Together: A Novel Of Shared Vision Part 6

So now, listening to Eric Clapton as the plane took off, he took slow, deep breaths, trying to relax and consider what he knew about the guide dog program and the days ahead. Very little, he realized. The truth was, his mother had filled out his application, and she was the one pus.h.i.+ng him to do this. Why would he want a dog? Frankly, why would he deserve one? Or anything or anyone else, for that matter. No one really wanted him, except his mother, and he believed a lot of that was some form of maternal commitment.

He had no value, no cachet in the world. And now he was going to become the master of a big dog? I don't think so, he thought. I really don't think so.

And yet, something put him on this airplane. Something made him sit in this seat and endure the humiliating questions of a kid and his mother. Something sent him to the guide dog school. Was it hope for independence? Was the need to be a part of the world still basic to who he was as a person? Was it to retain-or win-Lindsey's love?

Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey.

At that point Clapton sang some piece of blues about a woman doing some guy wrong. In a moment of stark candor, the thought hit him that this could be what he would soon face with Lindsey. No, he couldn't believe it. She truly loved him, didn't she? And if she did, his blindness wouldn't matter. Love sticks it out through the tough stuff. But on the other hand, why should a beautiful, gifted girl like Lindsey hitch her wagon to a blind horse? He would hold her back, and she was too spirited to be held back. It didn't make sense for her to stick with him, and if she chose to call it quits, he couldn't blame her.

No! Brenden thought with a pa.s.sion that made him grit his teeth. I can't let it happen. I will not hold her hack. I will show her that I can become a whole person. And if I can't, well, I still have my other option.

After touching down in San Jose, a retired schoolteacher with a lifetime of wisdom met Brenden. He introduced himself simply as John, and as Brenden quickly learned, a blind father had raised him with a no-nonsense philosophy that said anything was possible if you were willing to work hard. This guy could care less if Brenden was blind or had two heads. He was what used to be called in the vernacular a man's man. He figured that everybody was the same until proven different. And so, for the first time since his accident, Brenden found himself relaxing and sharing normal conversation with this guy on the one-hour drive to the school.

"What's it like there, John? I mean, what does it look like?" Brenden asked.

"Oh man," John said, "it's beautiful. The country is really rolling and lush. The buildings are Spanish California-type architecture with a whole lot of brick and tile. The kennels, well, the kennels are nicer than most of the hotels you find in this country. And the dorms, all the students get their own rooms, along with three squares prepared by some really good cooks. All in all, it's a good life while you're there. You'll be with us for a month, right? Because it's your first dog?"

"I guess so," Brenden said.

"Oh, they've done the job with people tougher than you." John laughed. "Some of the war vets we've had in here are really hard cases. You're a picnic compared to those guys. Do you know that since we opened this campus in 1956, we've put over ten thousand teams into the field?"

"Teams?" Brenden asked.

"Yeah, my friend, that's what you're going to be-a team, you and the dog."

Brenden didn't answer, and John didn't push him. They drove in silence until they reached the campus and went through the gates. Brenden was struck by the myriad smells, and John noticed him sniffing the air.

"You like the smells, Brenden? I do too. All the plants were chosen to make all you new students understand how glad we are to have you here. Let me help you with your bags and introduce you to the admissions staff."

John took Brenden to his room and allowed him to unpack.

"You're just in time for dinner," John told him. "Now you'll find out what I meant when I said the food was great."

John escorted him to the dining room and seated him at a round table with what felt to Brenden like six or seven other students.

The house-mistress introduced him. "Everybody, this is Brenden McCarthy. He is here for the first time, so don't scare him away with your horror stories."

There was laughter around the table.

A voice at the other end put in, "First time? Wow, I got my first pooch in the 1960s, and now I'm back for my fifth."

"Heaven help the dog, Jimmy," a woman's voice put in. "You're such an old curmudgeon, any animal you get is going to be in a hurry to get back to the kennel."

