Beauty Returns

by Sylvia McNicoll

  Elizabeth walks me to the bus stop.

  “If you want to drop the harness and use the leash, I can guide you,” she suggests.

  “No! Beauty guides me.”

  What is wrong with me? I can hear the bite in my tone and feel the edginess inside me. Irritation crawls under my skin; do I need more insulin? Why now? I put my hand out to touch her and find calm again. It lands on her shoulder.

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  No answer. What is she thinking?

  “Don’t nod, I can’t see you!” The bite turns sharper. “Sorry, sure.” Her small hand slips into mine— instant soothing warmth.

  “Forward, Beauty. Forward, I mean it.”

  I feel the dog turning in her harness to look at Elizabeth. I don’t want her to look elsewhere for my commands. I rattle at her harness harder than ever before. She finally moves. I want to scratch everywhere. What is wrong with me? Then it comes to me. I ate more snack than usual so my blood sugar wouldn’t crash while we Rollerbladed. Of course—all I ended up doing was sitting, singing, and kissing. I’ll have to give myself more insulin. A regular guy out with his girl, what I wouldn’t give if I could just be that.

  “Can we try Rollerblading tomorrow?” I ask when we arrive at the bus stop.

  “Mom’s home then. I’d love to, only can we make it next week?”

  She’s delaying, does she really want to go? Is she playing hard to get?

  “Mom works late in the afternoons so she won’t have to know.”

  There’s a pleading note in her voice, she must want to try again. I smile through the edginess and nod.

  “Can you give me your cell number in case something comes up again?” she asks me.

  The bus rumbles up, squealing, and puffing out hot diesel fumes as I tell Elizabeth the number. Beauty doesn’t want to move again. She hates buses anyway.

  “Find the door, Beauty. Now! Forward. Come on!”

  I climb the steps and end up standing all the way home with her, squeezed between rush-hour commuters. At least that’s extra exercise, maybe that will bring my level down. It’s all I can do not to elbow everyone away from us.

  We get home after the usual five-block walk. I should be glad I can do it myself—last year, it would have been impossible. But Mom is already waiting, sounding almost as annoyed as I feel.

  “I came home early with your book so we could start reading. Where were you?”

  “Just out, Mom.”

  The book, Blindness, the swearing incident with Mr. Veen, I’ve forgotten all about them. Spending time with Elizabeth has put it all out of my mind till this minute.

  “You went out by yourself. How would I know that you even made it home alive?”

  “I walked with Shawna. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “She’s not home either.”

  “Well, we would have left you a note but how could we know you’d be home?”

  “Never mind that now. Hurry and sit down. Maybe we can get through the first two chapters before supper.”

  “No. Honestly, Mom. Not now.”

  “What’s wrong? Did you have your snack? You sound funny.”

  I hate the way Mom almost knows from my voice that something’s wrong.

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Okay. Let’s read and get this over with.”

  Any voice usually reads with more passion than Perfect Paul, the one I’ve selected on my screen-reading program, but Mom’s voice sounds flat. Is she still annoyed with me?

  She’s reading quickly, too, like she needs to get it over with—and, let’s face it, Mom always has a million things to do. Then I hear the edge creeping into her voice. She can’t believe what’s happening in the plot. She’s zipping along as fast as she dares, but the story line upsets her as much as it does me, and she breaks down and finally asks, “Why do you want to read this book again?”

  “Because it’s a Nobel Prize-winner. No one can argue that it’s not literary enough. I’m going to ace English and get into Queens, Mom. And there’s another reason.”

  “I’m listening.” Then the phone warbles, and I know I’ve lost her attention.

  “Go ahead and answer it,” I tell her, irritated.

  Hearing only Mom’s side of the conversation, I still know it’s Elizabeth’s mother on the other end.

  “My son would never…I raised him to be a gentleman!” The rising pitch of Mom’s voice tells me Liz’s mother is getting to her.

  When she hangs up, she turns to me.

  “That was your new friend’s mother. You’re to stay away from her. She’s too young for you. And just to help you with that, I’m grounding you—two weeks. I’ll call home at 3:45 every day, to make sure you’re at home doing your homework the way you’re supposed to be on a week night.”

