Vision (15 page)

Bobby cleared his throat. “Sir, I don’t think I’ve done one thing differently. I haven’t dropped a single dish.”

“I agree completely, Bobby.”

“Bobby.” It was Mr. Cooper’s voice. Bobby hadn’t even noticed him sitting in the shadows on the couch. “To help get your accommodations in place, I had to talk with the people at the VA who evaluated you.”

Bobby swallowed. “Oh?”

“I’m sorry if it seems like we’ve been snooping around behind your back,” Mr. Cooper said. “We only wanted to help.”

Bobby wanted to shout, “come out with it,” but sat rigidly, his nails digging into his palms.

Max Friend cleared his throat. “They gave Kenny the runaround. So I called a lady friend, one of the head nurses there, and finally got some answers.”

Bobby’s heart thumped in his ears.

“Bobby,” Mr. Cooper said softly, “Waterbury Hospital didn’t tell you the full diagnosis because they didn’t want to upset your father. His pressure is high and they wanted to get him transferred to the VA. So they kicked it down the road and the whole matter got buried.”

Bobby couldn’t find words to respond and sat in silence, waiting for the axe to fall.

“Are you listening, Bobby?” asked Max.

“Yes, I am, sir.”

“According to your doctor, you’re not going to be able to keep up this level of performance for very long.”

“This is very hard for us, Bobby,” Mr. Cooper said, “but we felt, as your mentors and, more importantly, as your friends, it was important that you have accurate information so you can prepare for the eventual.”

“Eventual what?” Bobby blurted, growing impatient.

“Your condition is degenerative,” Max said softly. “The bottom line is, they don’t know how to help you, because they don’t know exactly why your eyesight is failing.”

Bobby gripped the arms of the chair.

“Your eyes are going to get worse, Bobby. To the point where you won’t be able to do this job much longer. It would be cruel to pretend you can keep on here,” said Max.

Bobby stood, heat rushing to his cheeks. He was going blind. He couldn’t decide which body blow hurt more—that, or losing his job. “You’re firing me?”

“Not exactly,” said Max. “Let Mr. Cooper explain what we have in mind.”

“We didn’t know how to break this awful news to you,” Mr. Cooper said. “We just felt it was wrong for the doctors at the VA not to level with you.”

Bobby stared into the indistinct motes of light and started to shake. Vibrate. Like a ticking bomb, he was going to explode. He whirled around, ready to flee, fight or flight style, but Mr. Cooper had him by the shoulders.

“Bobby. We’re your friends. Your extended family. We care about you. Please, for once, let someone help you.”

His body was rigid, teeth chattering hard. He wanted to let go, to stop fighting. To fall into a soft nest of safety where someone would take care of him for a change.

Mr. Cooper pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s okay, Bobby. This is tough news for anyone to take.”

Bobby leaned stiffly into the hug. It didn’t seem real. Was he having a nightmare? What was a person supposed to do with news like this?

“But,” Max said, with forced cheerfulness, “we have some good news for you, too. Lots of good news.”

Bobby blinked, staring mutely over Mr. Cooper’s shoulder into the blur of light and dark. It was like he was a contestant in a sick new game show.
Congratulations! You’re going blind! But guess what? For that, you’re getting a brand-new car!

Mr. Cooper guided him back to the chair. He sat stiff and wooden, as if his body was becoming a part of it.

“We weren’t satisfied with the VA’s assessment that nothing could be done for you,” said Max. “We don’t believe all options have been exhausted.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked, his head spinning. What were they saying?

“In other words,” Mr. Cooper added, “Max knows an ophthalmologist in the city whose specialty is hard-to-treat cases. Rare disorders. He’s agreed, probably out of sheer curiosity, to evaluate you.”

“So, there may be a cure?” Bobby asked, suddenly eager.

“If someone can figure out what is actually wrong with you, maybe there could be a chance of stopping or reversing the damage to your vision.”

Bobby slumped in the chair. Under those words of optimism lay the truth. He was going blind, and no one knew why or how to stop it. “I understand.”

“Which brings us to the next phase of Plan Bobby. I’m not going to fire you,” Max said, his voice upbeat and bright. “I’m going to give you a new job. And listen closely—I’m going to pay you more.”

Bobby squinted, wishing he could see the man’s face better. He couldn’t imagine anyone being low enough to joke with him at a time like this. “Excuse me?”

“My daughter has been singing your praises as a musician. Your guitar playing is extraordinary, your voice beautiful and moving. You cover a lot of popular blues and jazz favorites, plus you write your own original music. Is this true?”

Bobby was speechless, his mouth moving soundlessly. “I, uh, guess?”

“Bobby,” said Mr. Cooper, “the recommendation of a distinguished artist like Gabriella Sorensen is no small thing. And I, of course, can back up her assessment. You are an astounding musician. It’s time you used your God-given gifts the way you were intended to.”

The floor beneath him seemed to give way. His ears burned, his cheeks hot. What was happening? Was this all a cruel joke? “What are you saying? I’m not following.”

“We,” Mr. Cooper said, “are forming a jazz and blues ensemble group, The Kenny Cooper Trio. You, Gabriella, and me. We’re going to be playing here, in the Graxton Grill, three nights a week.”

“What?” Bobby’s ears were ringing. The room seemed to have darkened, as if his weak eyes were stepping out of the way, making way for his future as a blind man. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” said, Max, “no one is kidding. Mr. Cooper approached me about this before we learned about your issues. He was upset that you were wasting your talent. That you seemed resigned to a future of menial labor.”

