While trying to find a low branch, she ends up facing back the way she came. Her chin goes up and she sniffs the air, turns, and starts for the bay again.
I fall in behind her and watch her check out every tree on her way to the water. Most are Australian pines; the last is a sea grape growing at the water’s edge. She stands near it and breathes deeply, then, using her cane, she heads for the park bench where the homeless man is now sitting up.
This is my first good look at her face. She’s my age, pretty with long, straight black hair; kind of Native American–looking with high cheekbones. She’s not wearing dark glasses like other blind people, and I can see her clear brown eyes. Again, it occurs to me that she may be pretending, though she’s staring straight ahead and doesn’t blink.
She stops short of the bench, as if she’s seen the homeless man. He’s been watching her, too.
“I’d like to sit there if you don’t mind sharing.”
The guy glances over his shoulder and sees me. “I was leaving.” He stands unsteadily, leans to gather up the newspaper, and almost falls over. “You want I should leave the paper?”
I gasp at his rudeness, and the girl turns in my direction. She smiles and faces him again. He isn’t exactly where she’s looking anymore. He’s stepped to one side. “Is it the Braille edition?”
“Ha. That’s a good one. I was blind myself last night.”
When he says that, she adjusts where she’s looking to where he’s standing. “Do you have insight this morning, or just sight?”
It takes him a moment to interpret this, and he laughs. “Same as every morning: I can see, but ain’t too interested in keeping my eyes open for long.”
I’m thinking, How can you say that to a blind person? when the girl steps forward and puts her hand out. It’s about six inches to the right of where he’s standing, but he reaches for it, pulls his hand back, wipes it on his dirty pants, and shakes her hand.
“My name is Zoe.”
“I’m Dwayne.”
“Nice to meet you, Dwayne.”
“Wouldn’t be if you could see me.”
“I don’t agree. I see differently, but quite clearly.”
“Ain’t you blind?”
“I am, but that means I only see what’s important about a person, not their physical self.”
“Like if you was God and I was dead?”
Zoe smiles. “A little like that.”
“Can I help you to the bench?” Dwayne says.
“No need. I do okay, considering.”
“I’d like to anyway.” He steps forward and takes her arm. “I’m here most mornings, if I don’t get run off by a cop the night before. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“I hope so.”
He leaves Zoe on the bench facing the water, but not before he stacks the newspapers, brushes off the seat, and picks at a dried spot of bird poop with his index finger.
“Thanks, Dwayne.”
“You’re welcome, missy.”
I’m standing with my arms at my sides. I miss my mother more at this moment than in the nearly two years since she died, but I’m not sure why. I feel like she’s holding me in place, pinning my arms to my sides, refusing to let me move, refusing to let me hide.
Dwayne glances at me. “Is that girl there a friend of yours?”
“Not yet.” Zoe looks in my general direction.
Why would I want to make friends with another person with needs? I walk away. Not far. Just away.
Dwayne leaves and I stare at the bay where the sun creates stars on the waves. I glance over at Zoe every once in a while. I could walk over and tell her how the bay looks in the sun and that way out there, almost to the horizon, a thunderhead is forming, but I don’t.
She’s taken a book from her backpack and is reading with her fingertips, but she’s listening at the same time. A blue jay flies over, and she looks up; a jogger runs by and returns her nod of good morning, sees her white cane leaning against the bench, and says, “Good morning,” out loud.
Whenever her head turns in my direction, I hold my breath. She can’t see me any more than Adam can, but the difference is she wants to.
“Are you still here?” she says.
For a second I think I won’t answer, but I do. “Yes.”
“I’m Zoe.”
“I know. I’ve been watching you. I’m Lily.”
“Am I a peculiar sight?”
“It’s not that.”
“Do you know other blind people?”
“Not really.”
“You must be pretty bored to spend a day like this in the park following a blind girl around.”
“What makes you think I’ve been following you?”
“I heard you breathing.” Zoe lifts her chin and sniffs. “And I like your shampoo.”
“I was worried you’d run into a tree.”
“Nice of you to worry, but I’m getting better at locating them.” She smiles. “Thigh-high trash cans are another story.”
“Is that what the humming and clicking was about?” I walk over and stand between her and the bay.
She turns to face me. “I’m practicing echolocation.”
I can’t figure out how she knew I’d moved until I realize I’m blocking the breeze. “Echolocation? Like a dolphin?”
“Or a bat. There’s a guy who teaches the blind to navigate using echolocation. I’m not very good yet, but I’ll keep trying.”
“How’s it supposed to work?”
“Sounds bounce off solid objects. If I hum and turn my head side to side, I can hear the subtle difference between a tree and no tree.” She grins. “Or Lily and no Lily. Want to help me practice?”
“Sure.”
Zoe puts her book on the bench and stands. “You’ll have to come at me from downwind so I can’t smell your shampoo.”
I cross the path to the grass and walk about ten feet into the park. Zoe feels her way around to the back of the bench and stands facing my general direction.
