Chapter 12
Matt turned out to be a strict boss in the grocery shopping department. Foggy had no idea why the cantaloupe he had picked out didn't measure up to Matt's standards, whereas the one right next to it did. The same with the apples and even the tomatoes. The only thing Foggy felt Matt needed him for was finding the general location of things and reading the prices. It also occurred to him that he must have lived a very sheltered life because he had no idea what constituted a decent price for most of the items they looked at. Matt, on the other hand, seemed to have a very precise idea of what things were supposed to cost.
"One sixty-nine per pound? That's a little pricey." Matt listened as Foggy went through the packaged raw meat. The styrofoam cartons squeaked as they rubbed against each other.
"So, that's a no then?" Foggy turned around to look back up at Matt.
"No, just throw a package in, it's fine. It's hard finding anything cheaper than ground beef anyway."
"Yes, sir," Foggy said jokingly.
"Am I being too hard on you?"
"No. Well, maybe a little." Foggy smiled. He didn't really mean what he'd said. Matt didn't have the luxury of reading all the labels himself, so it seemed a little unfair to complain too much.
"Sorry about that. We're supposed to be doing this together, so you should decide too. So, how do you feel about the ground beef, Foggy?"
"Oh, I think I'm okay with it. What are you going to do with it anyway?"
"I don't know. I guess we could mix it with spaghetti sauce or something."
"How do you know all this stuff? I can just barely boil an egg."
"Well, mixing some cooked ground beef with a jar of Prego is about as easy as it gets, so I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. But as for how I know how to feed myself the simple answer is 'single dad.' I had to help out a lot at home."
"My mom always cooks everything. As far as I know, food just magically appears on the table. Well, I know there's more to it than that, but you know." Foggy tossed the package in their shopping cart that was already half-full of essentials like sugar, flour, milk, butter, bread, cheese and a standard assortment of different spices.
"Yeah. Well, you save a lot of money this way."
"You're going to make me look good, you know that?" Foggy continued pushing the cart down the isle. Matt kept his right hand on the side of it so he could both help push and follow along.
"I'm making you look good? Well, that's an added bonus."
"Seriously. I don't think my parents expect that much of me really. My mom even offered to take care of my laundry every other week. You're forcing me to clean up my act."
"I'm glad I can help turn you into a frugal housewife. That was my sinister plan all along." Matt smiled before taking a couple of seconds to breathe in the air, and really focus on everything around him. He really loved his nose. He didn't always love his ears. He would have loved them a lot more if he could turn them off, but since that wasn't an option, he would always be better friends with his nose. While the smell of urine in the subway was certainly no picnic, most scents were quite interesting and many were pleasurable. Grocery stores were always interesting places, and with this being an unfamiliar one, he was challenged to work his nose a little harder than usual. He knew they were now zooming through the rice and pasta section. These goods were not as fragrant as the fruits and vegetables, but they had a distinctive scent nonetheless. "So, Foggy?"
"Yeah?"
"What's the deal with this fraternity? Are you really going to join?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe next year. What's with all the skepticism, anyway?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's just because I've never really seen the appeal myself."
"They're not all for people who are really popular. I just thought Omega Delta seemed pretty cool."
"Was that the one were they make you wear antlers for initiation?"
"Yeah. You have a problem with antlers?" Foggy laughed.
"All I can say is thank God I'm blind."
"So that's a no on the antlers, then?"
"Well, not on the actual animal they came from, but other than that, yeah."
"Okay, do we need some pasta?" Foggy stopped abruptly in front of the penne.
"Yeah, I think so."
"Any particular price range?" Foggy asked jokingly.
"Oh come on, I'm not that bad, am I?"
"No, you're okay. I'm just being a jerk."
"That's okay, I can take it. You mind if we get some spaghetti or linguini? It's easier to measure."
"No, I don't care. So, Matt, I hope you don't think I'm a copy cat for picking almost the same classes you did." Foggy grabbed a pound of spaghetti and tossed into the shopping cart.
"No, I don't mind. I think that could be fun." The next isle was one that had few specific scents. Matt focused on his radar and was quickly able to pull forth the shapes of tin cans from the vaguely contoured black void that otherwise permeated his world. Canned goods weren't supposed to smell like anything, if they did that was a sure sign the seal was broken.
"Matt?" Foggy stopped again, "do we want any canned soup or anything? I think even I could cook that."
"Sure, I like most of them. Do they have anything that's low in preservatives?" Matt was a little worried that Foggy was going to think that he was too much of a health nut, but he could always taste the additives if there was too much of anything.