“That’s right. Ask your good friend, Gabe,” Mr. Cooper said.

Bobby wrung his hands, unsure what to think. “I’m not all that good. I’ve never played with a group, for starters. I-I…” Bobby hung his head, “I don’t know what to say.”

Mr. Cooper placed both hands on Bobby’s shoulders. “Just take a day or two to think about it. I’m going to work with the school on your supports, and I’m going to work with you on that audition for the Conservatory. Your story will resonate with them. Big time.”

Bobby shook his head, unable to process. Unable to think. It was as if invisible hands had taken control of his life, moving him in a direction he’d never considered. But it was true—if he was really going blind, what other options did he have?

“Does my dad know about any of this?” he asked finally.

“The VA wants to hold a meeting with him, you and us, once they have him stabilized. They need to break it to him gently. Things are going to change. You won’t be able to take care of him, or yourself, in the way you’ve been,” Mr. Cooper said.

Pain stabbed through his chest. He couldn’t breathe; his lungs weren’t taking in air. Everything he’d worked to preserve. His family. Falling apart. “What about Aaron?”

“The Woods have agreed to take him in.”

“What about me?”

There was hesitation. The room darkened incrementally, and Bobby fought it. Willed himself to see better. Finally, Mr. Cooper cleared his throat. “You’ll be able to have Coco stay with you a little longer while we get things ready.”

Bobby’s heart pounded in his ears. He put his hands to his head. In a minute, his skull was going to split open. He needed air. Needed to breathe. Needed to think. Then came a thought, like the clear blue sky breaking through gray clouds of confusion. “Mr. Friend, I’ll make you a deal. Let me stay on as a busboy. Let me stay until I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. The minute I can’t do my job, the minute I start to screw up, the first plate I drop, I promise—I’ll quit.”

“Bobby? Do you think that’s wise?”

Bobby stood straighter, his breaths slowing. Gaining control. “Mr. Friend, for all we know, they’re wrong at the VA. They don’t really have a clue what’s going on with me. It’s all guesswork. My eyes could stay like this. They could get better. If they get worse, I’ll deal with it when it happens.”

“Hmmm,” Max said.

“Bobby, you need to prepare,” Mr. Cooper said, his voice somber.

“Why can’t I do both? Keep bussing tables
and
rehearse with you for the ensemble?”

Mr. Cooper rubbed his chin. “I don’t see why not, Max, if you’re in agreement.”

“I suppose. You did do an exemplary job tonight. People took notice.”

Bobby let out his breath, a smile spreading across his face. “Thanks. You won’t regret it. Do you mind if I get back to work now?”

“Go right ahead, Bobby.”

Bobby hurried down the hall to the dining room. Most of the tables were empty and in need of clearing. He got to work, piling dishes on his arm in precarious towers. But it was no problem for him at all.

On his second trip back from the kitchen, a group at a corner booth caught his eye.

“Hey, Bobby! Over here!”

“A-man? That you?”

He rushed over to the table and recognized the bright-orange cap of Aaron’s Little League team. Aaron bounded into his arms.

“A-man. God, I miss you, kiddo.”

“Bobby. They said you were sick. But you look okay, except for that weird bandage on your head. And what’s with those glasses?”

Bobby smiled. “I thought it would make me look darkly mysterious. Like a spy, you know?”

Bobby heard Jerry clear his throat. “Think it’s time someone tells this kid the truth, Bobby.”

Bobby slipped onto the seat next to Aaron and draped his arm around him. “A-man, it’s true. I haven’t been feeling so good. My eyes have been… The light hurts my eyes a lot, so I can’t drive. Dad’s going to be in the hospital a while, and with me not being able to drive…we all think it’s best if you stay with Jerry for a while.”

“Someone at school said you’re going blind.” Aaron pushed the fries around on his plate. “And someone else said you’re faking it because you’re a murderer.”

“C’mon, A-man, you know that isn’t true.”

“I know the murder part isn’t true. You’re not faking the blind part, are you?”

Bobby sighed. “I’m a tough guy, Aaron. I’m having some problems with migraines, which are messing up my eyesight. But I’m no quitter, champ. So hang in there. For me, okay?”

Bobby swallowed, patted Aaron on the head, and got away as fast as he could. He couldn’t come out with it. Couldn’t tell his brother that life as they knew it would never be the same.

After they closed the restaurant down for the night, Gabe drove Bobby home.

In the car, Bobby was silent, breathing in the scent of her perfume, watching the streetlights of the town pass by his window like comet tails. They drove most of the way like that, the beam of her car’s headlights a cone of radiance against pure black.

“Bobby,” Gabe said finally, “you did an amazing job tonight.”

“Thanks, but it’s not necessary to keep telling me that. I always work hard. Nothing’s changed.”

Silence again. Finally, Gabe sighed. “You’re a real challenge, you know that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I wonder when you are going to realize people do things for you because they like you. Because they believe in you. Not because they feel sorry for you. Mr. Cooper really believes in your talent.”

Bobby nodded. “I know that. He tells me all the time.”

“So do I. Believe in you, I mean.”

Pressure built inside of him, competing with his rising anger. His skin suddenly felt too small for his body, every nerve tingling. Gabe pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to face him. “Bobby, I wish you’d understand. I don’t care about your background. I don’t care what Dad thinks. I—”

Bobby didn’t know what got into him. Maybe it was the craziness of the night, convincing Max Friend to keep a half-blind busboy on his payroll. He felt like he could do anything. He pulled her toward him and pressed his mouth to her lips. They tasted like candy. Like cherries. They tasted like heaven.