Kear - Now I see you: a memoir

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For my Heart,

my Star,

and my Sun

and for David, whose love lights every darkness

AUTHORS NOTE

In order to protect the innocent, and the guilty, the names and identifying characteristics of people described in this book have been changed. In order to prevent this book from being a thousand pages and mind-numbingly boring, certain events have been reordered, combined, and condensed.

While I occasionally consulted journals, letters, and people who were there, for the most part, I wrote this book relying on my recollection, a thick, polluted sludge in which memories bob. Theyre not pristine, these memories; time can corrode them, stain them, tint them in various hues. If others dredged up their memories of the same events, they might look different. If that is the case and you feel so inclined, I invite you to write a memoir. Just change my name and, if you dont mind, make me a redhead.

CONTENTS

It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

Ancient Proverb

PROLOGUE

My disguise was missing something.

Almost ready, I told Esperanza, the small, dark-haired woman standing next to me. Just one more minute.

Id already jammed on the black knit hat reading BROOKLYN in block letters and pulled it low over my forehead. Id zipped up the shit-colored ankle-length coat borrowed from my grandmother and raised the hood. Now only my shoes were visible, and my face.

The sunglasses: thats what Id forgotten.

I fished a pair out of my coat pocketPrada knockoffs that Id bought on the street near Astor Placeand slid them over my ears. They were big and black and glamorous, very Jackie O. But I felt more like Stevie Wonder.

I cant see a damn thing with these on, I complained.

So take them off, Esperanza suggested, unperturbed by my getup or my bad language or my acting like a big old baby. You dont need them.

That was not exactly true. She was right that I didnt need them to shield my eyes from the sun, since it was an overcast afternoon in March. I didnt need them, either, to shield the world from the sight of my eyes, which were normal-looking, pretty even; a forest blend of umber and olive, speckled with yellow. I did need the sunglasses, however, desperately.

Im trying to go incognito, I explained, in case I run into someone I know.

I dont think theres much risk of that. She laughed. We havent passed a single person since Third Avenue.

Esperanza had met me at my apartment on a tree-lined street in Brooklyn, expecting, I guess, that wed conduct our business right there on my block. Instead, Id led her for fifteen minutes downhill, away from the well-maintained Park Slope brownstones where my friends lived, away from the bright playgrounds my kids frequented, into the no-mans-land by the Gowanus Canal.

Now, we stood on broken sidewalk, flanked by abandoned warehouses, inhaling the stink of refuse. Whole minutes passed without a car whizzing by. It was the kind of spot a mobster would choose to shoot you at close range.

This is where you want to do it? shed asked, her eyebrows raised.

Yeah, this is perfect, Id replied.

Then shed asked if I was ready, which I wasnt, not by a long shot. But Id suited up with hat, hood, and glasses, and at her direction, Id taken the package shed given me earlier out of my bag, rooting through boxes of animal crackers, broken crayons, and wet wipes. It was a tight white bundle roughly the size and shape of a microphone, though it weighed less, its five tubular pieces made from ultralight aluminum and held together with a black rubber band. I clutched it tightly in my right palm, as if it might come to life at any moment and attack me.

I was still not ready. I was, however, out of stalling techniques.

Id been putting this moment off, not just since Esperanza picked me up a half hour before, but since I was nineteen years old. My arsenal of weapons for beating back the inevitable had been extensive: thered been the distractionssex and drama and later, the business of having babies; thered been the denial that it was happening; and after that had become impossible, there was the hiding it from everyone else.

But now, after twelve years, I couldnt postpone it any longer and here was Esperanza, sent over by the New York State Commission for the Blind to teach me how to use a mobility cane.

I didnt see why formal training was necessary anyway; as far as I could tell, the whole process was pretty self-explanatory. Take a long stick and swing it around in front of you. If it hits something, dont go there. If it drops into a gaping abyss, dont go there either.

I dont need this, you know, I informed Esperanza as I fiddled with the canes rubber band. I do fine without it.

I know, she assured me. But you may find it useful at nighttime or in crowded places, when your vision is at its worst. And

She paused, her voice dropping into a softer register: Many people find it helpful to be trained on the cane while they still have a bit of usable vision left.

No matter how gentle Esperanza was administering my bitter pill, it still tasted like shit. I wanted to spit the nasty medicine out, just toss the cane into the canal and make a run for it. But running is precisely what Id been doing for more than a decade and it wasnt working anymore. My diagnosis just kept catching up with me.

For the kids, I reminded myself. Vanity, pride, and fear were formidable opponents but my sense of maternal duty was stronger.

I pulled off the rubber band and the cane unfurled itself, the equal pieces snapping into place like a magic trick. I raised the sunglasses off my eyes to take a closer look. Apart from the handle, which was black, and a length of red at the tip, the cane was pristinely white, not a speck of dirt or grime anywhere. Of course, I hadnt been able to discern speck-sized details in years, so what did I know?

I lowered my glasses down again. The cane, and the world behind it, went dark.

Maybe its a good thing that I cant see much with these on, I observed to Esperanza. It makes this more authentic, right? Makes me seem more blind.

Esperanza said nothing, but she was standing close enough that I could see her press her lips together in a polite smile, which said it all.

You are blind. Youre only pretending not to be.

PART I

TIPS FOR THE (SECRETLY) BLIND

Tip #1: On receiving bad news

Do not be duped into believing that youth, or optimism, or adorable lacey underthings will protect you from bad news. These things will only ensure that the news comes as a big, fucking surprise.

THE MESSENGER

This is some Park Avenue bullshit, I fumed, slamming shut my copy of 100 Years of Solitude . Id been sitting in the well-appointed waiting room for almost an hour before the doctor called my name, and then it was only to squeeze some dilating drops into my eyes and send me back into the waiting room while they took effect. That had been a half hour ago, at least I guessed as much. Now that my pupils were fully dilated, I couldnt make out the numbers on my watch, or the print of my book, either. Which left me nothing to do but stew.