Together (10 page)

"Atta
boy, Gus," Brenden said. "We haven't done this for a while, have we,
fella?"

Over the next
twenty minutes, the ball game was wonderful. The little dog raced around the
yard, chasing the ball until he was exhausted, and the man enjoyed doing
something that he always loved to share with this great animal.

His mother
watched all this from the window, crying and laughing at the same time.
Something was changing—each trip home showed progress. It was almost as if
Brenden was beginning to decide that life really had possibility.

At dinner,
his mother noticed that Brenden was getting better at cutting his meat, and
though he was not yet willing to try pouring milk, he was able to move around
the house with the beginnings of—what? Freedom?

Over apple
pie a la mode, Mora broached the subject on her mind. "Brenden, have you
talked to anybody at rehab about the possibility of a dog? I mean a guide
dog?"

Brenden cut
her off. "Gus is enough for me, Mom. I don't want to be responsible for
anyone else or anything else. I don't even know if I can ever make it on my
own, let alone have to take care of some big animal."

"I don't
think that's the point," his mother put in. "From everything I've
read, the idea is that you and the dog will learn to take care of each other.
Seems to me that if you're going to move out of here soon and live on your own,
you're going to need help, and I know you hate using the cane. Wouldn't you
just consider giving it a try? I've read online about the guide dog school in
San Rafael, and frankly, I've already written for an application."

"Mom—"

"Brenden,
just give it a try. Please. If you go there for a couple of weeks and it
doesn't work, there's no harm done. You can always come home. But I know how
much you love Gus, and, well, I think a working animal could really make a difference
in your life."

Brenden could
hear the desperate sincerity in his mother's voice and decided that for now it
would be simpler to go along with her, even if only to give Lindsey the idea
that he was working to be independent.

After a
pause, he said, "Okay, Mom," surprised to discover he could actually
hear her smile. "Fill out the forms. If they'll take me, I'll go there and
check it out."

Later that
night, lying in bed with Gus snuggled close, Brenden was wide-awake. He
realized he had made a commitment that postponed his plan B, in the event that
he lost Lindsey. Instead of a clean way out, he was complicating his life.

"I don't
know why I'm doing this, Gus. You're the best friend I have. I sure don't need
another one."

The little
dog moved deeper under the covers, seeming to agree.

chapter eleven

Mora hadn't
wasted any time. Before Brenden could reconsider, his application was approved
and his plane reservation made. He tried to understand why the idea of getting
a guide dog didn't appeal to him. He loved animals. Gus was a case in point,
and he certainly wanted to be independent. But as he lay in bed the night
before he was to leave, he realized that somewhere in his mind he had not yet
accepted the concept that he was blind. Did he think there was some marvelous
medical breakthrough out there? A miracle, maybe, that would give him back his
sight? He and his mother spoke to a number of famous ophthalmologists around
the country to get other opinions, and all of the doctors agreed. He was permanently
blind. That was his reality. That was the way it was.

The next
morning, even with Lindsey's arms wrapped tightly around him and the warmth of
her good-bye kiss still fresh on
his lips, Brenden still wondered why he was headed for
San Rafael, California, and Guide Dogs for the Blind.

The only
thing he was sure of, as the girl kissed him again, arousing the passion that
always burned inside him whenever she was close, was that his motivation—his
complete motivation—was to hold on to Lindsey's love, no matter what it took.
He didn't have a lot of faith in this journey, but right now he didn't have a
lot of faith in anything, and if it all went bust, there was always . . .

How had he
let his mother talk him into this ridiculous idea? He was blind, wasn't he?
That was all that really mattered, and no dog was ever going to make the
difference. All of the things he enjoyed in life, the outdoor activities and
his hopes for medical practice, were taken away. So why was he on his way to
San Rafael?

Lindsey turned
him over to a United Airlines passenger service person, who would escort him
onto the plane. He held the stick awkwardly in his right hand.
The cane
, he thought.
The
symbol
that told the world
everything they needed to know about him. Brenden McCarthy. Blind.

Now he was
being patronized.

"Are we
ready to go?" The voice of the airline woman asked, as if she were taking
care of a little child.

Brenden
stifled his anger and just nodded. Then there was the awkward dance between
them as the woman tried to take his arm, and he tried to use the human guide
system he learned during rehab. Eventually after jockeying for position,
Brenden had the woman's elbow and followed her as she walked carefully
down the Jetway. He had not been
this careful when he climbed mountains, he remembered. Maybe he should have
been.

Entering the
plane, the overly solicitous woman was joined by a male steward, who almost
tried to carry Brenden to his seat and wouldn't leave until he was sure the
very physically fit young man was safely belted in.

"My name
is Edward," he told Brenden. "Please call me for anything you need.
Let me show you where your call button is."

Again, an
awkward sort of dance occurred as the men clasped hands.

Now Brenden's
seatmates began to arrive, adding to his already mounting frustration. The luck
of the draw gave him two children—a squirmy baby on his mother's lap and a
precocious kid of about four, who immediately began demanding things and
kicking the seat when he didn't get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it.

It didn't
take long for the boy to notice Brenden.

"What's
that?" he asked with no preamble.

