AN: Hope you're having a great weekend. Enjoy!
Chapter 6
November 1983
"Lizzie, I wish you would've come home." Joan held the phone to her ear. She sighed. Joan knew she should've just shown up and dragged her niece back home.
Lizzie sat on the other end of the line and delivered the argument she'd practiced. "Joan, that would've been a waste of money. It's only five days. It's expensive to fly and besides there are a few of us that stayed. I think they are having a little meal for us. Besides, I could really use the time to practice my Braille reading."
"You're sure. You won't be alone?"
"I promise. I'll be fine. You're worrying for nothing." Elizabeth wrapped the cord around her finger, and unwrapped it again, waiting for Joan to respond.
"Alright. I'll call on Thursday afternoon and you better answer."
"I will, unless I'm not here and then I'll call when I get back."
"Everyone will miss you. The kids are all coming in. They'll want to at least say hi." Joan had that pleading in her voice that poked at Elizabeth's conscience..
"Will do. I gotta go. Love you. Bye." Elizabeth quickly dropped the receiver in the cradle and fell back on her bed and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a part of her that felt bad for lying to Joan, but the bigger part of her just didn't know how she could possibly face her extended family. Thanksgiving would be the first big holiday since her parents died and everyone would be there. She had so many wonderful memories of family gatherings around the holidays. Everyone would be reminiscing and laughing and it would be expected that she would join in, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Pushing herself off the bed, she walked the 4 steps to her closet. Reaching up on the top shelf she pulled down a few things. With each box, on the side, near the top, holes were punched. The first box had 2 small holes next to each other. That was a C for Cheerios and the second box had two holes with a third hole directly under the left one. F, for Frosted Flakes. She unrolled the paper bag and reached in, counting at least two dozen granola bars of various types. She'd been systematically taking an extra at each meal over the past few weeks. Elizabeth had no idea what flavor they were. She figured it would serve as a little surprise each day. Then there were some odds and ends: a few sticks of beef jerky, some leftover Halloween candy and a couple ice cream cones that didn't get rationed well with the half gallon of ice cream she bought a month ago. There was milk in the fridge for the cereal and a few cans of Pepsi. It was kind of boring, but she wouldn't starve.
She set the items back on the shelf. Each thing had a home, a particular place where it had to go so that she knew exactly where everything was. It was one of the first life skills she learned. Of course she was in high school and took all of the regular classes, but the school for the blind spent several hours every week training their students to live in the real world. The students wouldn't always have parents (or aunts) to care for them. They had to know how to keep clean and organized, feed themselves, and get from one place to another.
Elizabeth frowned. The "getting from one place to another" was a thorn in her side. The school insisted on her using a white cane. She learned, and used it while on campus, but hated it and used it only long enough to count her steps. Thanks to her father and the numerous hours they spent together when she was young, she could work out almost all travel by laying it out mathematically in her head. Using the appropriate angles,her excellent sense of spatial perception, and the geometrical theorems, she was able to move about with great accuracy. If she didn't have to use that damned white cane, no one would ever know that she was blind.
The other things, Elizabeth adapted to quite readily and loved the independence the tips and tricks gave her. She raised the face of her watch and lightly floated her fingers over the raised dots where numbers should be and brushed the hands. Closing the glass, she nodded to herself. 6 pm seemed like a fine time to take a shower.
Elizabeth stripped down, tossed her clothes into the basket on the closet floor and pulled her robe off the hook that was inside the closet door. Tugging her robe up over her shoulders, she quickly tied it, grabbed her towel and the plastic caddy containing everything for her shower. She took a deep breath and headed out into the hall. Obviously, it wasn't the first time she'd showered since coming to school, but it was the first time in which there wasn't a fall back plan. Typically, there was a sighted person on the floor, or at least in the building, that could offer assistance. But now, everyone had left for Thanksgiving, and if anything happened, she was on her own.
Her nervousness was for naught. Elizabeth was a creature of habit, doing everything just as she was trained to do. She'd even managed to shave her legs without cutting herself. She dried off and put the robe back on, gathered her caddy and headed back to her room. The first evening was fine. She got dressed in her pajamas and blew her hair dry before she settled in with her latest Braille book.
