#Things my mother says

That title… ah, I could write an epic novel with that as my subject. She just says so much!

This particular story begins somewhere between the train station and my home.

(here’s the needless backstory part):

My mom or sister always meets me at or walks me to our train station. It’s a little annoying, sometimes, on all three of our part but the walk involves a weird turn here and there and a six or eight lane boulevard. (Cannot wait to start dorming… THREE WEEKS!).

              So, this day was not unlike any other, really. My mom was talking, I was halfheartedly responding. We’d seen a few people she knew who, of course, had to say hello and catch up.

              We deviated slightly, however, when we passed by a nurse whose claim to fame was sticking me with needles… I HATE things piercing my skin. So why would I WANT to remember you, ma’am? But I said none of  this.

              She and my mom said some words. She said something to me or about me (wasn’t really listening) and I said hello.

              “She said hello.” Mother said, I guess the nurse hadn't heard me.. It was her tone of voice… Jokingly indulgent. I am not a child saying her first words.

              “You probably don’t remember me.” Nurse said wisely as she hugged me. She had a slight speech impediment in addition to an accent. She wore dark clothing and was just slightly shorter than me.

              “Not at all,” I replied wittily.

              She and my mom exchanged some more words while I fiddled with my phone. Goodbyes were said, at last, and we were on our way.

              Next stop was the corner store. As we’re exiting I hear.

              “Something’s wrong with her heyes?” Dude was obviously Jamaican. If his accent didn’t give it away, the liberal sprinkle of h before the vowel would have.

              “What?” Mother, guess she hadn't heard him.

“She can’t see from her heyes?”

              I said “No.” I just wanted to go. Mom said “Yeah, she can see a little.”

              “Oh, well God gone help you see one day.”

              “I don’t want anything to change. God does everything for a reason, right?”

              “Yeah well he still gone help you.”

              I think my mom said thank you.

              “Next time somebody say that to you, just say thank you.”

              “I usually do.”

              “You make the old man feel bad. In the Bible, it says that…” Something about Judgment Day and how God will help the blind see &c.

              “I know what it says,” I didn’t feel like listening anymore. “But if I were sensitive, he could have made me feel bad, too. With everybody telling me that God is going to fix my eyes and stuff, it makes it seem like there’s something wrong with me.” Few seconds of silence. “Besides, people are always contradicting themselves. One minute God does everything for a reason, and the next they’re all trying to change it… ‘fix’ it.”

              “Yeah.” Was all she said in response.

Addendum:

About half an hour later, my mom's on the phone, recapping the story with the old man to one of her friends.

              “Yeah, she real saucy.” She concludes.

              It’s sometimes hard to tell when it’s just Caribbean English, or a Briticism.

              Do I feel bad for supposedly making the old man feel bad?

No.

              Do I feel bad for not feeling bad?

Initially. Then I got home, ate some food and decided to write about it.

              Judging from the responses, her friend seemed shocked that I would say such things. But all of a sudden my mom was on my side. She flips like that, so it's none too surprising.

 But as I wrong?

And, let’s say a bunch of people say yes. Do I care?

Yeah, I’m saucy 😏

You Have A Lovely face

              A few hours later from the Blind bitch post,  I’m on the train, on my way home.

              I’ve just walked onto the train, and have deliberately bumped some one with my can to see if she’ll offer my seat. I would likely have declined, but it’s always interesting to see if people will offer or just ignore me.

              “You want to sit?” The voice sounded old, had an accent, and was coming from behind me.

              I turned around.

              “Me?”

              “Yes. There’s a seat here.”

              I walked forward.

“Right at the corner.”

              “Here?”

              “Yes.”

              Thank you.”

              I settled in. And began to fold my cane.

              The woman seated beside me began talking to the woman in front of us. She was talking about how advanced technology is now. The canes can fold. And something about iPods and iPhones in her day.

              “Are you with her?” She asked another woman standing in front of, and a little to the side of me.

              “No.”

              “Oh. She needs someone with her. An aid.”

              I think this was the second time I’ve heard someone say that about me. Why? I’m not disturbing you in my blindness.

              “You can see?”

              It’s a stop or two later and I assumed that the lady beside me is now talking to me.

              “Yeah.”

              “You can see enough to get home?”

              “Yes. But it doesn’t matter. Even if I couldn’t see at all, I would be fine.” The aid comment didn’t endear her to me.

              “But you can see a little?” I say yeah again. “You can see out of both eyes?”

              “Only a little out of one.”

              “Only a little out of one? Oh. I’ll pray for you, okay? You know God works miracles.”