  “You’re just using this as an excuse. You’ll feel really safe if I’m tied down to house, won’t you?”

  “I never feel safe about you, but let’s be clear about this. That girl’s mother doesn’t want you anywhere near her daughter. And you have an English project to finish, so no arguing. Now go take your insulin.”

  I stomp off into my room and kick the bureau in frustration. The clinkety clatter of my needles spilling from their jar reminds me, just like Mom’s nagging voice, that it’s blood testing time. I scoop them up and stuff all but one back in their place. I use that needle to prick the side of my index finger and bleed into my glucometer— only to find that, yes, I need some extra units of insulin. How much of my anger is real? I wonder as I lift my shirt and inject myself with a syringe. Who knows? I wait a few minutes and then call Liz on the phone. Her voice sounds sad, and I tell her about my 3:45 curfew.

  “If we had a car, we could still Rollerblade and make it,” she tells me.

  “Neither of us could drive it though,” I remind her.

  She chuckles, happy bubbles of sound, and it doesn’t seem so bad. I promise Liz we’ll find a way. We’ll work things out.

  Her voice drops.

  “My father’s home. Do you have an MSN address? I’m not sure I can call you anymore.”

  I give it to her, and she hangs up. The click sounds so final, but Elizabeth likes me so I won’t let myself feel bad. Instead, I grab my guitar and strum, shifting my fingers from chord to chord. That always helps. Beauty’s muzzle anchors itself on my knee—that feels good, too. She loves music—C, G, F—I love the guitar, too, and I hunt for the combination of chords that most resembles Liz’s voice.

  The feeling overwhelms me again. The one that makes me want to absorb Liz right into my skin. I put together words.

  I want to be closer

  To feel your skin breathe into mine

  To have your heart beat out my rhythm

  And make you all mine…

  It’s probably wrong to feel this way. She’s too young for me, as Ryan says. Everything about Liz feels so right to me, though, like she’s everyone I’ve ever wanted. I loved Maddie, for sure, but this love is different. It’s like I’ve been swallowed. I sing my words over a few times, strumming different chords till my fingers hurt.

  A soft chime from my computer signals I have an instant message. Is it her? I feel a rush just at the possibility so I switch on Perfect Paul to read the message to me.

  “Comatose King: Hey, Music Man, Party time this weekend. Up to a beer run?”

  In Perfect Paul’s voice, Ryan sounds calm and reasonable. I type back: Music Man: Busted for seeing Liz. Can’t make it.

  “Comatose King: Bummer! How’s next weekend look?”

  Grounded for 2, no can do. But the suds. We can buy them at lunch, Friday. You can drive.

  Ryan’s dad lets him use his 2003 Mustang convertible all the time. He’s actually going to give it to him if he graduates from high school this year. But what’s even cooler is that Ryan lets me drive it, in the church parking lot. Well, it’s usually in exchange for buying the party beer. We have this whole beggar-boy routine going. I stand in front of the beer store wearing my b
ig black shades and looking lost. Then I pester some sucker into buying us a two-four. You don’t want to ask a blind kid for ID, after all. I hate doing it but love driving.

  Then it hits me like a lightning bolt: I’ll swap a different kind of favour.

  Music Man: Don’t want to drive. Will take a lift to the park instead. Me and Liz.

  “Comatose King: Red-haired Girl. All right, Music Man. See you Monday.”

  Next I key in Elizabeth’s addresses.

  Music Man: Liz, it’s me, Kyle.

  I’m lucky. She’s on the computer.

  “Red: Hi, Kyle, waz up.”

  It’s a shock hearing her words from Perfect Paul.

  Music Man: Bring the Rollerblades to school next Friday. I’ve found a way.

  CHAPTER 11

  Elizabeth and Magic

  Back from walking with Kyle to the bus stop, I overhear Debra talking to Mom as I walk through the door.

  “I can’t believe you’d let her go out with a blind guy. What does she even see in him?”

  The whole day’s events boil up inside me and I explode.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  I barrel into the kitchen to let Magic out of her crate.

