separated them and he looked down into her face. There was a sparkle in her nose, white against her smooth brown skin. Her plump and tempting lips were covered in some shiny stuff, so tempting as he leaned into her.

“Aggressive is good,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.