Sisters

“It happened here, on the Fourth of July.” She didn't tell him about her mother. That would have been too much, even in their shared darkness. It was impossible to say. Maybe later, if they really became friends. But it was nice to have someone to talk to the first day.

“I'm gay, by the way,” he said suddenly, out of nowhere.

She smiled. “I'm straight. My boyfriend just dumped me, right after the accident. But he didn't know I was blind.”

“That's rotten of him.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“I'm twenty-three. I graduated last year. Where'd you go to school?”

“Risdy,” she said, which was the code among the knowledgeable for the Rhode Island School of Design. “I went to the Beaux Arts in Paris after I graduated, and picked up a master's degree. And I've been studying in Florence ever since. A lot of good all that hot-shot education does us now. Risdy, Yale, now this, so we can learn to use the microwave and brush our teeth. I fell flat on my face outside the school this morning, getting out of a cab,” she said, and suddenly it didn't seem so tragic, it was almost funny. “I walked into the sex ed class by mistake and they asked me if I brought condoms. I told them I'd bring some tomorrow.” He was laughing at what she said.

“Do you live with your parents now?” he asked with interest. “I've been staying with my mom since June. I was living with my boyfriend before that,” he said, sounding solemn. “He died in the accident. It was his bike.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly, and meant it, but she still couldn't tell him about her mother. “I'm living with my sisters for a year, till I get on my feet. They've been really nice to me.”

“My mom's been pretty cool too, except that she treats me like a two-year-old.”

“I guess it's scary for them too,” Annie said, thinking about it.

And then they were told that it was time to go to the classroom. They were being divided into four groups.

“I hope I'm in yours,” Baxter whispered. She did too. She had a new friend at school. They listened carefully for their groups and were ecstatic to discover they were in the same one. They followed the rest of the group to their classroom, and found their seats. It was Braille 101.

“I don't remember this class in college, do you?” he whispered, and she giggled like a kid. He was funny and irreverent, and smart, and she liked him. She had no idea what he looked like, tall or short, fat or thin, black or white or Asian. All she knew was that she liked him, they were both artists, and he was going to be her friend.

They were both exhausted by the end of the day. She asked him if he needed a ride home, if he lived uptown and was on her way. He said he had to take two buses and a subway to Brooklyn, where he had to take another bus to get home.

“How did you do that?” she asked with admiration.

“I just ask for help all along the way. It takes me about two hours to get here. But if I don't come here, my mother will kill me.”

Annie laughed at what he said. “My sisters would too.”

“Are you going to get a dog?” he asked her. “My mom thinks I should.”

“I hope not. I hate dogs. They're yappy and they smell.”

“In this case, I think they help,” he said practically. “And it might be good company, when I live alone in my own place. I'm not sure there's a lot of interest in blind gay guys. I figure I may be alone a lot.” He sounded sad as he said it, and echoed her fears about blind women.

“I've been thinking pretty much the same thing,” she admitted.

“It's too bad I'm not straight,” he whispered.

“Yeah, it is. Maybe you'll get cured.”

“Of what?” He sounded shocked.

“Being gay.”

“Are you serious?” Their friendship was about to end.

“No,” she said, and he burst out laughing.

“I like you, Annie.”

“I like you too, Baxter.” They both meant it, which was sweet. It seemed like a miracle that they had found each other in the cafeteria and sat down at the same table. Two blind artists in a sea of people. There were eight hundred adults in the school. There was a youth section, but there were far more adults. And it was thought to be one of the best training schools for the blind in the world. They both suddenly felt lucky to be there, when it had seemed like a punishment before.

“Best friends?” he asked her before they left each other for their respective journeys home. Hers was a lot shorter and easier than his. His sounded like an odyssey to her.

“Forever and ever,” she promised as they shook hands. “Have a safe trip home.”

“You too. Try not to fall flat on your face again on your way out. It gives the school a bad name. It's okay on the way in, but leaving you should at least try to look like you know what you're doing.” She laughed again, and he disappeared.