Braille frustrated Elizabeth. There were many things she mastered quickly, but Braille was slow going. She learned the letters with ease, but when they added the letter groupings and special symbols, she struggled. She could do it, but she still had to think about every letter and build every word in her mind and math was proving especially difficult. She had always been able to visualize the problem in her mind, but there was something about translating the numbers from touch into a visual image in her head. Using a slate and stylus seemed nearly impossible because to get the numbers correctly, they needed to be written in reverse order. In those moments, she almost wished she'd never had sight because other students who'd been blind from birth didn't seem to have the same kind of problems she was having.
Her mentor, a senior, said that she pushed herself too hard. She needed to give herself some grace. Elizabeth was never one to buy into mediocrity when she could see. Being without sight didn't make much difference in her eyes.
So, Elizabeth practiced until her head ached and the dots were no longer distinguishable beneath her fingertips. When she nodded off for the third time, Elizabeth closed the book, placed it back on her desk and crawled under the covers. She lay there exhausted, but the sounds would not quiet. Sounds of cars passing on the street below sounded like jet engines in her head. The furnace knocked loudly four seconds before it kicked on causing a rush of warm air to blow from the register in her room, rustling the curtains that hung just above. She could hear that too. She picked up the faint smell of wood smoke from someone's fireplace, probably miles away, the way the wind carried scents. And the knot of emotion that she kept tightly wrapped in her chest throbbed. She closed her eyes and waited until sleep finally came.
When she woke the next morning, she was disoriented. She felt like she'd slept for only a few hours, but her watch indicated that she'd been asleep for roughly twelve hours. She ate a bowl of cereal, then sorted her laundry. Socks, underwear, towels and sheets went in one basket. Jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts were tossed into another. She would need to make two trips, but she figured it would pass more time that way. Placing her laundry soap and roll of quarters into the corner of the basket, Elizabeth left her room, counting steps to the top of the stairs. Down the eight steps to the landing, turn and take three steps, then down eight more. The laundry room was just across the hall at the bottom of the stairs. She sorted the whites into the two washing machines. She decided that another benefit of being in the building alone was that she didn't have to wait to use the washing machines.
Taking the cap off of the laundry detergent bottle, Elizabeth held it as she slid her finger down the inside of the cap, stopping when it hit the lowest ring. Slowly she tipped the detergent bottle, slowly pouring it in, until the liquid touched the end of her finger. She dumped it in the first load and repeated the process for the second. Capping the bottle, she set it in the basket and felt around for the roll of quarters. Elizabeth loaded 2 quarters in the coin slot for each machine and felt for the wash cycle buttons. Buttons on the left were water temperature, middle was warm. Buttons on the right indicated load size, far right was large. When she was satisfied that everything was set for both machines, she pushed the tray of quarters into the machines and they immediately started filling with water.
The sounds of the machine reverberated in her chest, causing Elizabeth to feel uneasy, so she moved to the lounge area around the corner. It wasn't a place she frequented. She preferred to stay in her room, where she knew exactly where everything was. Edging her way around the room, she found the TV and, luckily enough, the remote was left on top. Elizabeth felt around until she located a chair near the window, where sunlight shone through, warming the area. She tucked herself into the armchair and turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, she finally landed on a rerun of American Bandstand. Elizabeth half listened to the Jackson 5 perform "ABC," but her thoughts were on what was happening in Charlottesville.
Joan's kids would make the trip for Thanksgiving. They usually did, and since she now had the only Adams house, everyone would congregate there. She hadn't asked, but maybe Uncle Thom or Uncle Jeff and some of their families would show up. It was seldom that everyone came, but usually an effort was made to attend every few years. In years past, her father had always insisted on serving turkey and when Joan fussed about it, he roasted it himself. Elizabeth and Will frequently had to sit with cake pans of steaming meat on their dish towel covered laps to make the five mile drive across town.
