Beauty and The Blind

Chapter Fifteen

She's quiet again as we're stopped at what I presume is a red light. All I can hear now is the purr of the engine. "Maybe," she finally says.

Then she turns on the music and we don't talk anymore for the rest of the ride home.

I'm taking the bus to the library today.

It's scary as all hell, but I have to learn to do things like this. I can't get driven around by my mother all the time. And it's not financially realistic to take a taxi everywhere I go. I need to get comfortable taking the bus around town.

And then maybe someday the metro. Or maybe not.

Even though I already knew where it was, Ma walked me to the bus stop yesterday afternoon to practice. I didn't protest because I was scared, and reviewing the route is never a bad thing when you can't see. I showed her how I could find the bus stop on my own, and she confirmed that I was, indeed, standing in front of the sign for the bus.

This morning is the real thing though. I put on my tinted glasses, grab my cane, and set out the door at ten in the morning, when I figure any rush hour traffic will be over. Ma hovers over me as I'm getting ready to leave.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asks.

"Yep."

"And if anything happens..."

"I've got my phone," I reassure her. "I'll call you. Don't worry."

I smile so as not to let on how terrified I am. But I want to do this. I need to do this. And if I make it to the library, I get a reward: Sitara.

That would motivate me to do just about anything.

I leave the house and walk down the block in the direction of the bus stop. I've got my cane to make sure I'm not walking headfirst into any obstacles—without it, this trip would be impossible. I still shudder when I think of the way those teenagers behind the library threatened to take it away from me.

I find the bus stop without much difficulty. I swipe my cane to the left, it clanks against the pole. I feel for the sign, double checking just to reassure myself I'm at the right place. Then I wait, fiddling with my cane in my hand. Like I said to Sitara, the cane doesn't just help me "see," it's also a sign to others that I'm visually impaired. The bus driver needs to know my situation.

After about five minutes of waiting, there's a loud screech of brakes as a large vehicle comes to a halt. The bus. I hold out my cane and walk in the direction of the curb, stopping when my cane hits the stairs to board.

"Big step up," a voice says. Presumably the bus driver.

"Thanks," I say. "Sorry, just give me a minute."

"Take your time, beta." I grasp around for the railing, which takes me several seconds to locate. This is not fast. I'm being very careful, trying not to trip and fall. I take a step, and now I'm in the bus, at least, but I've got a long way to go.

"This is ridiculous," I hear a man muttering from inside the bus. "Are we going to be waiting for him all day?"

My ears grow hot. I can't go any faster than this, though. The stairs are steep and I'm not even sure how many there are. I hold my cane out to help me detect the top step. I go up three steps and then I'm at the top.

"I've got a disabled bus pass," I say as I start to dig in my pocket.

"Don't worry about it," the driver says. A shadow moves in front of me and then his hand is on my arm. "Let me help you get to a seat."

He has to tell some people to move to the back, then he directs me to a seat. I sit down, but my ears feel like they're on fire by now. It won't always be like this. Next time will be easier.

"Where you goin', bacche?" the driver asks me.

"The stop for the post office," I say.

"Okay, I'll let you know when it's coming."

"Thanks."

He hesitates. "You from army?"

"Huh?"

"I saw the tattoo on your arm," he says. "You were in the army?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Is that how you lost your vision?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Geez," the driver says. "That's a wicked shame. You go blind for your country and what do you got to show for it, right?"

I grunt and shift in my seat. Civilians just don't get it—the sacrifice that soldiers are willing to make for their country.

"You have the PTSD too?"

I shake my head. "No."

Lots of other guys I know from the service ended up with PTSD. Bad nightmares, got angry over nothing, couldn't concentrate or hold a job. I never had any problems like that. I do sometimes have nightmares about being back there, but it's nothing I can't handle.

The driver spends the rest of the ride babbling about his nephew, who served in Afghanistan and now has bad PTSD. I'm half-listening, concentrating more on how I'm going to get off this goddamn bus and to the library.

After about fifteen minutes, the driver says, "It's gonna be the next stop. Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"My name is Jatin Chauhan, by the way. Just in case you get on this bus again. If I see you, I'll say it's Jatin, so you know it's me."

"Okay," I say. "I'm Yash Chaudhary."

"Chaudhary," he repeats. "You from Rajasthan?"

"Uh huh."

"Me too," he says. 

Jatin laughs at my awkward expression. "Well, I'll be praying for you, Yash."

I don't know what to say to that. Thanks? People always tell me they're praying for me. He can pray all he wants—I won't get my vision back.

"We're here," he says. "You need help getting off the bus?"

"No, I'm okay," I say. Hopefully.

"All right. Just remember—I'm Jatin."

I find the railing for the stairs and carefully climb down the three steps. I think I'm the only one getting off—or at least, I don't hear anyone else coming out of the door with me. But maybe they got out the back door so they wouldn't have to wait for my slow ass to get down three stairs.

And now I'm off the bus—only two blocks from the library.

I let out a breath. I did it. That is, I almost did it. But I can walk two blocks. I know where the library is on the second block. This must be easy.

As I start walking down the first block, I smell it: that great baked bread smell. It's that café Sitara likes—David's.

I pause on the street. It's not like I'm in any kind of rush. Maybe I'll bring Sitara a treat.

e's so sweet!