“Mmm,” Janey feigned deep consideration, “while that
idea does hold some appeal, I will be seen in public with you, and
I’m not willing to sacrifice my personal dignity for a few laughs.
You are safe from fashion ridicule.”
I appreciated Janey's pick-me-up assortment of
patches, but luckily, subsequent good news from the doctors meant
they wouldn't take the eye. I could stick with my preferred
sunglasses instead; I hadn’t been looking forward to all the
scratchy lace.
The eye patches now adorn a cradle of teddy bears.
Why? Janey and a couple of other (dubious) friends fashioned the
child’s bed into a pirate ship and tore eye buttons off a dozen
bears, replacing each eye hole with a patch from my collection. (Am
I the only one who has noticed if you drop the 'R' your friends
become fiends?) I now own a veritable booty of pirate bears.
With a sigh, I wrapped my long hair into a twist and
shoved a pair of chopsticks into the bun. I pushed away from the
mirror and felt my way to the dresser. Knowing the placement of
everything in the room had yet to cure me of walking without
feeling in front of myself, as if anticipating a huge ledge
sprouted overnight. Grabbing a pair of panties from the top drawer,
I stepped into them. I’d pulled out the next drawer, when my
bedroom door opened. (See what I mean? I hadn’t closed my bedroom
door, so if I’d left the room, I would have barreled right into the
darn thing!)
“Eeeek, naked woman! I'm going to go blind!”
screeched a dramatic falsetto voice.
“Oh, cut it out you moron,” I grinned toward the
voice of my live-in assistant, Ken Weston. “If you go blind, it
won't be from seeing my boobs.” My voice inferred other things
would be the cause. “Are you the one who closed my door? What if I
smashed into it?” I snatched up a bra, most likely the one I wore
yesterday, and held it up, “Is this the beige one?”
“Yes it is, and if you spent more time studying your
braille Ms. March you'd be able to tell the color by fingering the
tag.” I had yet to understand why I suddenly became Ms. March, when
HE was the one affecting a school teacher tone—it seemed kinda
backward to me.
“As to your first and second questions, I was
grinding beans and didn't want to wake you. I had hoped to rouse
you gently with the aroma of freshly ground coffee. And, you
wouldn't have smashed into the door because you insist on doing the
zombie thing with your arms straight out whenever you're walking
around the house. Furthermore, I was coming to open your door when
I was visually assaulted.” Ken complained with an exaggeratedly,
lispy cadence to his speech, which meant he was teasing. Ken was
one of those gay guys you couldn't tell was gay unless he wanted
you to know it. “Want me to grab you something from your
closet?”
“Yeah, could you set out something which will go with
jeans and the sage-green sunglasses?” Bra already tugged into
place, I had finished fastening my jeans when Ken placed a soft
cotton t-shirt in my hand. “The shirt is new. Argyle pattern in
pastels and it has a nice sage splash right in the front. Damn, I'm
good,” he said smugly, giving himself credit for matching the
colors so well to my sunglass collection. His first job as my new
assistant had been a shopping trip with my credit card and a
minimum set of instructions. Janey was so jealous of his good taste
and thrifty bargains she insisted he come shopping with her when it
was time to update her wardrobe. Me? I was happy to leave the
shopping to someone who enjoyed it. Shopping: Yuck!
My selection of sunglasses was on an orderly rack
above the dresser. While I could usually tell which was which by a
combination of shape and size, I was pretty good at keeping track
of where each pair was on the hooks Ken added later.
Ken was my one extravagance. I had been hesitant to
hire a male assistant due to the intimate nature of my needs.
Actually, I had been hesitant to hire anyone, not understanding the
benefit of having someone under foot while I tried to learn how to
be independent again.
Ken had been up-front about his sexual orientation
from the beginning. He hoped it would convince me that my
30-year-old female body wouldn't drive him into “uncontrollable
lust” (direct quote). Ken's casual acceptance of my blindness, his
wicked humor, and cheerful nature won me over in the first ten
minutes of his interview. His thoughtful consideration cemented his
place in my home a thousand times since then.