              “Why? God does everything for a reason. I’m sure he has his reasons for making me this way.”

              “I know but we can still pray. You know He answers prayers and works miracles. He may not answer today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even next year, but he does. So we cann still pray.”

              “Yes.”

              “That’s what I spend most of my time doing, praying.”

              I nodded and mumbled something.

              She then told me that this was the second time she was seeing me. I wondered, silently, of course, why I should care. But I continued mumbling things until she fell silent and I turned my music up a little higher.

***

              “This is Utica, okay?”

              “Okay, thank you.”

              “And I’ll pray for you.”

              “Thanks.”

              “No problem. You’re a beautiful girl.”

              “Thank you.”

              “Yeah, you have a lovely face.”

              “Thank you.” Jesus I think. How many times am I going to thank her? “Have a nice day.”

              “Yes, you too. Have a lovely evening.”

              And she’s gone.

              … What?

              To quote my peers, “I literally can’t even.”

PS. I’m really excited that I did that link thing. You know, inserting the link to the other post?

Blind Bitch

              So, yesterday I went to one of two or three orientations for my college. While I didn’t enjoy the ice-breakers, I loved when, while we were in line to get our ID’S, this girl touched my arm before asking me about something from the orientation. I loved that she realized that was all she had to do.

Nice experience, right?

But it wasn’t necessarily interesting enough for me to make a point of blogging. But since I’m writing down the other experience, I thought I might as well start with something pleasant.

              Fast forward an hour or so and I’m walking from the F train to my job. I had a guy assist me in finding the stairs (I was heading for a wall) and then going in the right direction once I was above ground (I don’t take the downtown train very often).

              Okay, I’ve exited the station and am now walking along the sidewalk, an earpiece in my ear and my cane sweeping back and forth in front of my body.

              “You! You need help?” A booming male voice.

              Is he talking to me? I think, but then immediately dismiss it until my shoulder is touched, forcefully.

              “You need help?”

              I shake my head.

              “Where are you going?”

              “Don’t worry about it,” I say, pleasantly but dismissively. “I’m fine.”

              “Where are you going? I’m trying to help you.” Keep in mind that this man is shouting this entire time.

              “I’m not comfortable giving you that information. But I’m fine, thank you.”

              I start walking away and the guy starts or resumes a phone conversation. I don’t hear all of what he says, but I did catch “blind bitch.”

              Interestingly enough, that was not the first time that I was called that.

Some people are just angry (even if they’re trying to be helpful). And others need to work on their approach. Why would I accept help from someone who is shouting at me.

              Maybe that was his natural tone of voice. But I still knew where I was going and calling me a bitch was certainly uncalled for.

Everybody Exploits Their Disability If They Can

              As I wrote in yesterday’s post, my friend Shanice and I attended an All Time Low concert on Saturday night. It was the second to last stop on the Future Hearts Tour. And it was quite fun. The whole day was, actually.

              That night was also especially memorable because it was my first concert. Last summer I’d attended the Inaugural Alternative Press Music Awards (APMAS) with my sister so I was prepared for the craziness of the crowd, but it was not technically a concert, so I do not count it.

              Upon arriving, Shanice and I were excited to be in the front especially with people already pushing and angry at the people with the Early Admission armbands.While waiting, Shanice was giving me a running commentary on everyone’s appearance while I eased dropped and relayed the conversations. She also told me about the many stares I was receiving.

              But, as we all started streaming in when the doors )or in this case, I think it was a gate/fence) opened, the first thing to alert me that I wasn’t the only visibly disabled person was Shanice telling me about a girl sitting on the lap of her wheelchair-bound friend (which I found hilarious).

              We were then detoured because they couldn’t process anybody’s mobile tickets so they  sent us to have them printed at the box office. There was some sort of hold up there and eventually a security guard came along, asked if we were all mobile, and told us to go. Shanice was now annoyed because we were in the back and asked if I wanted to push through. I said sure and that I would use my can to it’s full potential.

              After we all rushed in and Shanice and I were discussing whether we would run or not, someone motioned to us or Shanice saw the “accessible” area for everyone with disabilities. (It was being held in a park, so it was standing room only). So we went in. They was in the back or near the back, but they said that they would bring chairs.

              Inside were people with crutches and in wheel chairs. One wheelchaired parent was later screaming louder than some of us.

              When the concert started, all nondisabled people were kicked out of the area, except for Shanice. I missed the discussion, but they were going to kick her out until someone said that they thought she had to be with me.