  She wags her tail and stands up immediately, but I’m too angry to pat her. She chases after me as I rush into the living room.

  “I had a date to go Rollerblading with Kyle. You dumped me with your kid, so I couldn’t go.”

  “You can’t take him Rollerblading. He’ll kill himself,” Rolph interrupts from the sidelines.

  I glance away from Debra to Rolph, who’s leaning back on Dad’s reclining chair, hands behind his head, so comfortable—too comfortable.

  “Elizabeth, it’s not that he’s blind,” Mom says. “This boy is too old for you!”

  She’s perched on the edge of the couch beside Debra. Both of them hold cups of tea. Debra also has a nursery monitor in her lap. Oh, sure, for them Teal sleeps quietly in his crib.

  “Kyle’s seventeen. Come on Mom, Dad’s three years older than you!”

  “That’s different!” She clatters her teacup down on the coffee table.

  “Why?”

  “Be reasonable.” Mom hisses like a snake coiled to attack. “We wouldn’t put Teal in junior kindergarten with four-year-olds. When you’re young, three years makes a huge difference.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m a toddler?”

  “No, what she’s really saying…” Rolph butts in, “is that he’s only in it for sex.”

  “Shut up! Not everyone’s like you. Why are you even here? My sister has a new boyfriend, or hasn’t she told you?”

  Rolph pitches forward. Debra shrieks.

  “Elizabeth! Go to your room.” Mom flings up her arm, pointing out the direction, as though I don’t know the way.

  “Gladly. Come on, Magic.” I stomp off, with Magic trotting behind me.

  She’s not supposed to jump up on furniture, but once in my room I throw myself onto my bed and pat the spot beside me. What can it hurt? She’s not going to be guiding herself, and it’s not like her puppies will inherit the tendency.

  Magic licks at my face till I finally pull away, rubbing my own sleeve across my drooly wet cheeks and chin. How can you stay upset with a dog’s face right in yours, watching your every eye-blink and expression change? I stroke her golden head as I lie back and contemplate the ceiling. I play and replay conversations with my mother, or Rolph, or Deb. In all of them, I end up ahead with the last word, and they realize how wrong they are. It gets dark in my room, and I don’t have the energy to get up and switch on the light. I doze slightly.

  The phone rings. Magic’s ears lift, and I rub the tip of one between two fingers as I pick up the portable from my desk. It’s Kyle. He tells me my mother called his, and I want to kill her all over. But I continue to feel the velvety soft tip of Magic’s ear and to grit my teeth. Her head angles to one side.

  “I’ve been grounded for two weeks so I can concentrate on my comparative essay. Really, I need so much extra time to do my homework. It’s probably for the best.”

  “My mother teaches English at Sheridan College,” I tell Kyle. “She could have helped you write a killer essay.”

  “What, you think I can’t do it by myself?”

  He’s silent for a moment, then apologizes. “I’m sorry.

  Sometimes when I don’t get my insulin dose just right, I get irritable.”

  “Why don’t you test your blood sugar more often?”

  Kyle sighs. “It just plain hurts my fingers, and after, it’s hard to play guitar.”

  “Can’t you test some other place?”

  “My toes or my ears. But I have to watch for sores, especially on my feet. Diabetics have poor circulation and get infections easily. I’d rather die than lose a leg. And—obviously, I can’t see to check my feet over routinely. ”

  I don’t know what to say about that. If I had a choice over losing my legs or my vision, I think I’d choose a leg. Once I was blind, I can’t imagine losing a leg or anything else could ever be as big a deal.

  Kyle continues. “Listen, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to load all this on you. It’s something I’m working on. You’re important to me, and I don’t want anything to get between us.”

  Too late, Mom’s right there already, I think. I feel so connected to Kyle. I can only hope that my sister Deb distracts Mom’s attention with all her drama so that I can see him again.

  “You’re…important to me too.”

  Magic barks, and I hear the garage door opening. Dad’s home. I know he’ll be sent up to talk to me, which makes me want to get off the phone in a hurry. It’s hard to pay attention to what Kyle’s saying anymore, I’m so distracted. I cut the conversation short and slam down the receiver as louder discussions start in the kitchen.

