The Other Side(19)

“You’re not doing this to her again, Rachel,” Taber warns. “She’s not a pet project, she’s your daughter. You promised after the last doctor that you accepted the prognosis. Alice’s eyesight can’t be restored. No one wishes it could be more than me. But. It. Can’t. It’s a medical impossibility.” The desperation, utter sadness, and unimpeded anger in his voice reveal that he would do anything for Alice. Anything to protect her.

Respect—he has my respect.

“I refuse to accept that,” her mom says defiantly as she dismisses his pleas.

“You refuse to accept me! I’m blind, Mom! Stop treating it like a death sentence!” Alice unleashes vulnerability and truth and acceptance and it’s at once both glorious and agonizing to hear because her hope is being contaminated by the doubt being forced on her.

It’s met with a rushed response that only sees its own logic and ignores her daughter’s wishes, needs, and dreams. “You want the big picture, little girl? Your blindness means you’re more likely to be discriminated against, it means you’ll never live on your own, it means you’re more likely to be the victim of a crime, it means you’re more likely to be unemployed than employed, it means you will never work in a visual career. Without sight, your dreams are impossible. Am I getting through to you? Do you hear me?”

Silence.

The final turn of my screwdriver meets resistance. The bracket is secure. I need to climb down this ladder, but I can’t. Not until I hear Alice speak. I want to hear her hope ignore her mom’s denial.

Instead I hear a door open, and a faint but caustic, “Loud and clear. I love you too, Mom,” from Alice, as the door slams shut and rattles on its hinges.

“Alice, you can’t walk away from this discussion!” her mom yells.

“Rachel.” Her name is a rumbling warning. Taber’s fuming. “I know you’re not happy she’s here with me. Believe me, I know you want her as far away from me as she can get. But I love her. I take care of her, I always have. And I accept her exactly the way she is, because you seem to have forgotten that Alice is the most special person you’ve ever met or will ever have the pleasure of knowing. Now, get out of our home,” he growls.

“Are you going to follow her?” She still hasn’t grasped what she said and how it broke her daughter’s heart, instead she’s testing Taber. Pushing him. Again.

“No,” he says forcefully. “She’s pissed off and brokenhearted, she needs to take a walk and blow off some steam.”

“She shouldn’t be walking alon—”

Taber cuts off her warning with a knowing, “She’ll. Be. Fine. She’s eighteen years old, for Christ’s sake, and she’s better at navigating the downtown streets than you would be with your eyes wide open. I. Trust. Her. With. Herself. Now, get out.” His voice sounds exhausted when it drops several decibels, and he begs, “Please, just get out.”

I’m done. I can’t listen anymore, I need to find Alice. In the fight, her mom needs to be right above all else. She needs to persuade everyone to see the world the way she does. She needs to ignore reality and believe in miracles that would fix a daughter who she can’t see is already perfect in all the ways that matter.

When I reach the bottom, I hand Johnny the screwdriver and take off running for the front of the house. He doesn’t question me, or try to stop me, or tell me to mind my own business—he takes the tool and nods. The nod is, Go. At the sidewalk, I spot her two houses down. Her pace is quick and her white cane is sweeping back and forth ahead of her at double speed, like she’d rather use it to beat someone senseless than to find obstacles in her path. My jog up the sidewalk toward her is purposeful, but when I’m beside her, I don’t know what to say.

Alice does. “I don’t want to talk, Taber,” she says through tears she’s trying to fight.

“It’s Toby,” I whisper, because anything louder seems invasive.

“I don’t want to talk, Toby,” she corrects.

That’s fine, talking isn’t my favorite thing. So, I walk with her.

For blocks and blocks, I walk with her.

I don’t pick the route.

I don’t try to guide.

When she turns right, I turn right.

When she speeds up, I speed up.

I walk beside her until she stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to face me. Tears are pooled, swelling along the ledge of her lower lids. Sad Alice is so wrong.

It’s just become my mission to change that. “Will you go somewhere with me? I want to show you something.”

Her affirmative and trusting answer is a hand held out between us for me to take.

I do.

My palm aligns with hers and my fingers and thumb secure her cold skin against mine.

We’ve been walking several blocks when she says, “That feels nice. Thank you.”

It’s the thank you that snaps me back to reality. Because apparently, holding Alice’s hand makes me lose my mind. Without thinking, I’d wrapped my free hand around hers too and was rubbing the back of it to warm her up. The thank you makes me tense and stop immediately.

Ten or twelve steps down the sidewalk Alice counters by readjusting our grip. Her fingers urge the release before slipping between mine and capturing them. The move is confident and graceful. Her easy, gentle way with touch and words, all interaction really, is new to me and it’s disconcerting, but I don’t fight it. Because it also feels so damn good.