              After that we were all in little groups. Everybody was making friends while Shanice and I stayed in our own little corner.

As the concert progressed, there was nothing noteworthy from our section. There was one girl, Shanice noticed that kept staring at us and the overenthusiastic mom I mentioned. As well as this girl, with an annoying voice who authoritatively told her friend or whomever about what happened at another or many of the other venues (I got the impression that this was not her first time seeing it). And with the exclusion of the girl in the wheelchair who had someone on her lap, now having the person seated on her feet, I was able to focus on the concert.

              Then, near the end of the concert, when Alex Gaskarth, the lead singer of All Time Low, asked who knew all of the words to their song “Time Bomb” was when it happened. He wanted a few audience members to join him on stage to sing. That’s when those who were wheelchair-bound (especially mama) started screaming and those with crutches waved them frantically in the air. I did not know all…or any of the words. I also couldn’t find my cane (of course I would have been waving it as well) but Shanice didn’t hear when I asked.

              It warmed my heart to know that I was not the only person to use their disability to her advantage J

The Irony With The Eyenurse

WARNING:

This post may include a lack of empathy that might be jarring to those light of heart. As well as a bit of unnecessary backstory.

So please, proceed with caution.

***

              Oh boy, to describe my weekend as interesting would be an understatement of epic proportions. I do not know how to even begin. But I will try.

              Yesterday morning, I woke, completed my usual morning routine, took access-a-ride (will be writing another post on the horrors of using them) to my friend, Shanice’s job, where I waited at a table, eating a wonderfully prepared breakfast (she is a chef). At around 2:00, we left and headed to the train station. We were on our way to an All Time Low concert (The Future Hearts Tour).

              Upon arriving at the appropriate station, we asked a few questions until we were heading in the right direction. While walking, and confirming that we were heading the right way every now and then, Shanice says she’s hungry and suggests looking for food. We decide to go back to a Subway she’d seen (it was the only thing that interested her)

 She orders, we get our food and are back on our way.

              As we are walking: cane in my right hand, my other hand holding Shanice’s arm, and Shanice’s other holding the bag with her sandwich, it happens.

              Just before we step onto the sidewalk, my cane jerks in my hand and I think, dismissively, that someone’s probably stumbled or kicked it.

Then, in perfect unison with Shanice’s gasped:

              “Oh my God.” (through a mouthful of sandwich). I hear it.

              It sounded like a cross between a thud and a stinging slap. And I’m stunned.

              As it begins to register in my mind what happened, I can’t bring myself to muster the contrite expression I should be wearing. Instead, I am forced to duck my head as silent laughter splits my face into an unremorseful smile.

              “Oh my God, are you alright?” a woman asks.

              “I’m fine. My knees. I’m an eyenurse so I know how to deal with this sort of thing. I’m fine.” The fallen woman replies in a wavering tone. A tone she continues to use for the rest of our encounter.

              “I’m sorry,” Shanice says. “Oh… did you hit your head?”

              “Yes. But I’m fine.”

              “Oh my God!” a new voice, a man. “Is she alright?”
              “I’m fine.”

              Shanice and I continued to stand there, just beyond the curb as the people began to “scrape” the woman off of the ground (the way it was later described to me).

              “I’ve got her,” the first bystander announces, her voice straining a little. “I’ll take her into this store. See they’ll have ice.”

              “I’m alright.” The grounded nurse says.

              The man leaves.

              Shanice, who had sounded so distraught, whispers:

              “Do we have to go in there? Would it be socially unacceptable if we just left?”

              “Shanice!” I exclaim. “But you sounded so sincere.”

              She laughs shamelessly and we’re quiet for a moment or two. Then, through an unspoken agreement, we reluctantly head inside. The sound of shifting ice in some sort of plastic wrapping greets us as we enter.

              “Remember,” the passerby says. “Change it in intervals of 20 minutes.”

              “My knees . Yes. And I need some for my head. Thank you.”

              “Don’t forget to change it.”

              “I know. I deal with this. I’m an eyenurse. What do you do.”

              “(insert medical term here)” I think I heard the opth- prefix, but I wasn’t sure then, and am even less certain now.

              “Oh! So we do the same thing.”

              “Yeah.” The woman replied, or something along those lines. She sounded noncommittal and like she was ready to go. Which she did, after checking on Eyenurse one more time.

              “I’m so sorry,” I say at last. I’d finally had enough time to process all of what had occurred. Shanice follows suit, apologizing once more.