Ken’s complete lack of interest in me as a woman made
it easier during the first couple times he'd inadvertently seen
more than I was comfortable flashing. It was inevitable when two
people shared a house, I suppose. I was so glad I took Janey's
advice and gave him a try, although her opinion was suspect as she
has referred to him, on more than one occasion, as “eye candy.”
Although he’s only twenty-four years old, Ken's a
registered nurse. During his interview, he stressed his nursing
experience in a rehab center and his familiarity with cranky, old,
blind people (see above reference to humor). Janey tells me he's a
good-looking blond, blue-eyed, surfer-dude type with a great smile
and confident, direct gaze. She told me to imagine a sandy-haired
Keanu Reeves, but with intelligence in his eyes. He's five or six
inches taller than Janey, with a sculpted chest (her words), and a
nice, tight rear. Is “fuck-a-licious” even a word? Anyway, Janey
tells me it’s a loss for women everywhere that he's batting for the
other team.
I was startled by a knock at the front door. Usually,
I’d have heard a car drive up. “That will be Janey,” Ken informed
me. “Come along old, decrepit one,” he snarked, placing my hand on
his arm, tugging me insistently toward the stairs leading down to
the living room.
I decided to ignore the snide comment—after all, he
had been traumatized only moments ago. “I hadn't realized we were
expecting company. Did you make enough coffee for all of us? I'm
not giving up my portion!”
“Now you know why I was grinding extra beans. I know
how crabby you get when you don't have least two mugs by breakfast.
Last step,” Ken said absently, as we leveled out to the ground
floor. I usually maneuvered the house by myself, but Ken knew when
we talked and walked together, I didn't always concentrate on
counting the number of paces, let alone stairs.
Ken detached my hand with casual practice, wrapping
my fingers around the curved back of my dining room chair; the
scent of coffee instantly had the silencing effect I'm sure he was
hoping for. I pulled out my seat, as he answered the door, then
cautiously swept my hand across the table to locate the mug my nose
knew was waiting.
Janey's voice filtered in from the foyer as she
called out a general hello to the room. I could hear her whisper
with Ken, but I couldn't make out the distinct words. Ken made some
mumbled reply as they both entered the dining area. The clock on
the mantle announced seven o'clock with a tinkling wind chime tone
telling me it was a.m. At noon, the chime would change to a deeper
gong reverberation, alerting me it was p.m. I have no idea where
Ken found the clock, but it was perfect.
“Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hey, back atcha,” I replied. “What's with all the
furtive whispering? Ken told you he's getting his eyes checked
because he saw a half-naked woman this morning?”
“There are some things that are simply impossible to
bounce back from,” Ken said, gravely.
“She has no shame. Parading around bare-assed again,
was she?” Janey's voice was equally serious. “Maybe it’s time we
got her a man so she'll stop throwing herself at you.”
“Hey, you two. Sitting right here.” I waved my hands
in front of me, not knowing or caring if they were even looking in
my direction. I had my coffee. It is all about clear priorities. I
took a sip and placed the mug carefully on the table. Finally, in
my defense, I scoffed, “He walked in on me again, the pervert.”
“Well, I have a man for you anyway.” Janey stepped
close enough to press something large against my chest; my hands
came up automatically to grasp the large, furry, squirming bundle
of puppy trying to climb my torso. “May I present Declan's Stormy
Druid.”
“Oh-my-gosh! Dru! You kept him for me?” The pup
lunged upward to lick my chin. “Geez, what are you feeding him? He
weighs a ton!” I was laughing at his enthusiasm and trying to stay
balanced on the edge of my seat. My right forearm, remembering
priorities, slid along the table top gently nudging my precious
coffee into a safer zone.
“He's a bit larger than average for an eight month
old. I'd guess about fifty-five pounds or so, and still growing.
He'll probably put on another thirty or thirty-five pounds before
he's done. And, there was never any question he would be yours.
I've kept him at the kennel while we waited for you to be ready for
him. He's even had some obedience schooling with a framed
certificate.”
