Open My Eyes

{Ch. 3} Sightless Superhero ✓

          Taylor laughed as soon as she saw me. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes squinted. "You make a lot of fashion statements, don't you?" She indicated my sea-foam green scrubs with images of teddy bears licking lollipops.

I twirled in a circle. "My friend and I went shopping yesterday. When we saw these, we just had to get them."

She smiled at me. "I don't even know you that well, and I already know they're totally you."

"Exactly." I shot finger-guns at her.

We headed to the back room so I could write my name on one of those "Hello My Name is" stickers. I wouldn't have my ID for another week, and my nametag wouldn't come in for a couple more days.

After sticking on the name sticker, Taylor led me to the rooms dedicated to the speech pathology department. This wing included evaluation and therapy rooms, and a room for naps and play. My first assignment was the "bonus room." The job comprised of watching after the kids and helping them whenever they needed it.

Classical music played softly in the background: the calmer, mezzo piano kind that didn't distract the kids.

Marlene sat in the corner, signing with a teddy bear, and I sat crisscross applesauce next to her. Together, we signed with her teddy bear whose name, I learned, was Marcello.

I devoted the first few hours of my morning to playing with the kids with language disabilities. Some were completely mute, others had stutters, and others refused to speak. When the more extraverted kids noticed that I could communicate in ASL, they rushed up to me and signed in large, hurried movements, their faces alight with expression. I couldn't stop smiling to myself.

The shy, reserved children often kept to themselves, such as Marlene. They would huddle in separate corners, either with a plushy or a coloring book or a short chapter book. If they glanced at me, I would smile in the most comforting way I could. I envisioned befriending them someday too.

When lunchtime came around, the children hopped about and the volunteers ushered them into a line. I stood beside Marlene and held her hand. Together, all of us marched to the cafeteria.

"Ah, the new volunteer!" one of the lunch ladies bellowed. She grinned at me. "Still don't have your ID?"

I held out my temporary nametag. "I have to settle for a sticker for now."

"Which means," her eyes twinkled, "you get to help us with the clean-up. I expect to see you back here in an hour."

The kid behind me signed clapping, and I stuck my tongue out at him. He laughed. I joined him.

As we ate, I glanced over at the table for the visually impaired. The attractive volunteer-but-maybe-not sat with them again. Even though I couldn't locate the probing cane, aware now that he was blind, it made sense that he chose to be with the visually impaired kids.

His movements were smooth and fluid, able to find his fork with the ease of a sighted person—at least, compared to the others at the table. He assisted the kids with their meals, and occasionally their table would erupt in laughter. It brought a smile to my face.

After lunch, we played on the playground—my favorite time, my element. I chased the kids around the park. I followed them down the slide, pushed them on the swings, and played hide and seek. It occurred to me that maybe I had more fun than some of the kids—I laughed the most out of everyone there.

Out of breath from an intense game of tag with some of the kids in the language pathology department, I wiped the sweat at my forehead and backed away from the playground. I took measured steps backwards to join the other, older volunteers watching on the outskirts.