Brenden
didn't respond.

"What's
that stick?" he asked again, insisting by his tone that Brenden answer
him.

"It's
called a cane."

"What's
it for?" the kid asked.

"To beat
little children," Brenden said, regretting the words as soon as they were
out of his mouth.

"That's
not very nice," the mother said, coming to the defense of her child.

"I
know." Brenden shrugged. "I'm very sorry. I've only been blind for a
little while. I kind of hate it, if you know what I mean."

"Okay,
Tommy. Now, leave the man alone," the mother said.

After
settling her children down, the woman couldn't help her curiosity. "How
did it happen?" she asked, the pity obvious in her voice.

"I
fell," was all he said, not willing to tell his story to a stranger. He
was grateful to be able to put on his Bose headphones and cut off any further
conversation.

So now,
listening to Eric Clapton as the plane took off, he took slow, deep breaths,
trying to relax and consider what he knew about the guide dog program and the
days ahead. Very little, he realized. The truth was, his mother had filled out
his application, and she was the one pushing him to do this. Why would he want
a dog? Frankly, why would he deserve one? Or anything or anyone else, for that
matter. No one really wanted him, except his mother, and he believed a lot of
that was some form of maternal commitment.

He had no
value, no cachet in the world. And now he was going to become the master of a
big dog?
I don't think so,
he thought.
I
really don't think so.

And yet,
something put him on this airplane. Something made him sit in this seat and
endure the humiliating questions of a kid and his mother. Something sent him to
the guide dog school. Was it hope for independence? Was the need to be a part
of the world still basic to who he was as a person? Was it to retain—or
win—Lindsey's love?

Lindsey,
Lindsey, Lindsey.

At that point
Clapton sang some piece of blues about a woman doing some guy wrong. In a
moment of stark candor, the thought hit him that this could be what he would
soon face with Lindsey. No, he couldn't believe it. She truly loved him, didn't
she? And if she did, his blindness wouldn't matter. Love sticks it out through
the tough stuff. But on the other hand, why should a beautiful, gifted girl
like Lindsey hitch her wagon to a blind horse? He would hold her back, and she
was too spirited to be held back. It didn't make sense for her to stick with
him, and if she chose to call it quits, he couldn't blame her.

No!
Brenden thought with a passion that
made him grit his teeth.
I can't let it happen. I will not
hold her hack. I will show her that I can become a whole person. And if I
can't, well, I still have my other option.

After touching
down in San Jose, a retired schoolteacher with a lifetime of wisdom met
Brenden. He introduced himself simply as John, and as Brenden quickly learned,
a blind father had raised him with a no-nonsense philosophy that said anything
was possible if you were willing to work hard. This guy could care less if
Brenden was blind or had two heads. He was what used to be called in the
vernacular a man's man. He figured that everybody was the same until proven
different. And so, for the first time since his accident, Brenden found himself
relaxing and sharing normal conversation with this guy on the one-hour drive to
the school.

"What's
it like there, John? I mean, what does it look like?" Brenden asked.

"Oh
man," John said, "it's beautiful. The country is really rolling and
lush. The buildings are Spanish California-type architecture with a whole lot
of brick and tile. The kennels, well, the kennels are nicer than most of the
hotels you find in this country. And the dorms, all the students get their own
rooms, along with three squares prepared by some really good cooks. All in all,
it's a good life while you're there. You'll be with us for a month, right?
Because it's your first dog?"

"I guess
so," Brenden said.

"Oh,
they've done the job with people tougher than you." John laughed.
"Some of the war vets we've had in here are really hard cases. You're a
picnic compared to those guys. Do you know that since we opened this campus in
1956, we've put over ten thousand teams into the field?"

"Teams?"
Brenden asked.

"Yeah,
my friend, that's what you're going to be—a team, you and the dog."

Brenden
didn't answer, and John didn't push him. They drove in silence until they
reached the campus and went through the gates. Brenden was struck by the myriad
smells, and John noticed him sniffing the air.

"You
like the smells, Brenden? I do too. All the plants were chosen to make all you
new students understand how glad we are to have you here. Let me help you with
your bags and introduce you to the admissions staff."

John took Brenden
to his room and allowed him to unpack.

"You're
just in time for dinner," John told him. "Now you'll find out what I
meant when I said the food was great."

John escorted
him to the dining room and seated him at a round table with what felt to
Brenden like six or seven other students.

The
house-mistress introduced him. "Everybody, this is Brenden McCarthy. He is
here for the first time, so don't scare him away with your horror
stories."

There was
laughter around the table.

A voice at
the other end put in, "First time? Wow, I got my first pooch in the 1960s,
and now I'm back for my fifth."

"Heaven
help the dog, Jimmy," a woman's voice put in. "You're such an old
curmudgeon, any animal you get is going to be in a hurry to get back to the
kennel."

"Oh,
you're just jealous, Lorraine"—Jimmy laughed, apparently knowing exactly
who she was—"because the last time we were here, I got Leah, the most
beautiful golden retriever in the history of the world, and you got the
boxer—Leonard, wasn't it? Remember? That's when they were training boxers—the
great slobberers of the world."