Here, I’ll get the door.”
I hold the door open for the girl. It’s the least I can do after slamming her into the wall.
She says, “Thanks,” and smiles again, and I take a good look at her eyes. They’re pale blue, but the color is strong. And now that I know she’s blind, I can see that her eyes look that way, like windows with the shades pulled down. There are little white scars below both eyebrows, but nothing you’d notice, nothing to keep her from being pretty. She’s a little shorter than I am, but I think maybe she’s older. Her hair isn’t very long, about to her chin. It’s brown and straight, and it’s cut on an angle so it grazes the jawline on both sides of her face.
You know how Hemingway writes? He couldn’t write about this girl’s face. Because he’d say something like, “It was a pretty face.” And that wouldn’t be enough. This face needs someone like Dickens, or maybe Tolstoy. Someone who’d take a whole page and spend some time on her eyebrows and her cheeks, or maybe notice the shape of her mouth when she’s concentrating on walking with her cane.
We go down the steps, and I can see she doesn’t need much help getting around. At the bottom I want to sprint for the bus, but I say, “So, are you at the university?”
She shakes her head. “No. I just come here to study sometimes. I’m still in high school.”
“Yeah, me too. At the lab school.”
But all I can think about now is how late I am. So I say, “Well, I’m really sorry…you know, that I bumped into you. I’ve got to go…so, maybe I’ll see you around.”
For half a second her face changes—something sharp and bitter—but right away she smiles again and says, “Sure, see you ’round.”
I’m half a block away, racing the bus to the next stop, before I figure it out—the way I’d said, “I’ll see you around,” and the way she looked at me before she said it back. Because she can’t see. Not me, not anybody. I guess I maybe hurt her feelings, or maybe she thinks I’m a jerk. But so what? “See you ’round. See you later.” Everybody says stuff like that.
After sprinting, the bus feels way too hot, but my big toe is happy that I don’t have to run the whole way home. The bus goes past my house and starts to slow down for the stop at the corner.
Panic. It’s a pure gut reaction because there’s a gray Taurus in the driveway. Our car. Dad’s already home, and I’m guessing he’s already running around yelling my name, already calling Mom on her cell phone, already kicking his brain up into overdrive trying to figure out what to do because his new science project is missing.
My mouth tastes like copper, and my heart starts drumming, and when I get off the bus and start running, right away I’m thinking of all the ways I can sneak into the house. Maybe I can get in, strip off my clothes, and then make up some excuse why I didn’t hear him calling—like maybe I was in the bathtub with my ears underwater, or maybe I had my Walkman turned up too loud. I’m on my fifth or six lie when I remember.
New rules. There are new rules.
So I just walk up the front steps, stomp across the porch, and use my key to open the door.
Dad’s there to meet me. He looks bad. He still has his coat and gloves on. His face is the color of Wonder Bread, the skin stretched tight over his cheekbones.
“Bobby! Thank God! I didn’t know what to think.” His voice is rough, almost hoarse, probably from yelling through the house. He’s breathing hard. “I got home, and first I thought you were still asleep. And then I saw your coat was gone, but I couldn’t imagine why you’d go anywhere, unless maybe things had gone back to normal and you’d gone to school or something. Scared the hell out of me! Thank God you’re here!”
As he talks, I shed layers, tossing stuff onto the marble table below the big beveled mirror. Gloves, scarf, sunglasses, hat, coat. Just like at breakfast, I feel a surge of power from knowing that I can see his face, but he can’t see mine.
I read his face as he talks. His eyes drinking in the phenomenon again. His eyes narrowing, his forehead wrinkling as he tries to see and comprehend. His mouth talks, but his eyes never stop hunting, looking for some hidden law of physics that could explain the missing head and hands that ought to be sticking out of my black turtleneck shirt.
And I see the struggle in his face. It’s a battle between the physicist and the father. The father wins, and now he’s angry.
“And most of all, I cannot believe you could do this, Robert! This is so completely irresponsible! I thought I made it very, very clear this morning that this has to be kept a complete secret. Don’t you understand how dangerous it would be for you if anyone finds out about this? How can you not understand that?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to, so I don’t.
“Well?” Dad’s not so pale now. His face is getting nice and red. He takes a step closer and shouts, “Answer me, young man! What is the idea of running off like that?”
“Like what? Like what?” I shout back. “You mean like my parents ran off this morning? What did Mom say to you before you both left? Don’t tell me, because I already know. She said, ‘Oh, don’t worry, David. Sure, that was a big shock at breakfast, but let’s remember, it’s only Bobby. It’s probably just another one of those phases that Bobby goes through. Probably not fatal. I think we can leave him here alone, don’t you? He’ll still be alive when we get home, don’t you think?’ And you, you probably just nodded your head because you didn’t really hear her, because you were already thinking about your meeting, your big meeting at the lab. So then what do my responsible parents do? They make sure I’m asleep and they leave. Because so many other things are really important.”
