Thunder Dog - Michael Hingson [26]
There are no windows in the stairwell. There are hundreds of us enclosed in cement and steel. We don’t know what’s going on above us or below us. We have no idea what’s happening outside or even on the floors as we pass by. Without cell phones or contact with the outside, we are, all of us, in a blind descent.
Then the thought I’ve been pushing away returns. I can’t ignore it anymore. What if the power goes out? If the fire spreads or the power systems begin to fail for some other reason related to the crash, the stairwell would be plunged into darkness. Through voices, breath, and movement, I can tell that the people around me are anxious, driven by a desire to get out of the building and into fresh air and freedom. There is no panic yet. New Yorkers are tough. But if everything goes dark, that could change. The irony is that if the power went out, Roselle and I would be fine. After living for fifty years in a world designed for the sighted, I’ve been forced to find ways to adapt and to cope. My parents’ refusal to send me away to a home for the blind because I might become a burden prompted me instead to get creative, to learn how to survive, and to find and use the tools I need to make a life. A very good life.
There are certain advantages to being blind. I can save money on electricity. When I became proficient at reading Braille, I used to stay up till all hours reading in the dark. I like to think my parents never knew, but parents know everything, so they probably had a pretty good idea of what I was doing when I was supposed to be sleeping. I’ve developed a strong awareness of people’s thoughts and feelings, gleaned from the sounds of their movements and their voices. I can’t read their faces or look in their eyes, so I read everything else. I can’t even really verbalize how I pick up on feelings and thoughts; it’s intuition, honed by years of listening carefully. I learned to hear the coffee table, I learned to hear the driveways on my street, and I learned to hear people’s emotions, too.
Try it out. If you are angry or irritated, the muscles in your face tighten up, especially around your mouth and lips, and the tone of your voice changes. It’s sharp and short. On the other hand, if you are happy and relaxed, even smiling, your voice takes on a relaxed, open tone. It’s the same with other emotions and mental states, such as sleepiness, sadness, guilt, fear, anxiety, enthusiasm, and love. I can hear them. Anyone can, if they pay attention.
The challenge of growing up blind also forced me to develop a boldness and a confidence as I faced new situations. And working with a partner helps.
Suddenly a thought hits me. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?
I can be a guide.
If the lights go out, Roselle will guide me, and I’ll guide the others. The lights might not work, but we can still get out. Roselle and I will lead the way.
Immediately, the fear lifts. I take a deep breath, hold it, and breathe out. Relax. We are still moving downward, a long line of people on a journey none of us wanted or anticipated. But we are in it together.
I call out, my voice loud and strong. “Don’t anybody worry. Roselle and I are giving a half-price special to get you out of here if the lights go out.” People around me laugh. The mood lightens, and we talk quietly as we walk.
I like to think that even in the most serious situations, I can find humor or some other way of relieving stress. I learned a lot about this in college.
Heading off to college challenged me to learn how to manage my fears. At first, being out on my own was