“I didn’t know you could get kicked out of camp,” Isabel a said to her mother.
“I didn’t know either,” her mom said. “But it would be great if you were here to spend some time with him. He’s a little difficult these days.”
Every morning at eight-thirty, Isabel a’s brother dropped Connor off. Joseph was balding at a rapid rate. He looked old and tired to Isabel a. He was probably upset, but he appeared formal and detached; that’s how he always was. “Good morning, Isabel a,” he would say. Then he would bend down to talk to Connor, who scowled and remained silent.
Connor had been tested for every behavioral abnormality under the sun and had been diagnosed with some frightening acronyms. Now they were working with a therapist to “overcome his chal enges.” He was odd. Isabel a couldn’t deny that. But she’d always had a fondness for Connor.
He was her oldest nephew and always told her she was his favorite aunt. He always chose to sit next to her. He was sensitive. (Plus, his mother had run off with a man she’d met on the Internet, leaving Connor and his sister with their dad. You had to cut the kid some slack.) Last Thanksgiving, Connor made up a game. He would draw a box, then draw three objects. “Okay,” he’d say. “You’re locked in a room with a gun, a bomb, and a phone. What do you do?” No one else but Isabel a would play the game.
“What would you do, Auntie Iz?” Connor asked.
“I would use the phone to cal outside,” Isabel a said. “I would warn them to get away, then I would blow a hole in the wal with the bomb and have the gun just in case anyone dangerous was out there.”
Connor looked pleased with her answer, and said quickly, “Okay, good one.” He nodded his head four times. Then he started drawing another room with three new objects.
Al week, Isabel a tried to keep Connor occupied. She took him swimming, she took him to play tennis. They went to see a movie, and went to check out books at the library. But on the last day Isabel a was there, they ran out of things to do. They sat in the playroom, staring at each other.
“Do you want to play a game, Auntie Iz?” Connor asked. Isabel a didn’t, but she said yes.
“Okay, so here’s the game. It’s cal ed Deaf or Blind. So first, you tel me if you would rather be deaf or blind.”
“Blind,” Isabel a said. Connor looked annoyed. He was holding earplugs he’d found in her dad’s room.
“You should choose deaf,” he said. “It’s better.”
“But I want to make sure I can stil hear music. I’m going to choose blind.”
Connor shook his head like he couldn’t believe she was making this choice. “Okay,” he said, “hold on.” He went over to the dress-up chest and rummaged around for a while, until he found a bandanna that had once been part of a cowboy costume.
“You know,” he said, “it’s a lot scarier to be blind.” Isabel a nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ve never picked blind before. It seems scary.”
“I think I’l be okay,” Isabel a said.
“Are you scared?” he asked.
“Just a little bit, but not too much.” Connor looked at her with admiration.
He stood behind her and wrapped the bandanna around her eyes and then tightened it. Isabel a saw the blackness, and then, as he pul ed it tighter, bursts of light started to explode. “You can’t see, right? Auntie Iz, you can’t see anything, right?” Isabel a shook her head no.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go in another room and you have to count to a hundred and then come find me. You can cal my name three times. Wait, no, only two times. If you cal my name three times, then you lose points, okay? And I’l answer you so that you can try to hear where I am.”
“Got it,” Isabel a said.
“Okay. This is hard, though, Auntie Iz. You have to listen with your insides. You can listen in a way that you didn’t before. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Connor walked out of the room and then Isabel a heard him stop. “But Auntie Iz? If you get scared or fal down, you can take it off, okay? That’s okay.” Isabel a nodded. She felt Connor touch her eyes softly. “You real y can’t see, right? Okay, here we go.”
Isabel a heard him run out of the room and shout, “Okay, go!” She was counting to one hundred in her head, and then she heard him say, “Auntie Iz, you have to count out loud!” So she started over. “One, two, three, four,” she said, and then she heard him scream, “Slower!” so she slowed down.
She heard a door slam downstairs and then voices. Her mother was talking to Connor. Isabel a could tel that he was frustrated that she was interrupting the game. Then she heard her brother’s voice. They were talking to Connor like he was younger than he real y was, and Isabel a felt bad for him. She hadn’t noticed how their voices changed when they talked to him. She heard them ask him about where she was.
“No,” she heard him say. “No, you can’t get Auntie Iz now. She can’t come in here yet. She’s blind,” and Isabel a was struck by how he said that last word. He said it like he was proud of her for choosing the blindness, like he was amazed that she would choose not to see.
She could hear Connor’s voice start to rise. His pitch got higher and his volume louder as he said, “No, you said three-thirty and it’s only three o’clock. I’m not ready. I’m not finished.” Isabel a knew that he was shaking his head as he said this, tightening his arms and shaking them back and forth with quick, little movements. She had seen him work his way into a fit a number of times in the past week, but now she just listened.
“I’m not done, I’m not ready!” he said. “Izzy is stil blind, and I didn’t know you were coming yet. I’m not done! I’m not done!”
Isabel a listened to him as he shrieked so high and loud that she knew the neighbors could hear. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go!” he yel ed. She listened to her mother and brother try to quiet him down, try to plead with him to settle himself. But he didn’t. Connor screamed with al of his might. He fought against it with everything
