Route 66: Under Private Skies - Chapter 2

2.

The town was a series of noises and sensations that Buz had never truly noticed before. Sure he had heard the swell of music or voices from a radio in a gas station or the chatter of folks in the street – but he had never noticed all the little things. How strongly the gas stank when Tod stopped to fill up. The softer smell of asphalt that had started to warm as midday approached. The little noises of the attendant’s feet shuffling on the gravel-dusted ground and the nozzle clattering against the car, and the sharp difference between a woman’s voice just inside the building and a woman’s voice on the radio nearby.

He sat self-consciously stroking his fingers over the handle of his cane, wondering if it were obvious that he was blind. He felt like an animal poised to run, but he couldn’t run because running anywhere but on the track with a guide meant tripping and finding himself face down on the ground somewhere with his palms stinging and his pride in tatters. Anyway, the feeling was stupid, because there was nothing to run from but himself.

He imagined telling that to Celia. She would tell him it was natural. He could hear her voice. You’re a man, Buz. Something’s been taken away from you and you’re scared. We’re all scared at first. You’ll learn not to be. Somewhere else in his mind, overlaying Celia’s voice, he heard Blessed Blakesley talking in her quiet, self-effacing way, asking him why he felt that way, asking him what he thought he could do to feel differently. He had bridled at first at the counselling, but Blessed had been true to her name, easing him through this dark time like a guide leading him through a labyrinth.

The clink of coins brought him back to himself. Tod was paying the attendant and the intensity of the gas smell had died away. They drove on briefly and then stopped again and Tod said, ‘Okay, buddy. Final stop. We have reached our destination.’

Buz sat silent for a moment, listening to the noises of the street around him and trying to visualise where he was. He had been so looking forward to this chance to get away from the Camp and encounter the real world again, but now he just felt strange, vulnerable and awkward.

‘Hey, where’s our tiger?’ Tod asked, knocking his arm.

Buz smiled. Sometimes Tod spoke to him with the tone of a parent, or perhaps an older brother. He always had – and Buz couldn’t quite resist that little taste of what it might be to have a family.

‘I’m here,’ he murmured, feeling for the door catch and listening out for cars. ‘Is this the sidewalk side I’m on?’

‘Yeah, it is. Wait a minute,’ Tod said. The seat creaked and the car door slammed, and Buz could hear Tod’s footsteps on the hard road as he hurried round to the other side. ‘Now, it’s not much of a step down – ’

Buz was already feeling with the cane, finding the edge of the sidewalk just a few inches away from the side of the car. He got out and slammed the door shut and turned to Tod.

‘I – er – I’ll need your help now,’ he said. He felt so damned awkward asking Tod for help, oddly more than asking it of a stranger. The people at the Camp had spoken about getting a Seeing Eye dog, and maybe they were right. He had always liked dogs, anyway.

‘Just tell me what I need to do,’ Tod said.

‘Let me take your arm,’ Buz said, reaching out and finding the thick knit sleeve of Tod’s cardigan. ‘Just – er – try not to let me fall down any manholes, okay?’

Tod laughed, and even though Buz could hear that he was awkward too, the laughter helped a little.

‘No manholes – I promise.’

‘Tod, do you think a dog would fit in the Corvette?’ Buz asked as Tod led him across the sidewalk.

******

‘…so I told Sylvie I’d meet her outside the public library, and there was Georgie outside the town hall, both of them expecting me to take them to Del’s for cocktails, and I walked across the square in full view of them both – ’ Tod broke off suddenly. ‘Hey.’ He clicked his fingers sharply. ‘Are you even listening?’

Buz blinked and nodded, and then shook his head. ‘Yeah. I mean, no. I’m sorry, bud. I guess my mind’s not on it.’

He had been listening to the clinking of plates and the chatter of customers up at the counter, the hiss of the coffee boiling and the noises that drifted through from the kitchen of burgers sizzling and metal clashing on metal and people shouting out orders. The air was thick with the smell of meat and cigarette smoke and coffee. He felt as if he were drowning in those sounds and smells and he didn’t know if he liked it or not.

‘Ah, it’s okay,’ Tod said. He was too understanding at the moment. ‘It wasn’t such a funny story anyway. Not after they met in the middle of the square and ended up going to Del’s without me. There I was left at home with a cold beer and take out food.’

Buz reached out and touched the smooth edge of his plate with his fingers, then felt across the table for his coffee. This all felt too awkward. He didn’t know how to recapture the ease there had been between him and Tod.