  “She said what to him?” Dad hollers.

  Murmur, murmur, murmur is the answer. Magic’s ears perk up, and my fingers slip from the one I was rubbing. Dad’s stomping down the hall.

  “I won’t let them get to me. Don’t worry, girl. It’s all good. For the first time in my life, I have a dog I can keep. And a boy that I think I can love forever.”

  My father knocks on the door.

  “Elizabeth, may I come in? I have to speak to you.”

  “Okay.”

  I’d rather talk to him than Mom—although, no contest, she’s the boss. Anything Dad and I agree on will have to be cleared with her later.

  Dad walks in, still dressed in his business casual: a red golf shirt and navy wrinkle-free slacks. He sits on the bed, squeezing onto a small space left by Magic, smiling and patting her. No one can stay mad if they pat a dog.

  “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

  I shrug. With her golden fur and eyes, Magic is classically beautiful. Beauty, the Chocolate Lab had—has—an odd look, with her pink lips, gums and eyelids. Still I’d feel disloyal favouring this dog’s looks over Beauty.

  “It’s all about what’s inside.” I sit up and pat Magic too. “Isn’t that what you and Mom always say?”

  “Look at her eyes. Don’t you think Magic is beautiful on the inside, too?” Dad asks.

  “Yeah, probably. I just don’t know her as well as Beauty yet.”

  “Speaking of which, do you think it’s a good idea for you to see her new owner?” Dad asks me, looking directly into my eyes. Flecked with brown, his irises look just like mine.

  “He’s not her owner—he’s her handler. Canine Vision Canada owns all the dogs.”

  Dad keeps looking at me patiently, and then I break from the stare and glance down.

  “His name is Kyle. Beauty will adjust. She’ll learn to concentrate even when I’m around.”

  “Mmm. Shouldn’t she already know how, by now? Isn’t that what they train the dogs to do at Canine Vision?”

  I look back up at him and raise my voice.

  “I can’t always give up everyone I love. I don’t want
to give up Kyle, and I don’t want to stop seeing Beauty.”

  Dad speaks even more calmly.

  “You’re going to have to, Elizabeth. Your mother will not allow you to go out with this boy.”

  “That’s not fair!” I punch the bed hard, and Magic jumps up.

  “If I hadn’t got stuck babysitting today, she would have never known about him.”

  “But now we all know,” Dad answers, no change in his tone.

  “You can’t let her do this! I didn’t want to watch the brat today. I didn’t have any say. I’m always stuck with everyone else’s choices!”

  “If you’re talking about Debra, that’s another issue. Teal must see his father. We’re all stuck with that.”

  “Exactly!”

  “But we want to take care that Rolph sees him on our terms—not that he fights to get him on a more permanent basis. To mention a new boyfriend to him, real or imagined, wasn’t a smart thing to do.”

  “I know. He just made me so mad. He’s always hanging around, and now he’s telling me what to do. He’s the one who really got Mom going. He said Kyle was only interested in me for sex.”

  “Well, you’re certainly too young for that, Elizabeth.”

  Dad sounds less calm now, angry even. Why? What have I done? Nothing—it’s all about what Debra did, and what they assume I might do, too. He lectures on.

  “You’re only fifteen. Come on, what is he, in his final year? Your mom said he looked older, more mature…” Dad trails off.

  “So you think Rolph’s right—the only reason a seventeen-year-old would go out with me is for sex.”

  “Not the only reason.”

  “Dad, I’m going to keep seeing him.”

  “Not for the next two weeks you’re not. You’re grounded. And no boys in the house when you’re alone. You know the rules.”

  I look at Dad, bald, wrinkled, and beaten. I purse my lips. I could live with the grounding and the no-boys-in-the-house rule—but Mom said something else. She won’t let me go out with Kyle ever. If I have to break one rule, I may as well break them all. And the good thing about Mom’s teaching at the college is that she has late classes every day. If I time my Rollerblading correctly, so I’m home by six, she’ll never have to know I’ve seen Kyle at all.