The Content of Their Character
Doug Larsen
I heard my sister clear her throat nervously, and her husband shifted uncomfortably beside her. Around us, the general hum of people in the cafeteria didn’t distract me from my three visitors.
My nephew Kenny vented a gusty sigh of boredom. My sister Vera probably shot him a warning look, because he made an annoyed noise in his throat.
“So,” Vera said in an artificially bright tone, “what are your plans for this weekend, Jim?”
“Nothing much,” I said. I never had anything much. I’d probably just sit and feel bad. I scrambled for something else to say. Visits from my sister and her family were horrible, but they were all I had, and I was terrified of losing them. “Maybe I’ll listen to the radio,” I added lamely. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Kenny let loose an almost muffled guffaw.
Sometimes I wondered if living in that care facility was such a good idea. At first it had been very liberating, not having to cook for myself, and getting help with the housework. And the other residents had been friendly, although they had since learned to leave me alone. But now I wondered if housework would have forced me to do something besides sit in my room and wonder why I had been so cursed to be born blind.
I could work on a software program over the weekend, but I knew I wouldn’t. Several years ago, I had developed a program that had been a moderate success on the national scene, and so I had enough money to live comfortably. Another reason to not do anything.
My big sister Vera did the best she could. She visited once a month, and dragged her husband and son along, although it was obvious that they hated it.
I didn’t like them either. Vera’s husband was no more interesting than I was, and their son Kenny was snide and nasty. I called him Ken to his face, but I thought of him as Henny Penny Kenny—a derogatory nickname that he hated. It was my little revenge for all of the putdowns I had to endure from him.
Most of the other residents of the care facility were forty or fifty years older than me. They were retired people who were still fully mobile, but liked the convenience and social opportunities offered by living in an apartment with social areas and a dining room. They were vigorous, intelligent, happy people, and I had no time for any of them. They had had a life. They still had a life. I never had.
Kenny sighed again, but I ignored it because I heard a bright, cheerful voice behind me. Rachel. I hoped she was heading my way.
Rachel, the center’s social director, was the only bright spot in my life. She knew everyone in the center by name, and genuinely cared about every one. She had a unique gift for showing concern for someone without showing pity. She was about my age. And she liked everyone. Even me.
Of course, it was her job to do all of this. I kept reminding myself of that. Why else would she exhibit any interest in a social, emotional, and physical cripple like me?
“Hi, Jim,” she said as she squeezed my shoulder in a way I’d come to love. “How are the four of you doing today?”
Vera’s family muttered suitable answers, but I sat up straighter. “Hi, Rachel,” I said in as hearty a voice as I could. “We’re doing fine, thanks.
How about you?”
I heard Kenny snigger again, and heard him whisper, “He’s interested in her??” but Rachel had already moved on to the next table.
When Vera and her sighing family finally left, I went back to my apartment to lock away the outside world and be by myself. It was a two-bedroom unit, so it had plenty of room for me to sit and do nothing, and that was precisely what I planned to do. But I had barely settled into my armchair when there was a knock on the door.
I sighed in irritation, and called out, “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and I heard Rachel’s voice.
“Jim? Can I come in?”
I was always glad to hear Rachel’s voice, so I made my tone a little more pleasant. “Come on in, Rachel.”
She came in slowly, and it sounded like she wasn’t alone. “Jim,” she said hesitantly, “I’ve brought you a prospective roommate.”
“I never requested a roommate,” I said uneasily.
“I know,” she said, “but I think you’ll like him, and I just wanted you to meet him.”
“Why?”
Before she could answer, a man’s voice came from behind her. “Because we have a lot in common,” he said.
I was rattled. “Who are you?”
“You’re Jim, right?” the voice answered. “I’m Jim, too.”
“Oh. Hi, Jim Too.”
He chuckled, not at all put off by my rude tone. “You’re a computer programmer,” he continued. “So am I. You’re in your mid-thirties. So am I. And since you have the good taste to have such a great first name, I think we’ll get along fine. Except I’ll call you James, so I’ll know if I’m talking to you, or to myself.”
I laughed, in spite of myself. “What are you doing in this care center?”
His voice took on some emotion under his humor. “Well, that’s the best part, James. I’m blind, too. I’ve been blind for fifteen years.”
Blind! For fifteen years! That meant more than fifteen years being able to see! What was worse—never seeing, or once being able to see, and then losing it? “Wow,” I said lamely. “Well—see—if I wanted a roommate, I’d probably pick you. But, see, I’m not looking for one.”
Rachel spoke, her voice aimed at the other Jim. “Jim, could you wait in the hall for a minute, please?”
“Sure,” Jim said, and I heard the door close. Rachel walked over to me and sat down.
“I don’t want a roommate,” I said with as much conviction as I could gather.
“Jim, listen to me,” she said firmly. “I’ve been worried about you. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to sit up here alone so much. I’ve found you an intelligent, friendly man who was interested in a single until I talked him into having a roommate. I want you to try this.”
I couldn’t say no to Rachel. And maybe she was right. My life stank right now. “OK,” I said meekly. “I’ll give it a try.”
She squeezed my arm, which was quite nice. “You won’t regret it.”
I only had two days to get used to the idea, and then the care center’s staff moved Jim’s stuff into my second bedroom.
“Where should we put this armchair and couch?” one of the moving men asked.
“It’s living room stuff,” Jim said. “Would it be OK if it went there, James?”
“Sure, I guess.”
I heard light, strong footsteps that I knew belonged to Rachel. “Everything’s working out in here, right?” she asked the room in general.
“Sure, sweetcakes,” one of the movers said.
“Fine,” Jim and I said in unison.
She walked up to us. “The first evening will probably be a little uncomfortable for both of you,” she said. “I suggest you chat about each other, and start to get to know each other a little.”
I had been planning on hiding in my bedroom, but I knew she was right. I dreaded the moment when everyone else left the apartment, and Jim and I were alone. Luckily, Jim took charge.
“Well, James,” he said, obviously sitting down, “I think we should clear up some important things first.”
“Like what?” I asked apprehensively.
“TV shows, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “I hate to miss the News Hour with Jim Lehrer. Any problems with that?”
He had a way of making me laugh, whether I wanted to or not. “No problems there,” I said.
“So far, so good. OK. On Gilligan’s Island: Ginger, or Mary Ann?”
“What??”
“Did you like Ginger or Mary Ann better?”
“Well—Mary Ann, I guess.”