THE BLIND and THE LAME

10. Happily Ever After

The morning after I got my braces I got into them and Ms. Veronica took us to the shoe store where she always got Robbie's shoes. We got a pair of dress boots, a pair of chukkas for casual wear and a good pair of high-top sneakers. On the way home we stopped at the shoe repair shop and handed them over to Guido who said he'd have them ready the next afternoon. Usually it took three days, sometimes more depending on how busy they were. Maybe the fact that the customer was the Mrs. Veronica van Dam got us some priority.

Once we got the shoes the braces became part of me. I decided I'd just go ahead and use them every day since everyone in our town and in our high school knew I had suffered substantial bouts of mobility impairment since early childhood. Once I'd put them on each day they came off only when I went to bed or bathed or went to the pool. By the time the weather became too cool for swimming I was starting to find it difficult to cover even the distance to the pool unbraced. It wasn't long before a very nice lightweight rigid frame wheelchair appeared in my room, with interchangeable axles that would let it be used as a sports chair. I used it pretty consistently around the house but much preferred to walk at school and other public settings.

Robbie had no real choice but to continue his regime of going blind only behind the sheltering walls of our home, at the club, or at our place in Costa Rica. In middle school, and notably more so in high school, he showed an amazing aptitude for languages and social studies. Thanks to Maria and Mario, plus extended visits to Costa Rica and his own study, he had a masterful grip on Spanish by the time we met in sixth grade. From that he branched out to Italian, Portuguese, French, and eventually Catalan and Romanian. In high school he got to work on German, Dutch and the Scandinavian languages, then Russian and other Slavic tongues. He never trumpeted any of that but over the years I became lost in wonder at his quick and retentive mind. One day in that summer before our senior year I turned our conversation to the subject of his gifts and asked what he planned to do with them.

He said, "I'm going to major in international relations and train as a simultaneous translator, and I'm going to do it blind like this guy in Mexico I read about."

"Really?" I asked. "You'd actually go blind full time forever?"

"Well, look at you," he riposted.

"Well, yeah," I said, "but walking is one thing, seeing is something else. It's not like I'm going to be like Stephen Hawking, nothing working but my head. I still get around, just in the way I need to do it."

"Think about it," said Robbie. "I won't need to see to do simultaneous translation. In fact it will probably help not to see. Less distraction. And there's good money in it. Dad says you're planning to major in finance and go to work for the bank."

"Yeah, your dad encouraged me to and I think I'd be good at it. I just want to stick close to home. I'd think your work would take you to a lot of places."

"Probably, but this will be my home, and I hope I always have you to come home to." I was in my wheelchair at my desk. He found his way to my back and began running his hands over my shoulders and pecs. I grabbed him by the wrists and exclaimed, "Robbie, quit!"

"Why?" he asked plaintively.

"Just let's save it for tonight, OK?" I said. "I've got work to do. I don't have a flytrap mind like yours."

He sighed and said, "Love you, Jimmy."

"Yeah," I said, "and I love you."

When I turned up with crutches to start our senior year of high school no one seemed particularly surprised or concerned, thanks to my spells of mobility impairment as well as my short leg and persistent limp. Nor did anyone pressure us to get involved in socializing. Everyone had long since figured me and Robbie for an item and no one seemed to care as long as we didn't get militant about it, which we never did. Besides, no one in our county would mess with the son of Reginald van Dam. Robbie got us out of the graduation ceremony by telling the principal that the university we were entering needed us to undergo a week of assessment of our particular needs. Rather than heading east, though, we went south and spent a month chilling out in Costa Rica.

Long story short, we both have had great success in following our dreams. Our university back East was big on accommodating both mobility and visually impaired students, with excellent programs in our fields of interest. Through contacts in the club Robbie had found a hypnotist who had considerable success in shutting down the eyesight of those who needed it done, and was familiar with the BIID thing. The gentleman did always provide a counter-trigger to undo the suggestion. As it happened he was located more or less on the way to our university so we made an appointment with him and got the job done. Robbie emerged with his eyes shut and has never opened them again that I have seen. He told me sees nothing, not even the bit of light that the white contacts showed, and that he can open his eyes but sees nothing when he does. He is more comfortable when they are closed and he is very glad not to have to mess any longer with the patches or scleral contacts. He has never shown the least inclination to have the job undone.

In university we did well and graduated with honors. Robbie went on to a training institute for simultaneous translation out West while I went to work at the bank. The van Dam house has remained home for both of us. Robbie travels frequently in his work, accompanied by one of Mario and Maria's sons as well-paid valet, guide and bodyguard. Robbie's nest, however, is here and he shares my bed every night he's home. Life goes on.