‘I guess next time you should save one of them for me,’ he said. ‘Selfishness will get you nowhere.’

‘Aren’t you tied up with this Celia, this girl at the Camp?’ Tod asked, sounding relieved at Buz’s attempt at normality.

Buz turned his coffee cup in his hands, feeling the heat through the smooth ceramic. He could tell how full it was by where the hotness tapered off into something cooler.

‘Well, I’m not tied up, exactly,’ he said.

He felt as if he were bound hand and foot and around his heart, but he couldn’t work out why or how that had happened, and he couldn’t tell Tod that, here in the middle of a diner full of people. He didn’t even want to tell himself that.

‘She’s a nice girl,’ he said. ‘We share something, you know. We both feel it. She’s teaching me how to dig the sounds of the world. I’m trying to teach her something about music – you know, Nelson Riddle and Artie Shaw and all that jazz. She’d never even heard of Thelonius Monk.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t know I can afford the tutoring fees, buying all those records and junk.’

‘If you’re teaching her about jazz you must be tied up,’ Tod told him. ‘Who was the last person you tried to indoctrinate into the Buz School of Classic Jazz – apart from me, of course?’

‘You remember Anna, don’t you? Back in Cleveland?’ Buz asked defensively, jerking his head up. ‘I bought records for her. That didn’t mean I was tied up with her. I felt sorry for her, you know. She was so trapped…’

‘Yeah,’ Tod said.

Buz knew the meaning of the silence that fell like a sudden fog. They had both felt so sorry for her, unable to speak, trapped in that house like Cinderella with no way of answering back and nothing to lift her out of her silence but that one record that she was allowed to listen to for one hour a day. No one knew what had happened to Anna… Buz liked to think of her out in a city somewhere, listening to records all the day, learning to living in a world where even if she couldn’t speak back, she was still noticed and appreciated.

He cast about for the sugar bowl and Tod pushed it until it touched his fingers.

‘Stressed, huh?’ Tod asked as Buz plucked lump after lump of sugar and dropped them into his coffee.

Buz had never really noticed that slight fizz of noise before that was released as the sugar hit the hot liquid. He lifted his head and smiled, shrugging slightly. Tod knew him. He knew him well enough to know he had been looking for the sugar, and that he only filled his coffee that full with it when he was strung out.

‘Maybe a little,’ Buz said, thinking how that was the understatement of the year.

‘Want a cigarette?’ Tod asked, and the packet rustled as he began to slip it out of his pocket.

Buz shook his head. Sure, he smoked sometimes, but drugs made him uneasy, even the relatively soft impact of cigarettes on his psyche. He hated to rely on them. He hated to smoke because he needed to or drink to blot out the world. He had seen too often what too much alcohol or too many drugs did to a guy.

He dropped another cube of sugar into his coffee instead and stirred it slowly.

‘What’s the meaning of all this, Tod?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I mean, sitting here in this place, eating burgers and drinking coffee like we’re on a rest stop, travelling from A to – to Q or somewhere. I’m travelling nowhere. This is a day release from jail. This is a picnic by the side of a stagnant creek. The river’s flowing on and all the merry folks are waving from the paddle steamer, and you’re going to step back into the current and flow away, and I’m – I’m – ’

‘You’re in school, Buz,’ Tod reminded him. ‘I know institutionalised education is a foreign concept to a rough and ready street brawler like you, but that’s what happens when you go to school. You stay in one place for a while and just learn. This place is like Yale for the blind. That’s all.’

Buz smiled, knowing that the needling was a deliberate attempt to cheer him up. He could feel the darkness about to break through into full despair, and he needed to stop it. People would think he was a nut if he started weeping here in this diner.

‘Yale for the blind, huh?’ he asked. He took a sip of his coffee and let the hot sweetness sink through his mouth. The sugar seemed to light up his mind. ‘How do you make eggs, Yale-style?’

‘You get them made for you,’ Tod said, and through his voice Buz felt like he could see the laughing smile transforming his face, making those freckles dance like patches of sunlight through trees. Damn, he wanted to see. He missed Tod’s lopsided smile and the glint he got in his eyes when he made a joke.

‘Well, maybe when I’ve finished here I can be your chef,’ he said. ‘I’m getting pretty good. You won’t be able to insult my cooking any more.’

‘Seriously, Buz?’ Tod asked with real enthusiasm. ‘I mean, you always enjoyed cooking, even if you weren’t exactly – well – I wouldn’t have hired you for the Waldorf Astoria. But that’s great if you’re making a skill of it.’