Elizabeth wondered what they would be eating this year. No turkey would be arriving and neither would she. The thought of everyone pressing in on her, asking how she was doing with that pitying tone in their voices, murmuring to each other as though she were deaf, not blind. Poor Lizzie, so sad. She knew they meant well, but it was just more than she thought she could handle. It was just easier to stay at school, alone, where no one knew anything about her past, and everyone had some kind of visual impairment, so she didn't stand out.
The washing machines finished their cycles and Elizabeth stood and carefully moved back across the room, turning off the TV before replacing the remote back on top. She moved the two loads to the dryers just behind her and inserted 2 quarters in the slots for each. Turning them on, she made her way upstairs to collect her other load of clothes.
The process took quite a chunk of time out of the day and once everything was dry, she set about putting it all away. It helped that one of the first lessons was to streamline everything and choose items that were easy to care for. When she lived in Charlottesville, Joan asked her what she wanted to wear and laid it out for her every day.
The school taught against having such dependence on others. To make laundering easier, all undergarments were the same color and style. Simple white cotton underwear and crew socks replaced colored lacy versions that required specific care. Shirts and sweatshirts that could be worn with jeans had one small knot sewn into the tag. Articles of clothing that were meant to be worn together had the same number of knots sewn into their tags. Her black pencil skirt, soft pink button down and gray and pink argyle cardigan all had two knots in the tags, Her navy skirt, navy tank with the red flowers and red v-neck sweater had three knots.
Everything was put back in its correct place. Socks were paired and placed on one side of the drawer, underwear and bras on the other. All other clothing was hung up according to the knots in the tags. Jeans were tucked into the second drawer, next to the one pair of black sweatpants she had and her pajamas were shoved under her pillow, but only after the bed was remade. Her towel and robe went on the hook and her washcloth was folded neatly and placed in the bathroom caddy.
Once everything was put away and the sheets placed back on the bed, with only slight difficulty getting the fitted sheet in the right direction, Elizabeth settled in for the evening. Granted, she knew the sun hadn't gone down yet, because of the heat that came through her window, but it was close enough.
Elizabeth fixed herself another bowl of cereal and, after rinsing out the bowl in the bathroom, she sat down with the Braille book once again. It took many hours, but she read several pages and was happy that she mostly knew what she read. The strain of such concentration left her with a headache and so she went to sleep hoping to feel better the following day.
The rest of the break went pretty much the same. For part of the day, she organized some aspect of her life: her desk, the toiletries, her Braille books and she even took a walk around campus, but then she spent hours practicing reading, determined to get better at it.
On Thanksgiving day, her phone rang several times, and each time, Elizabeth turned toward it, but did not move to answer it, not wanting to be faced with the family on the other end. Instead, she called Joan Friday afternoon with a story about having lunch with some other students at a teacher's house. Joan didn't need to know she spent the day alone.
As Christmas neared, Elizabeth struggled with how to avoid going home. She thought she'd made a decent case and Joan had relented, but then the morning classes were dismissed, Joan showed up at her door. With no valid reason to send her away, she let Joan pack her things and they left to make the 13 hour drive back to Virginia.
While they drove, Joan prattled on about Will and what everyone was doing. Her grandchildren were growing up. Her son had a new job. She asked about school and Elizabeth tried to offer information Joan would think was relevant. She was typing most of her papers now. Reading was going better. Although she still wasn't proficient, she wasn't hindered by how slow she was. She was getting As in all of her classes and she was mastering all of the "life skills' tasks that were given.
"Are you using the white cane?" Joan asked. Elizabeth pursed her lips.
"I can use it effectively, yes," Elizabeth answered.
"But do you?" Joan pressed, and Elizabeth wrapped the fingers of her right hand around her left wrist and squeezed, feeling the throbbing pulse beneath them.
"If I have to, I do, but I don't usually have to. I know my way around campus. I've counted all the steps and I use my other senses." Elizabeth tried to keep calm. She hated the white cane and Joan knew it. She wasn't sure why Joan felt the need to pester her about it.
"I just don't understand why you are so hellbent against using a tool which could help you get around." Joan stated.
"I don't have a problem getting around," Elizabeth stated flatly. "There's no reason for me to use it if I don't need it. If I use it, I look like I'm blind.'"