“I’m ready.” She starts to hum and move her head from side to side.
A step at a time, I walk toward her. For the first few feet it’s clear she doesn’t have a clue where I am or which direction I’m coming from. A breeze kicks up and she holds up her hand to stop me until the trees are still again.
A lady walking her dog on the vita course glances at me, then at Zoe humming and swinging her head. Zoe hears her dog’s tags jingling. “Nice day.”
The woman sees her cane. “It is indeed.”
Zoe waits until she’s gone to start humming again.
I’m a yard away when Zoe homes in on where I am. She smiles, but goes on humming, though the width of her head turns is less. I take another step toward her. She puts her hand up, and we high-five.
“That’s really cool.”
“Mom says the guy who teaches echolocation takes blind people on bike rides on forest trails. I’d like to get that good.” She turns back toward the bench. “May I?” She puts her hand on my shoulder.
“Sure.” I lead her to the bench.
“Do you live around here?” We both speak at once and laugh.
“You first,” she says.
“I live about four blocks west.”
“Me, too.”
“You sound my age,” Zoe says. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“I took a day off. Why aren’t you?”
“I’m homeschooled.” She smiles. “But I’ll be going to Biscayne Middle School in the fall.”
“That’s where I go!”
“Do you skip often?”
“This is the first time.” Which is kind of the truth. I change the subject. “Did you walk all the way down here by yourself?”
“Yes and no. Yes, I walked here by myself. It’s not hard. I count the blocks. And no, my mother followed me. Can you see the parking lot from here?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a Prius parked there?”
“There are two. Both white.”
“One is Mom. If she’s not sitting in it, she’s somewhere around here, watching. I don’t think she’ll really let me walk to the park alone until I’m married.”
I laugh. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“No.”
“Why the park when you can’t see how pretty it is?”
“I come here to practice echolocation, but go ahead and tell me what you see.”
“Green grass, the trees, sailboats on the bay, the way the water sparkles in the sun.”
Zoe smiles. “You take in what you see in a gulp. I sip. I smell the grass, which was recently mowed, and the trees have different bark, smells, and leaves. Some have flowers and seeds. I smell the bay, feel the sun, and can remember how it looks on the water. I smell the trash that’s caught in the rocks at the water’s edge. I hear the joggers and their iPods. But if it makes you feel better, the last time I was here, I stepped in a fire ant hill. Now I’m careful to feel for their mounds with my cane.”
“What’s it like when there’s no sound?”
“There’s always sound. The air is never empty, but I do love it when the breeze is blowing. It fills my mind with images. I use my ears to read the landscape and am always measuring and memorizing my steps.” Zoe turns her head toward a bird singing.
“That’s pretty,” I say.
“It’s a male cardinal. They’re bright red. Do you see it?”
I look around until I spot the bird. “You’re right. It’s on the ground under the sea grape tree. Guess that doesn’t help much.”
“No. It does.”
“I don’t know birds by their songs, and only a few by sight,” I say. “I had a pet Quaker parakeet once, but Mom and I set it free. How did you learn them if, you know …?”
“If I can’t see them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I wasn’t always blind, so when something is described to me, my mind creates a picture. Because you told me where it is, I can see the male cardinal under the sea grape.”
I look at Zoe’s clear brown eyes. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”
“Cancer. Retinoblastoma. First one eye when I was two and the other when I was four. These”—she points to her eyes—“are prostheses. Better than two holes in my head, don’t you think?”
I laugh. “Much. They look so real I thought you were pretending to be blind at first.”
We sit for a few minutes looking out at the water, not saying anything.
“I probably should go,” Zoe says. “I hate to waste Mom’s entire day. What are you going to do?”
“Walk into town, I guess. Maybe go to a movie. I can’t go home until after school is out.”
Zoe gets up. “Do you have your cell with you?”
I nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Yeah.”
“Let me give you my number. Maybe we could go shopping one day. I love my mother, but I don’t trust her taste in clothes. Maybe you’d help me pick out a few outfits for school.”
“Sure, I guess. I’m free Saturday if my stepfather doesn’t find out I skipped school and ground me.”
As I put her number in my cell phone, “Do you swim?” pops out of my mouth.
“I do.”
Before I can say another word, I see Alicia grin at me and ask how my brother’s doing, but then I think of the way Zoe treated Dwayne. “We have a pool.”
“Are you inviting me over?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound too enthused.”
“My brother is autistic. Some people—”
“You’re worried I’ll be put off by his disability.” She closes her eyes, holds her hands out, and waves them blindly, like she’s feeling for an obstacle.
She makes me laugh again, and it feels good.
Suzanne’s at the sink when I come in from the movie a little before four. She turns and puts her finger to her lips. “Adam’s asleep.”
I close the back door quietly and tiptoe to the refrigerator for the orange juice and take a glass from the drain board.
Suzanne nods toward the den. “Don’s home and on the warpath.”