              “I’m alright. It was my fault. I should’ve been paying attention.” Then she says that she’d been concentrating really hard on something, or really focused on where she was going, and takes the blame once more. “Tell her not to feel bad, it wasn’t her fault.”

              “Don’t feel bad, okay? It wasn’t your fault.” Shanice repeats, in a saccharine voice as she pets my hand. I irritably poke her side.

              “You girls can go,” Eyenurse says bravely. “I’ll be alright.”

              Shanice apologizes again, the lady takes the blame once more, and we’re out of there.

Oh, the irony! Eyenurse tripping on the blind girl’s cane. And then, given her profession, she doesn’t know that she can address me directly? Shanice jokingly remarked that it was because I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I couldn’t hear.

              She also described, on our way to the venue how the woman fell. Evidently, she’d cut in front of us and she just saw her body go down. She said she didn’t process it until her head hit the ground.

Shanice was angry that her sandwich had been interrupted. And I was still faux upset that she’d actually repeated what Eyenurse had said.

We continued laughing and talking about it up until the show (which was awesome and a whole other blog post) and even into today. Priceless.

              Also, thinking about Eyenurse, she struck me as that nurse (or person in general) whose always hovering nervously, ensuring that your alright, even after countless assurances. The person to actually make you uncomfortable in her attempt to be comforting.

              I truly feel no remorse for those who trip on my cane if they were walking toward me. You should be paying attention. But they get mad at me, as though I’m the one at fault… for being blind? For having a cane? For my spidy senses not tingling and alerting me to their presence?

If I see the person beforehand, then I will move aside, but don’t rely on my vision. I do feel a little bad if I’m walking behind the person and they trip. But those are usually only stumbles. The people who go down are almost always walking toward me or turning into me, or something.

If children are required to use their wordss, then shouldn't you, too?

I'm not an animal, guys. Use your words. Although, some people do have full out conversations with their pets… and I guess I am an animal (we all are), a domesticated one, too. So does this negate my whole argument?...
Anyway, as I stepped onto the Q train today, I awkwardly fumbled for the pole. In the process of doing this, I probably nearly kayoed someone with my flailing hand. But I did eventually find it.
But, by that point, the person had gotten up. I thought I'd seen it (the person rise irritably) but I second-guess my vision a lot so I just continued holding the pole.
Then, for a second, I thought I heard a muttered "you can sit." But I was not certain so I did what most people do when they are unsure: nothing.
In the next seconds my arm is shoved and I believe I heard "sit."

Is that how you would treat the old lady crossing the street? Unless your goal is thievery (or worse) would you just grab at her and force her across the stree? Or would you ask first?
I've never helped that old lady. I've probably bumped into them.So it's a genuine question.

I don't know how many times I was dragged to a seat or shouted at to sit. Countless people have told me that it would make them feel better were I seated, even after explaining that I only have one or two stops, or that I just don't want to sit.
Why do I care what sooths your nerves? Maybe standing soothes mine.

The only thing wrong with me is my vision (and I am a bit strange). I get that the vision thing may seem like this huge barrier (I'm a little awkward around other disabled people). But all of our basic composition is the same.

Just Another Day On The Bus (the events in this post occurred LastFriday Afternoon)

  "God bless you,"  a hoarse, slightly Caribbean-accented voice says from beside me.

  Is he talking to me? I wonder.

"Um, thank you,: I reply tentatively.

"Yes, bless you and I will pray for you."

"Thank you," if confusion only tinted my tone before, it was now fully colored in with a bright orange Crayola.

"I'll ask God to help you get your sight back."

  Where'd it go? is what I think. I never had twenty/twenty but neither am I fully blind. Sure, I lost a bit of vision (I didn't take my drops for a few years), but again, what exactly are you giving back...? What I say aloud, however, is another mumbled thank you.

  Then a group of my raucous peers (otherwise known as teenagers, clamber onto the bus.

  "Yo I  think there's a blind girl on tha bus," a male voice.

  Oh yeah? Where is she? I think to say belatedly.

  "Look at her," a female voice not to far from me.

"How does she do that?" Her friend asks.

How did I know they were talking about me? one might wonder.

"I think she textin'" says Girl One.

"And she not even lookin'!" was the brilliant reply of Girl Two.

Then, a few stops later, Hoarse Voice tells me to stay strong and that he would be praying... 

sigh.

People are so contradictory.  They  say that everything happens for a reason, right? God has his reasons for doing everything? So why do you persist in trying to change it? Why am I brave for smiling and laughing. How am I any braver than the woman standing before me whose "problems aren't so clear-cut?

But that rant is for another post.