"You are blind," Joan challenged..
"But not everyone needs to know that," Elizabeth snapped, uncharacteristically. "Perhaps I don't want everyone to know I'm blind. Perhaps I don't want to be someone's pet project. Perhaps I just want to blend in and have people leave me alone."
"Perhaps you're being a bit unreasonable and a little testy about the whole thing. It's a safety issue, Lizzie." Joan huffed. "It's fine when you're in a controlled environment, but you can't operate the same way in the world. It wouldn't hurt you to accept some help sometimes." Joan softened her tone. "I worry about you. Your stubbornness will get you into trouble."
"I'm fine. I'll be fine," Elizabeth said, turning her body toward the door. She curled up in the seat and pretended to sleep so she wouldn't have to talk to Joan.
It was late when Joan announced that she was tired and was going to stop for the evening. The car slowed and turned off the interstate. Theyheaded south and turned left at the first intersection, or at least what Elizabeth thought was probably an intersection. She second guessed herself when the car turned into a gravel lot and came to a stop. Perhaps this exit wasn't in a larger town. "I'm going to grab a key and pay," Joan said as she exited the car.
Elizabeth waited and listened to Joan's footsteps fade away. She could hear the sounds of muffled TVs and the traffic out on the interstate, further confirming that they had just stopped at a roadside motel, probably a mom and pop type of establishment. Joan opened the back door and Elizabeth jumped, having been lost in her thoughts about the place. "Room 9," she said as she shifted a few things around to pull out her overnight bag. Then the car door shut and Joan was gone.
Elizabeth heard the sound of Joan's hard soled shoes click on the concrete to her left, then a door open and shut. Elizabeth sighed. Joan was trying to make a point. That much was evident. Elizabeth opened the car door and stepped out. She moved to the back and found her suitcase and pulled it out. Stepping back, she bumped into the truck parked next to them and she grimaced. Joan wasn't going to make it easy. She threaded her arms into her backpack and closed the door, clutching her suitcase in her hand.
Inching her way along the side of the car, her shoulder bumped the mirror of the truck. She muttered under her breath and concentrated on how the ground felt beneath her feet. The thin soles of her ballet flats helped her to know what she was walking on and anticipate what was coming next. When her toe scuffed against the edge of the concrete, Elizabeth stepped up. Using her knowledge of roadside motels, she guessed the walkway to be roughly four feet wide. She took a couple steps and reached out to find the building. It was closer to six feet, but she figured it out and ran her hand along the wall until she came to a door. Elizabeth felt the door. Just about at head height, a metal number was nailed to it. Running her fingers over it, she decided it was a 7. She carefully walked down to the next door, happy to find an 8. She knocked on the following door.
The door swung open and Joan replied, "Good thing we aren't in a race."
"I don't think a white cane would've helped much when I was abandoned in a parking lot. By the way, it's fourteen steps to the front of the car, two and a half steps down the side, duck around the truck mirror and another step and half to throw my things in the back," Elizabeth said, smugly.
Joan just shook her head. Elizabeth Ann Adams had the market cornered on stubbornness. That was for sure.
Christmas that year turned out to be a quiet affair. Since so many came for Thanksgiving, no one made the trip for Christmas. The three of them celebrated with a small dinner and once the handful of presents were opened, each retreated to their own part of the house. Joan left the following morning to spend a couple days with one set of grandkids before traveling farther to visit the other set. Will was in and out, but mostly stayed with his best friend down the street. Elizabeth couldn't decide if being at home was better than being at school or not. She decided it was alright since she had a few more rooms to roam around, but the solitude seemed more noticeable at home. At school, it was just something she expected, but at Joan's, it was different, more isolating.
Of course Joan had invited them to join her, and they'd both declined the invitation. Will did so because his friend received a new gaming system for Christmas and the boys had plans to spend the rest of their break mastering the new games he received. Elizabeth just didn't want the pressure of being in so many new places and answering questions. Joan seemed like she was going to argue, but in the end, hadn't said anything, other than to call if there were problems.
