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“Good. Again.”
Pounding the bag for the next ten minutes was cathartic. It’d been two days since the mall incident with Rain and then Lizzie’s meltdown in the car on the ride home.
It’d been complete radio silence since then.
I stopped by Lizzie’s place earlier today on my way to PT, but she didn’t sound like herself. She sounded groggy and tired. Sad.
I hated that more than being blind! Sad and Lizzie didn’t go together at all. One bright thing about the depressing visit was that I made it onto the elevators, all the way up to her floor, and to her front door, on my own.
And I almost fell only twice.
Mr. Magic and I were getting along well. Plus, I had Drey paint him bright green. Just to spite the white walking stick thing.
Hated white anyway.
“Good job, man.” Jeff slapped my shoulder. “We’ll see you in the ring yet.”
“This is the best training you’ve had for me so far.”
“Well, don’t get used to it. You’re still headed for the wobble board and ball.”
“Damn it.”
“Core strength and balance.”
“I know. I know. I’m blind, I’ll bump into things, meet obstacles I can’t predict. Need to be able to stay on my feet.” I reached out to smack him, but totally whiffed it.
“And, be aware of your surroundings.” He laughed.
“Jerk.”
“Seriously. Use your hearing. It’ll cue you to where people are. Blind people are targets. Getting snuck up on. Robbed. You have to be aware.”
“Is this PT stuff?”
“No. I teach some self-defense classes outside of the clinic.”
“As in, like, marital arts?”
“Sort of. Some of that, but more for people like you. People with disabilities. Empowerment, self-defense. Things like that.”
“Can you teach me how to kick ass even as a blind guy?”
“Maybe a few tricks.”
“Sweet. I’m in. When and where?”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Need to protect me and mine.”
He shoved me forward. “Keep hitting.”
Sounds of the PT room closed in on me. Grunts. Groans of pain. Whispering. Crying. Someone was crying. A girl. I turned around, wishing to God I could see what was going on.
“What’s up, man?” Jeff asked.
“Who’s crying?”