"Wow, first you're dragging me to the gym, now this." Foggy laughed, but Matt looked a little embarrassed.
"Sorry about that. I like all of them though, it's just a preference."
"Well, here's something that says 'organic' on it. Does that work?"
"That sounds perfect."
"So, tomato, cream of mushroom, beef, chicken or cream of asparagus?"
"Let's just get them all. Go a little nuts, huh?"
"Wow, we turn to soup for excitement now? Foggy saw Matt smile one of his wide grins. He was really starting to like his new roommate a lot and felt an odd sense of accomplishment every time he could elicit that kind of reaction from him.
"Well, you know, sprinkle it with some chili pepper and we're really rocking."
"You know, I had a feeling rooming with you was going to be interesting."
"Oh did you? Somehow I doubt that." Aside from being blind, having crazy heightened senses and having been trained by a ninja master, Matt felt like a very normal guy, and he was relieved that Foggy was treating him as such. By now, Matt could tell that Foggy wasn't the least bit nervous around him anymore.
"Oops, crowded," Foggy said as they turned right into the cleaning supply aisle. He stopped abruptly, as there was no way they were getting through walking almost shoulder to shoulder with a big shopping cart.
Matt didn't need his radar sense to know that there were eight people in front of them, and he could map their exact locations too without having to make out their shapes. People had no idea how loud their bodies really were; heartbeats, breath sounds, even their intestines moving. Most of the sounds were concentrated to the frequencies that normal hearing wasn't particularly sensitive to, but to him, people gave off a constant beat and subtle hum, along with the wheezing sound of air being pulled and pushed in and out of their lungs. Suddenly, he was feeling mischievous. "Not a problem, Foggy. Watch this."
Foggy grinned as he saw Matt let go of their cart and begin to walk down the aisle, his cane touching the hard floor with a distinct click with each step. People around them suddenly seemed very eager to make themselves as small as possible and quickly moved out of the way. A couple of them weren't fast enough and got whacked, which Matt followed with an "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." With the sea having been parted in front of him, Foggy pushed their cart ahead and stopped where Matt was waiting. "Your middle name wouldn't be Moses, would it?"
"No, it's Michael actually. But I'm telling you, Foggy, never underestimate the intimidation factor of the white cane. It looks innocent enough, but it can make grown men run away screaming in fear."
"I guess so. But can it get us into bars?"
Matt laughed. "I don't know, I haven't tried."
ooOoo
By the time they got back, it was already six o'clock. Matt got out his things to make Braille labels for the cans, using some index cards and attaching them with rubber bands. Everything else could be easily identified without any markings. After everything was put away, Foggy took a seat in front of the TV and started channel surfing while Matt got to one of the other things he had to get sorted out before the end of the first week, and preferably sooner; the reader situation. He pulled out a couple of sheets of paper that had slightly raised lines on them and started thinking about what to write. Finally, he decided to just stick to the basics and get his message out in as few words as possible:
I'm a blind student looking for readers.
The pay is 4.50/hr. Call me if interested.
Matt Murdock
He wrote the same thing on a second sheet of paper, then found a pair of scissors to cut little tabs at the bottom of each sheet so people could take the phone number with them. "Foggy, can I borrow you for a second?"
"Yeah, I'll be right there." Foggy got up off the couch, happy for a diversion. Considering there was hardly ever anything worthwhile to watch, he couldn't understand himself why he spent so much time in front of the TV.
"Could you write our phone number here on these?" Matt pointed to the fringed edges of the papers before him. He knew his handwriting was still pretty good. He had to write using only muscle memory since he couldn't check what he was doing while he was doing it, but that was at least partially offset by the fact that his fine motor skills had actually improved since the accident. But the numbers would have to be very small to fit and written across the lines, rather than on them, and he wanted to be completely sure they looked okay. He could always go back and check with his fingers later, but by then it would be too late to correct it.
"Wow, you have better handwriting than I do," Foggy said. "Are you sure you want me to do it?"
"Just the numbers. I'm sure the rest looks fine."
"Why do you need to hire someone? I could read to you if you want."
"No, I don't want that. That would just be weird."
"You sure? I wouldn't mind, honest."
"Thanks, but I wouldn't feel comfortable having you do it. It's supposed to be like a job, not a favor."
"Okay, I understand." Foggy sat down next to Matt at the kitchen table and started writing out their number, which he still had to double-check from the piece of paper by the phone. At least writing it twenty times over helped to commit it to memory. "Okay, that's it. Where are you going to put these?"