— ∞ —
"Mom," Joan looked up from the cup of coffee that had long since grown cold. "They're alright." Sarah rounded the end of the table and took the cup from her mother. "You want another?" Joan shook her head.
"I should've insisted they come," she said. "I shouldn't have left them."
"Mom. You've already checked with the neighbor. What's her name?" Sarah asked.
"Margie, and I know. She says Will has been over visiting Jeff and hasn't caused any problems, but…"
Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee and joined her mother at the table. "But, 's always 'but Lizzie.' I'm sure Lizzie enjoys being the but in your life." Joan shot her a pointed look.
"Oh, for goodness sakes, that's not what I meant. You do though. You think and rethink and mull everything over."
"But Lizzie—"
"You see what I mean?" Sarah laid her hand on her mother's arm. "Lizzie has an independent spirit. It's a hard time for her, but she'll be okay, and she wouldn't have enjoyed herself and you would have spent your whole time fretting about her."
"I still do," Joan lamented.
Sarah sighed. "I know, but you're about to switch to grandma mode because I think Tyson is awake. Why don't you go in and see him?"
Joan smiled and pushed herself up from the table. She wished she could make Sarah understand. She loved her children and her grandchildren deeply, but there was something different about her responsibility to Lizzie and Will. Joan shook off the guilt and pushed open the bedroom door. Across the room stood two year old Tyson, bouncing in his crib. "How's my baby boy?" Giggles erupted and Joan scooped up the boy, her concern for her niece and nephew temporarily pushed aside.
— ∞ —
August 1984
It was Tuesday morning, a bit before 10 am and Henry entered the Adoration Chapel. With his new ROTC training schedule, he had to drop his afternoon time and work his prayer life in between classes. Truthfully, it wasn't a problem, other than Henry had grown accustomed to seeing Mr. Johanns and Ms. Varner every week. They didn't talk long, but they had a relationship of sorts. Now he was going to have to get to know different people.
When Henry stepped into the Adoration chapel, an older lady looked from where her head was bent over the Rosary beads she held. She offered Henry a smile. "I'm Rosa Franklin. You must be Henry." Henry smiled and offered his hand, which she shook, surprising him with a stronger grip than he expected.
"Hello, Mrs. Franklin."
"Miss," she corrected, and Henry nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "No worries. There was someone once and I turned him away. I always considered that a bullet dodged. Ralph tells me that you're a fine young man."
"Ralph?" Henry asked, racking his brain, trying to come up with anyone named Ralph.
"Ralph Johanns," the woman said and Henry nodded knowingly.
"Of course. I just never refer to him by his first name, so it slipped my mind. Well, I'm glad that Mr. Johanns approves of me."
The woman tapped him on the arm. "Ralph says you're punctual and you rarely miss your week. That's good, because I have a pinochle group that meets on Tuesdays and I don't like to skip it."
"I will keep that in mind, ma'am," Henry replied.
"That's a good boy," Miss Franklin replied and she gathered up her nylon head scarf and folded it from corner to opposite corner to make a triangle, which she used to cover her head. Tying the ends under her chin, she said, "Just had my hair done for cards. Don't want it mussed before I get there."
"Of course not," Henry agreed, and watched the woman walk from the chapel. He chuckled to himself. She was an interesting character. Henry was still smiling as he knelt in prayer. The hour passed quickly and the sharp clicking of heels on the stone floor alerted Henry to someone's presence. He looked up as a woman walked up the aisle. Henry guessed her to be in her sixties. She was very put together and well dressed, although not overly so for the occasion. He just thought of this woman as someone who took great pride in her appearance. He made a guess that she would still carry that same air if she were wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
"Hi," she said. "So you're the new kid." Her smile was kind.
"I've been coming for a while. I just had to change times because of my class schedule."
She nodded and extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Joan Bryan."
Henry was quick to shake it. "Henry McCord. It's a pleasure to meet you as well."
"Well Henry, I'm sure you have places to be. I'll see you next week."
Henry stooped to pick up his backpack. "Yes, ma'am. Have a nice week and I'll see you next Tuesday."
Joan watched as Henry walked out and waited for the outside door to fall shut. "He seems like a nice young man," she murmured.