"Oh, you're just jealous, Lorraine"-Jimmy laughed, apparently knowing exactly who she was-"because the last time we were here, I got Leah, the most beautiful golden retriever in the history of the world, and you got the boxer-Leonard, wasn't it? Remember? That's when they were training boxers-the great s...o...b..rers of the world."

The woman laughed, taking it well. "Yeah, but he was a great old boy, my Leonard, a great old boy."

"So, Brenden, what do you want?" Jimmy asked. "They've got goldens, black Labs, yellow Labs, a few shepherds, and then this new breed, the Labradoodle. That's a combination Lab and poodle. I've heard they're really smart, but what do I know? I'm blind."

Laughter again rang out around the table. Brenden found himself wondering how they could all be so cavalier about their disability. Hadn't some of them lost their sight along the way because of an accident, just like him?

Jimmy asked again, "So what do you want, pal?"

"I don't know," Brenden said tentatively. "I guess I'll just take whatever they give me."

"Well," Jimmy said, "you're in Harold Smith's cla.s.s-Smitty, we call him. That means you'll get a great dog no matter what it is. Smitty's the best. The only problem is he likes dogs more than he likes people."

Lorraine jumped in again. "That's not true, Jimmy. He just likes dogs more than he likes an old pain-in-the-rear like you." This time the laughter was even louder.

Brenden realized that most of these people had been down this road before and were both extremely excited and comfortable. He couldn't understand it. He was here largely because his mother had pressured him and because he knew without a doubt that if he didn't regain his independence, he wouldn't be worth anything to Lindsey. He understood perfectly that he had to become her equal in all things or their love would die. All this optimism about dogs was just too much.

Just then, a sliding gla.s.s door at the far end of the room opened, and Brenden heard someone stride in with confident steps. Enthusiastic applause broke out. Smitty had arrived.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "Welcome to Guide Dogs. You have the distinct honor and pleasure of being members of my cla.s.s."

A smattering of good-natured booing followed this comment.

"Oh, you people are just sorry you're not bald and handsome like I am." Smitty laughed. "That's right, ladies, handsome and bald and getting older."

"Not as old as me," Jimmy piped in.

"No, Jimmy, that's true. No one is as old as you."

Again, laughter.

"All right, everyone. You know the rules, but if you're new and you've read your material, you've learned that your dogs will not be presented for the first three days. You'll be working Juno."

Jimmy groaned. "That means me too, Smitty?"

"Yes, it does, Jimmy. Your technique has probably become too sloppy over the years. You're likely taking too many shortcuts. It's about time we straightened you out."

Brenden didn't know exactly what Juno was, but he had heard that it related somehow to simulating what the dogs did with their instructor.

"It's going to be a long day tomorrow," Smitty went on, "with a lot of walking. Breakfast is promptly at seven. The work begins at eight, We'll start with a general lecture on the work and then go out into the beautiful streets of San Rafael to begin our training. Take some time and get to know each other. Some of you already know where your rooms are, but we'll be around to help any of you who aren't sure. Just let us know whenever you're ready to go to bed."

After more applause, Brenden noticed that most of the students immediately fell into excited conversations. They were extremely enthusiastic about meeting the dogs, while all Brenden wanted to do was go home.

Smitty watched all this, observing the young man sinking further and further into himself. He thought about McCarthy's application, how it spoke of his love of sports and outdoor activities, of his graduation from medical school and his desire to live in downtown Denver. Smitty had actually been thinking about Nelson for this young man, but now as he watched him, he wasn't sure. Maybe Nelson would have to wait for the next cla.s.s; that is, if n.o.body caught on to his deception.

He crossed the room and introduced himself. "I'm Harold Smith," he said. "You're Brenden McCarthy, right?"

The handshake told Brenden that this guy had worked hard throughout his life. His hand was gnarled and strong, but there was also friends.h.i.+p and warmth in the shake. Brenden had noticed over the months since he lost his sight that he could learn a lot from a handshake, and it was clear to him that this one said, "Glad to meet you. I hope I can help." Right now, Brenden didn't want any help. He wanted to go to bed.

"Excuse me," he said, without engaging in conversation. "Could you show me my room, please? I think I'd like to call it a night."