"I thought I'd put one in the lobby. I don't know about the other one. We'll see if I get any calls over the weekend, otherwise maybe I'll put it up in the library. I think I'll be able to find a couple of people pretty fast. And I can pretty much guarantee only girls will call."
"Really?"
"It's a Florence Nightingale thing. Except I hate it when they think it'll earn them a gold star or something. It's just a job."
"So, we're going to have a bunch of women running through here?"
"Don't get any ideas, Foggy." Matt laughed at his friend's eagerness to make friends with members of the opposite sex. "Besides, we may not always do it here. In fact, if I can get them to read it onto a tape without my having to be there every time, that's even better."
"Okay, fine. It's a job, I get it."
"But I'll have them all come here for the interviews, okay?"
"That's good. So who's paying for this?"
"The university will pay for it. They have to, otherwise they're breaking the law."
"Really? I feel like I should know this stuff."
"Well, if they didn't, it would be considered a form of discrimination."
"That makes sense." Foggy thought that seemed pretty fair. Matt couldn't help that he was blind, and it didn't seem right that he should have to pay extra money to be able to do the same things as anyone else.
"You know, I just remembered something. My dad has a fight tonight."
"How often does he have fights?"
"A couple of times a month. The rest of the time he works out, and they have sparring matches and such with other boxers."
"So, how long has he been a boxer?" Foggy didn't know anyone else whose parent had a job like that. His own father was an investment banker at a large firm downtown. They weren't exactly affluent, but pretty well off.
"On and off for as long as I can remember. He's had other jobs too." Matt didn't want to say anything about some of the less decent jobs his dad had had. He wasn't even sure his father was aware that he knew about them. "He's been a boxer full time since my accident. He decided to make it work, and so far it's been going pretty well. Especially lately."
"Well, that's kind of a cool job. Did he talk about it on career day in school when you were a kid."
"No, he never came to career day. It's funny; when I was a kid, I used to worship the ground he walked on and I thought being a boxer was the best job in the world. I really did think it was cool. Now it's different. I don't look up to him any less, but it's not really as glamorous as I thought it was when I was a kid. When you get hit over the head enough times... It's just not that healthy. I worry that he's going get seriously hurt."
"You mean turn out like Mohammad Ali?"
"Yeah, or worse. I didn't use to understand the whole 'stay in school' thing he used to nag me with, but I do now. He loves being a boxer, and he's really good at it, but it's not really something you can build your whole future on. Maybe he's got five good years left, at the most."
"What are you going to do then?"
"I don't know. I'm sure there are other jobs he could do, he's not a stupid man. He's uneducated, but he's not stupid. It worries me to think about it though. I hope I'll be done with law school by then and have a job so I can help him out.
"I wish I felt about my dad the way you do. You know, just from hearing you talk about him. You guys seem really close. My dad is more like one of those dads from some fifties TV show where he comes home and says 'Honey, I'm home!' and then asks you about school and you end up talking about baseball because you don't have anything else to talk about."
"Wow."
"I love him. I really do, and he's a good dad, but I don't think I could really talk to him about important things."
"Have you ever tried?"
"No, I haven't. Maybe I should. He's just never talked about important things with me, so I think that maybe I've just assumed things."
"Well, my dad and I don't talk about everything either." For a second Matt contemplated telling Foggy everything he'd never told anyone before. His heart started pounding at the prospect of sharing his secret with someone other than Stick, with a person from the real world where abilities like his were supposed to be impossible. But what would he say? That while he was blind, and always would be, he could feel where things were around him, and hear and smell better than anyone? He couldn't say that. His heart started slowing down again. He wouldn't say anything.
"You don't?"
"I think it's okay to keep some things from your parents, right? You kind of need your own space. But you're right, we're close. Especially lately. It's more of a man to man thing these days. I'm not a little kid anymore, and for the most part he's pretty good about not treating me like one."
"Around my dad, I still feel like I'm ten. I do what I'm told, always have. I almost admire Candace sometimes, even though she's a real brat. At least she's clear on what she wants. That whole kicking and screaming thing? I never did that. But sometimes it feels like that would be really nice."
"Well, you can kick and scream all you want here."
"Naw, that would kind of defeat the purpose. Besides, I think I'm a little too old for that now." Foggy leaned back against the chair and looked out the window. It felt really good to be out on his own. It was nice to have someone to share it all with too.
"You hungry, by the way?"
"Yeah, I was just about to ask you."
"Then how about I teach you how to cook with pasta sauce from a jar?"
"Okay, you're on."