“So, you're telling me my dog with a pedigree has a
PetDegree?” I teased, and Janey groaned at the bad pun. Cuddling
the young dog I realized there was one scent which could rival
coffee: puppy breath.
“I’ve spoken with a guide dog trainer friend of mine
about getting him certified as a seeing-eye dog. Carley tells me
there’s quite a bit of pre-training involved, about a year or more,
just getting them socialized and familiar with traffic, enclosed
spaces like elevators, and stuff like that.” I shook my head, as
Janey yakked a mile a minute. I’ve never known anyone who can talk
so fast, or so much, without gulping air. With barely a pause
between thoughts, she continued, “I took Carley’s advice and we
skipped the ‘heel’ command in obedience class, as he has to learn
to pull a harness, not walk beside you. She says the normal guide
dog training takes approximately four months, then dogs are matched
to owners—so we’re kinda doing everything out of order. Of course,
when you picked him he was supposed to be a pet, not a seeing-eye
dog. I
did
get a service vest and guide dog training videos,
so we can work with him. Carley says he listens amazingly well, and
he’s been very adaptable when I’ve taken him places to familiarize
him with new noises and locations.”
“Where is Carley?” I asked. “You’ve never spoken
about her before.”
“Her facility, Blind Sighted, is located outside
Seattle. I’ve occasionally donated dogs to her guide dog school.
Usually runts, or puppies showing good temperament, but not up to
show standards. It’s a write off for the kennel, and Carley gets
some good dogs added to her program.
I took Dru with me on a road trip a few months ago.
Carley assessed him and tried some minor preliminary tests for his
suitability. She told me he’d be a perfect candidate for her
program, although the final aptitude determinations are made
between eighteen months and two years old. It was a fascinating
place. After matching each dog to an owner, she invites the blind
person to stay at her facility for a month to learn how to care for
their guide dogs: feeding, grooming and poop scooping,” Janey
chuckled. “Thank goodness you have all this wild area around your
house. You should never have to clean up after him unless he
decides to poop during a walk in the park or something.”
Dru was heavy in my lap, but surprisingly calm after
a few initial chin licks. I could feel his head pivot as he
followed the sound of our voices, but he didn’t struggle, or
otherwise fight to leave my arms. He was a good boy.
Janey droned on about obedience class, and from long
practice, I found I filtered out much of what she was saying until,
“What? You neutered him?”
“No, no, you’re tuning me out again, aren’t you. I
was saying, Carley recommends companion animals be spayed or
neutered, but I felt that should be your decision. He’s a pure-bred
German shepherd from a champion lineage. Last year, you paid good
money for his breeding potential, so it wasn’t up to me to make
that decision for you. I only wanted to tell you what the
recommendation was. You can’t see him, Teresa, but he turned out to
be the pick of the litter. He has beautiful conformation and the
smoothest gait of any pup in his brood. I know a teenager in town
who would probably be ecstatic to show him for you as part of her
4-H club activities. Let me know if you’d like to enter him in any
of the GSD shows.”
I snuggled my cheek into the ruff of my dog’s neck.
“Hear that, handsome? You’ve got blue ribbon potential.”
“He’s really social,” Ken added. “I’ve taken him with
me a few times, at Janey’s request. He gets along great with other
dogs, and seems to love being around kids. I was worried at first,
when a toddler screeched and came running straight at him in the
store. He just sat down and let the kid pull his ears, and step on
his tail. He’s really mellow.”
“Oh! Ken, we need to get bowls and brushes. And food.
He'll need a leash and toys...” My voice trailed off and I smiled,
giving Dru a soft squeeze.
“What's this 'we' shit? I know who is really going to
be running around to get him properly outfitted in the style to
which he should become accustomed.” There was a smile in his tone
which led me to believe it wouldn't be such a hardship. “Food,
bowls and his harness are already taken care of. Janey brought them
with her and they're at the front door. The bowl and water system
only need to be filled every few days so he can free-feed. He's
wearing a new red collar. I'll pick up anything else he needs later
this morning when I go shopping.”