Day By Day
CommChatter: The first time Sam meets another blind person?
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Another One
Sam drummed his fingers against the desk, quietly echoing some tune of Metallica that was running through his head. The problem with moving around all the time meant that half the time, he had already gone through the material. Sam had entered his new chem class to find the group to be far behind his old curriculum.
And so he sat here, bored.
The bell rang, and Sam waited for the class to file out so he wouldn't have to battle the crowd.
"Sam, do you need any—"
"No thank you," he interrupted. "I'm fine."
Sam slung his book bag over his shoulder, stretching out arm and cane. He had scouted the school the evening before, so he knew where his next class was. Hopefully.
Three, two more steps. Sam entered.
"Hello? I'm Sam, I was told this is my next class."
"Oh, Sam. Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Smith, and we'll be going through some history. Class won't start for another ten minutes. Would you like to sit down? There are four columns of chairs—now, you can steal a chair in the back if you'd like, but you would be taking someone else's chair."
"There aren't any open chairs?"
"Yes, but they're all at the front. Everyone seems to like avoiding me."
"I think I can manage," Sam said drily. He slowly walked forward, hitting each chair one at a time.
"You know, I think you hold your cane too high above the ground. What type of end do you have?"
Sam froze. "I'm sorry?"
He heard his teacher get up, making more noise than he might expect.
"Did no one tell you? I'm also blind. If you don't mind—"
Sam felt a hand on his own, tapping his knuckles. "May I see your cane?"
"Of course." Sam passed it over, hoping that Mr. Smith would not be perceptive enough to notice the extra weight of the hidden blade.
"I do have a lot of resources at my disposal—I know it can be difficult to find enough books in Braille. I don't suppose you'd be interested in examining some of them?"
"Really?" Sam asked eagerly. "That would be . . . that would be fantastic."
"Here's your cane. Is this your last class of the day?"
"Yes sir."
"Stay after, and we'll arrange something. Have you ever gone to a school for the blind before?"
"No, never. I . . . it's been two and a half years since I was blinded. I've never even met anyone else who . . . You're really blind?"
Mr. Smith's laugh was warm. "Yeah, Sam. You and I are going to figure something out. We have to stick together, right?"
"Yes sir," Sam said, and the familiar phrase held none of his usual ire at having to obey his father.
"I'm telling you, Dean, he could really help me. He's a teacher. And he went to college, and he knows all about going to school—he was actually blind from birth."
Dean shifted, trying to keep his distrust out of his voice. "That's great, Sammy. But I'm still coming along to make sure he's legit."
"You don't trust me?" Sam asked reproachfully.
"Course I do, geek, but I'm just making one hundred percent sure this guy isn't gonna try something."
"You worry too much, Dean."
"So it's been said." Dean grinned at his little brother, knowing he could hear it in his voice. "We're here."
"Yes, the car has stopped. Wow. It's a miracle," Sam deadpanned.
"Watch it, twerp."
Dean rolled into the teacher's driveway, glancing distrustfully at the clean garden.
"Stepford-looking kind of place," he muttered.
If Sam could, Dean knew he would be rolling his eyes. "C'mon, c'mon," he prompted impatiently.
"Keep your pants on." Dean circled the car, offering his elbow to Sam. "Let's go see how geeky you can be in one hour."
The door open at the second ring, a smiling woman drying her hands off on her apron. Stepford, way too Stepford.
"You must be Sam," she said. "My husband's been expecting you. You are—"
"—his brother, Dean."
The woman's smile was congenial. "Would you like to join me in the kitchen? Sam can go to the study."
"I'll be sticking with him," Dean said firmly. "That's my condition."
Her smile grew a little more understanding. "You're a good brother, Dean."
Dean felt his ears heating up from his embarrassment—he would be eternally grateful whenever he could finally grow out of that habit.
"Don't compliment him, he'll get a big head," Sam grinned. Dean shoved him lightly, and the two of them moved further into the house.
"Sam, glad you could make it." Dean watched warily as the older man stood, reaching out his hand. "And are you Dean?"
"How'd you know?" he asked suspiciously.
"Sam mentioned he had an older brother, and you're about six feet tall and younger. Process of elimination."
Impressed, Dean crossed his arms. "Yeah? How'd you know that?"
The teacher grinned. "It's all about listening, kid. Now, Sam, how's your Shakespeare?"
"So you're happy, Sam?"
"I suppose." Sam took his hands off of the page. "Why?"
Mr. Smith's voice was cautious. "You never talk about your father, or really explain why you move around so much. Your situation is not ideal, Sam, that much is clear. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Sam grimaced. "It's not that bad," he hedged. "Look, everything you've given me—the books, the training . . . it means everything to me. You're helping a lot."
Sam could feel the way Mr. Smith was leaning forward. "And I'm glad of that. I just think I could help more."
"No, I don't think so," he said quietly.
"What about college?"
Sam went still. "What do you mean?"
"You may be trapped right now. But how about after you graduate?"
"Blind people don't go to college," Sam laughed.
"How do you think I became a teacher?" Mr. Smith asked coolly. Sam felt his face heat up.
"Sorry," he uttered repentantly.
"Nothing to apologize for." Mr. Smith put a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, don't limit yourself. You may not be able to see the stars, but that doesn't mean you can't reach for them like others."
Sam ducked his head. "Yes sir."