‘Well, I’m not going to be working in lumber yards or foundries any more,’ Buz shrugged. ‘But I can flip hamburgers with the rest of them. Something to pay my own way, you know?’

‘We can do it, Buz,’ Tod said earnestly, leaning forward across the table. ‘You and me, just like before. We can travel around, job to job. Maybe we’ll stay a little longer each time, let you get used to the place, but we can do it.’

‘Yeah,’ Buz said. He drained the rest of his coffee, finding a mixture of half-dissolved sugar and the bitty hardness of escaped coffee grounds at the bottom. ‘Yeah, maybe we can do it.’

The thought scared him. He didn’t want to say that, but the thought of finding himself in a new town every few weeks scared him as much as it excited him. He had grown used to his room at the Camp, to knowing precisely where everything was kept, to being able to walk about there without worrying what might be in his way. He had grown to know the grounds in a strangely intimate way – the curves of each path and where the steps were, the feeling of different doors and how they opened, the echoing noises of each different space. It took time to get used to a place without seeing it – time that moving on every few weeks wouldn’t allow him. And then there was the getting of jobs. He knew how he would have looked at a blind man asking for work in a busy kitchen, or asking for work anywhere.

‘Hey,’ Tod said, and his hand touched Buz’s forearm, firm and reassuring. ‘I haven’t got my head in the stars, you know. I know it’s going to be hard. I mean, I’ve got no idea what you’re going through, really. But you know I’ll be there, buddy. I’ll see you through okay. And it won’t be a burden or a drag. It’ll be a pleasure. It’s no more than you’d do for me.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Buz said slowly. He couldn’t remember if he’d finished his burger. He picked up his fork, moving it lightly around the plate to check it was empty. ‘I know,’ he repeated. ‘Believe me, I appreciate it, buddy. I really do. It’s just hard to see the future, you know.’

‘I know,’ Tod said. He stood up and came around the table, clapping his hand to Buz’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go. I’m finished too.’

Buz stood and picked up his coat. Even though the year was moving on there was still a chill in the air outside. He swung the coat around to push his arms into the sleeves – and as he did he knocked against someone, there was a clattering splash of a cup dropping and a yell of annoyance and a hand shoved against him, sending him stumbling against the table.

‘Hey, watch out! Are you blind?’

Buz pushed his arms into his coat and did up the button, then turned to face the angry man. Some kind of hot embarrassment mixed with anger was pouring over him. He wanted so badly to hit out and knock that man to the ground.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said in a level, furious voice, his hands balling at his sides. ‘But I could still take you on if you want to step outside for a minute.’

‘Hey, Buz,’ Tod said immediately, his hand descending on Buz’s arm again. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m sorry, fella,’ the other man stuttered, all of his anger suddenly washed away by his own embarrassment. ‘I didn’t realise. It was only a cup of coffee. No big deal.’

Buz rose up on his toes, his shoulders stiff with tension, squaring on to the guy’s voice. ‘So you were all ready to push me around until you found out, huh? What’s so different now? Come on.’

‘Now, look, fella – ’

‘Buz, come on,’ Tod said, grabbing him by the arms and hustling him out of the diner into the fresh air of the street. ‘Don’t be a prize idiot. Why would you even want to fight that guy? I mean, besides that he’s built like a bull, besides the fact you can’t see to dodge punches or land punches.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he muttered, pulling himself away from Tod’s grasp and then realising that he was stood on the sidewalk, the noise of cars off to his right, people moving past him with slack footfalls and the murmur of voices. He wanted to run. He felt like a wound spring and he wanted to run, pushing all those people away, until he found a back alley somewhere where he could crouch down against a wall and heave breath in and out until he felt calm again. He had done that too many times to count, growing up.

He turned back, pulling in breath, trying to steady himself. He flexed his empty hands and then realised what was missing.

‘Do you have the cane?’ he asked, and he was surprised at how level his voice was.

‘Yeah, here it is,’ Tod said, putting it into his hand.

‘Thanks.’

Buz took it and tapped the end to the ground, listening to the subtle sound of echoes from the sharp noise. He couldn’t interpret them properly. His ears seemed to be ringing from anger and embarrassment. He could hear his own heart beating, his blood pushing through his veins.

‘Come on,’ Tod said, taking Buz’s free hand firmly and putting it to his arm. ‘Let’s walk.’