My heart jumps. “I didn’t see his car.”
“It’s in for an oil change. Someone from the shop gave him a ride home.” Suzanne opens her arms and I walk into them. “It will be okay, toots. Let him blow his top, promise never to do it again, and forget about it.”
Suzanne suddenly lets me go, and I turn. Don is standing on the other side of the center island. “In my office. Now.”
“If you wake Adam after the day I’ve had, I’ll quit.” Suzanne’s hands are on her hips. “Take it outside.”
Don’s who-do-you-think-you’re-talking-to look deflates. He points a stiff arm and forefinger at the back door.
I walk and he follows. “What were you thinking?” he says before he closes the door.
Suzanne jerks the doorknob out of his hand. “All the way out!”
Don grabs my arm and marches me across the patio, out into the yard, and turns me to face him.
“Where were you?”
“In the park for a while, then I went to a movie.” Being so matter-of-fact about it seems to throw him.
“Why?”
I shrug. “I needed a day for myself.”
“You don’t think I could use a day off? You have responsibilities. One is school, and the other is to help with your brother.”
“Help with him, or raise him for you?”
I can’t believe I said that, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
For a second, Don looks punched in the gut, then he balls his fists. I take a breath and go on. “I wasn’t late coming home.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is, then? I’m always here for him, and I shouldn’t have to be. I’m not Momma.” My voice cracks. “I’m his twelve-year-old sister. Remember?”
“You’re grounded.”
I actually laugh. “What does that mean?” I’m facing the house and can see Suzanne watching from the kitchen. Knowing she’s on my side, or at least understands, makes me braver. “I can’t go out with friends, can’t go to the mall, can’t watch TV. How do you see this grounding thing?”
“Don’t sass me, young lady. What would your mother say?”
No fair. I glance again at the window. Suzanne’s not there. No one is there. I hear Adam wailing.
Don sighs. “There are going to be some new rules around here.”
“No, there aren’t. I’m a good kid; I make good grades; I miss …” Tears well. “I miss my mother.” Sweat runs down the side of my face and from my underarms.
“Then just think about how disappointed she’d be in your behavior.”
There’s no escape. I think about screaming, like Adam. Throw myself to the ground, kick my feet in the air, and shriek at the top of my lungs.
“Your attitude lately …” He drones on, but I stop listening until he says, “We’re going to make some changes.”
“Good,” I say. “You can start by getting help for Adam. Take him back to the Cutler Academy or find a dolphin therapy program. Something.” I run across the yard and dive into the pool, swim the length under water, and come up at the shallow end. Don’s standing at the deep end.
I turn to face him. “I made a friend today in the park, and she’s coming over Saturday to go swimming.”
“You need to watch Adam on Saturday. It’s Suzanne’s day off, and I have rounds in the morning.”
“I’ll watch him in the morning. When you finish rounds, you can take over.”
Suzanne comes out the back door leading Adam, who’s covered in poop, by the hand. “You should see the walls in his room.”
I get out of the pool, uncoil the garden hose, hand it to Don, and dive back in the pool, where I let myself drift down until I settle on the bottom. I watch the blurry dance they’re doing—Don holding both of Adam’s wrists clamped in one fist; Adam’s toes brushing the grass, trying to touch the ground and run;
Suzanne washing him down. I stay until I run out of air and have to shoot to the surface.
I come out of my room after changing into dry clothes. Adam’s dolphin video is on and he’s in his high chair, flapping his hands and squeaking at the screen. Don is talking to Suzanne in the kitchen.
“I’m not the answer. You have to get qualified help for your son.”
I back up before they see me and pin myself to the wall.
“Lily needs some semblance of a childhood. She’s wonderful with your son—” I love the emphasis on your. “But she needs some space.”
I go back into my room and sit at my desk. I’m feeling sorry for myself, but the doll head shows no emotion at all. I turn it to face the wall, find my cell phone, and call Zoe. Her mother answers.
“This is Lily Moran. May—”
“Hello, Lily. Zoe told me about meeting you. I’ll get her.”
I hear her mother call, then silence. I think about that. In this house, there is never silence.
“Hi, Lily.”
“Hi. Would you like—”
“I’d love to. Saturday?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Don’s got rounds until after lunch, so I’ll walk over to get you around one.”
“Mom’ll drop me off.” Zoe lowers her voice. “She wants to know where I’ll be. But you can walk me home.”
After dinner of pizza and a store-bought salad, I start Adam’s dolphin DVD again and go to my room. I stand with my back to the window, judge the distance to my door, then kick my wet shorts and T-shirt out of the way so the path is clear. I close my eyes, begin to hum and walk toward it, but after a few feet, I’m not so sure of the distance any longer. I should open the door so I’m walking toward an open space, not solid walls, but I don’t want Don to catch me. If echolocation works, I should know when I’m getting close. I hum and turn my head side to side like Zoe did, but it doesn’t work and I have to put my hands out until I touch the wall.