I see the change in his face. I watch my words as they hit, piercing his eyes and ears and cheeks like porcupine quills.
As I finish, I’m so close that he’s getting sprayed with invisible spit. Dad knows that my teeth must be showing, that I am as fierce as anything in any cage at the Brookfield Zoo. And that I am not in a cage, not now. I am out of the cage, and I am up close, and I am snarling.
I don’t wait for his answer because I don’t have to. There are new rules. I step around him. I trot up the front stairs and down the hall to my room, and I slam my door. And lock it.
And then I congratulate myself on the performance. I just want him to mind his own business.
After a big blowup, I usually read in my room for at least an hour. But I can’t, not now. I’m too hungry. I didn’t think to eat lunch before I went out, so I’ve been running all day on a few bites of eggs and a glass of juice.
I start to open my door, but then I stop. I pull off my clothes. If I have to be a spook, I’m going to get used to the feel of it. I’m going to get good at it.
I walk down the back stairs slowly. Some of the steps always squeak, and I avoid them. Alone in the kitchen, I pull out the mayo and some sliced turkey and Swiss cheese. I put everything on the counter without making a sound. Silence. That’s part of what I have to learn. When I ease open a drawer and pick up a knife, the handle is hidden by my fingers. The floating blade moves where I tell it to.
The sandwich tastes fantastic, and the milk after it is even better. I start to pour a second glass when I hear Dad’s voice.
I’m at the study door, then I glide into the room, my feet leaving tracks in the soft pile of the carpet. Dad has his back to me, still wearing his overcoat. He’s talking to Mom.
“I know that, Em…. But you’ve got to cancel…. Right…. Yes, very upset…. Exactly…. No, not a clue, really. All we can do is be here and do whatever we can…. I know, but he really does need us, both of us…. Good. We can pick up something special on the way back, maybe some steaks…. Okay. I’m on my way. The north door, right?…See you soon.”
He hangs up and walks past me out into the living room, headed for the front door. I hurry out, go the other way, through the kitchen and up the back stairs.
“Hey, Bobby?” He’s calling from the front hall.
I’m outside my door. “What?” I keep some anger in my voice.
“I’ve got to run over and pick up Mom. Then we’ll be back and we can talk, and then maybe cook up some supper together, okay?”
“Whatever.”
“See you in about twenty minutes.”
“Yup.”
Then the front door opens and closes, and the car starts outside, and then it’s quiet.
Back down in the kitchen I finish pouring my glass of milk, grab the Oreos from the pantry, and walk to the TV room. The couch is cold brown leather, so I wrap myself up in a fleece blanket before I sit down and punch the remote. It’s Gilligan’s Island on channel nine. On Gilligan’s Island everything is safe and predictable. The Professor is being smart, and Gilligan is being stupid. It’s so comforting. The cookies and milk have filled me up, and the fleece blanket is warm, and the couch is comfy.
I don’t know why the Skipper has to talk so loud. He’s practically shouting, and he’s wearing a green sport coat. Because it’s not the Skipper. I’ve been asleep for almost two hours!
“Good evening and welcome to the WGN News at Six. We have a breaking story from Juliette Connors and the WGN Chicago Road Crew, live at the scene. Juliette?”
The camera’s not very steady, and my eyes are half open. The reporter is wearing a yellow parka with the hood down. She’s trying not to squint into the bright lights. Her breath is a white cloud in the cold air.
Tom, I’m here in Hyde Park, where there’s been a three-car accident. The driver of this Jeep Cherokee apparently did not see the red light at this busy intersection near the University of Chicago. He is in police custody, although he has not been charged at this time. This Ford Taurus was struck by the Jeep and then apparently spun around and was hit again by a third car. As you can see, the Taurus has been pushed up onto the sidewalk by the force of the multiple impacts.
Ten seconds. Ten seconds ago I was asleep, arguing with the Skipper and Mary Ann about what to have for dinner. Now I’m sitting up, staring. At the TV. I’m having…a hard time…breathing. The reporter keeps talking.
The driver of the third car was not hurt, but both the driver and the passenger in the Taurus had to be removed by ambulance. At this hour they are reported in serious condition at Presbyterian St. Luke’s. This is Juliette Connors, and we’ll be back later in the hour with a live update from the WGN Road Crew.
I’m having a hard time breathing because of the car. The Ford Taurus. On the TV. It’s our car.