"Oh sure," Smitty said. "Take my arm. Right this way."

They moved down the corridor, and Smitty refamiliarized Brenden with his bedroom and bath.

"Well, good night," Brenden said, sitting down on his bed.

"Listen, McCarthy," Smitty said, sensing the young man's disconnect, "I want you to know I'm here for you; I mean, any extra attention you need, any special work with the dog that we'll pick for you. I know from your application that you had a tough break with your accident, and I'm sure it's not easy to begin living as a blind person. But if you're willing to try, these incredible animals can make a big difference in your life."

Brenden didn't even nod, and Smitty was forced to go on. "Like I said, we'll begin tomorrow morning after breakfast, and actually I'll be working with you for the first couple of days. I very much look forward to sharing a partners.h.i.+p, so get a good night's sleep, okay?"

Again, Brenden sat mute, and Smitty quietly closed the door.

For a long time after the trainer left, Brenden just sat on his bed, not moving, deep in thought. He hated his circ.u.mstance. He hated the idea that he was thought of as one of these people. They were blind, handicapped, disabled, and yet they seemed happy in their pathetic state. Didn't they know what the world was really like? How much they had lost or would never understand? The changing of the seasons? A rainbow? A beautiful smile? They were blind.

And then it hit him like a crippling blow in the stomach. So was he: Brenden McCarthy, doctor, mountain climber, fiance to Lindsey. He was just like them. No better, no worse. He was blind. And tomorrow he would begin to learn to use a dog, an unmistakable symbol of his disability.

He put his head in his hands, overcome by the emotion of the moment, overcome as his reality enveloped him. Not for the first time, the tears began to flow. The sobs were gut-wrenching, and they came from a place of utter desolation. There was no catharsis in his crying, no easing of the pain, no opening of the doors to therapeutic understanding. Brenden was bereft of self-worth, a shattered spirit broken in heart, soul, mind, and body.

Eventually, when the crying subsided, he rolled onto his bed and mercifully slept, still in his clothes.

chapter twelve.

At breakfast the next morning, Brenden felt the buzz in the room. He sensed the excitement all the students were feeling as they began the process toward relations.h.i.+ps with new dogs and the independence that meant.

Their enthusiasm annoyed Brenden. Didn't they know? Didn't they understand that their dogs would brand them as-the word handicapped caught in his throat. Just the thought of it was almost impossible for him to take.

Smitty came in just as everyone finished breakfast. "Okay, boys and girls," he said, "your chariot is outside. We'll drive to the student lounge and pair you up with your instructors. Everybody have good walking shoes on? Wonderful. Because you're going to need them. By the time you're finished, your feet will be telling you you've covered a lot of miles. So let's go."

Everyone was loaded onto a bus, and when they arrived at the staging lounge-a school-owned building where people could take breaks and have soft drinks-Smitty was as good as his word. He put his hand on Brenden's shoulder.

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked.

The young man just nodded.

"Oh dear," Smitty said, "you're probably a night person-one of those guys who just doesn't like the morning. That's too bad." The trainer placed a leash and harness in Brenden's hands. "Here's your equipment-the second most important link to your dog and independence."

Despite himself, Brenden was curious. "The second most important link?" he queried.

"That's right. The most important one is love-the love the animal will feel for you and the love you'll feel for him. Trust goes along with that, but you can gain trust only if the love between you is so deep nothing can destroy it. You see, Brenden, the dogs are pure. Oh sure, they make mistakes, and sometimes they can behave in annoying ways, but it's never because they're being malicious or trying to hurt you, or even trying to gain an upper hand in the work. They're dogs-perfect in the way they love us, imperfect sometimes in the way they behave."

"You sound as if you like the dogs more than you like people," Brenden suggested.

Smitty laughed. "You got that right, bud. People disappoint you, but dogs never do. Come over here."

Smitty led Brenden to an area of the lounge along a wall and put his hands on-what? "What is this?" Brenden asked.

"What do you think it is?" Smitty said.

"It's-it's-it's a make-believe dog?"

"You got it, and what I want you to do is practice putting on the harness and leash. Feel how it fits. The harness slides right over his head and then buckles around his chest. The leash attaches right there to the choke chain on his neck. Go ahead. Try it."

Once Brenden buckled the harness in place, Smitty went on.

"Now, check out the handle of your harness. That's your rudder. That's the way you're going to read every input, every nuance of your animal. The secret to guide work, along with establis.h.i.+ng love and trust, is to be able to interpret each other, and Brenden, my boy, you'll be amazed at how much these animals understand. Frankly, they know much more than we ever give them credit for. They can feel when you're nervous or apprehensive. They can feel when you're happy or sad. They know whether you're having a good day or a bad one. And all of that will be reflected in the way they work for you.

"For today, I'm going to be your dog. We're going to take a walk, and I'm going to hold the end of the harness, keeping forward pressure so that you get the idea of interpreting my motion. Now, I admit it's not the same as working with a dog because I'm standing upright on two legs, and the dog is moving along on four, with the signals all coming from the way he moves and angles his shoulders. But after thirty years I've become pretty good at approximation. So let's take a walk."

They moved out of the building, Smitty exerting constant pressure on the harness, with Brenden tentatively following.

"I can feel you're a little nervous, Brenden," Smitty said. "If I can get that feeling from the harness, you can bet the dog will know right away, so don't be afraid. Step right out. Neither the dog nor I will ever let anything happen to you."

Smitty came to a stop at the corner. "Okay," he said, "let's talk about the environment you're going to be working in. We are very fortunate here in San Rafael because the lettered streets A through E run east and west, and the numbered streets one through five run north and south. So it's easy for us to design routes for you to train on. Over the next few weeks, you'll hear me say things like, 'Go to Third and B.' What would that mean to you?"

"Well, I suppose it would mean I'd walk three blocks east, cross to the left or south, and then walk four blocks."

"Well," Smitty said, allowing a smile, "I got a smart one. That's right, Brenden. It's very important as you adjust to your dog and your blindness that you learn to picture the environments in which you work. The dog will remember a lot, but an animal is only as good as the capacity of his master to have a picture in his head. Do you get it?"

Brenden nodded.

Smitty went on. "That's an advantage you have over somebody who has always been blind. Now let's practice walking up to a curb. The dogs are trained to move forward smartly, keeping pressure on the harness until they come right up to the edge. Then they're to stop with your lead foot lined up so that your toes are square to the line we're going to walk when we step off to cross. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Brenden said, not really getting it.

Smitty could see the obvious puzzlement on the young man's face. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Let's just try one. The curb is about twenty yards from here in a straight line, so let's walk up to it. Here we go. Give me the command forward."

"What should I call you?" Brenden asked. "Should I just say, 'Forward, dog'?"

"No. Use my name, and give the name first. Say, 'Smitty, forward.'"

Brenden laughed. "This is great. I'm finally in control."

"That's exactly right," Smitty said, touching Brenden's shoulder. "That's exactly what we want. By the end of this month, we want you to be able to control your dog because the dog wants to work for you. Now give me the command."

Brenden took the handle of the harness. "Smitty, forward."

The man stepped out at a brisk pace, snapping the harness with aggressive forward pressure. Brenden was forced to keep up. As they reached the curb, Smitty stopped abruptly enough that Brenden stepped over the edge. Smitty's free hand flashed out, protecting the blind man from falling.

"You see," he said. "I told you. The dog will come up to the edge of that curb smartly. You have to be alert. Let's try it again."

The next time Brenden stopped perfectly with his toes square to the line of the crossing.

"Okay," Smitty said. "Now give me the command again."

"Smitty, forward," Brenden said. But as they crossed, the trainer purposely slowed. Brenden was not feeling pressure in the harness.

"Encourage me," Smitty said. "Encourage me to pick up the pace. Sometimes dogs are afraid when they make a crossing with a new person. Tell me to hop up-that's the command they all know-and use my name. Come on, Brenden, encourage me."