Thank You Verona

January 18, 2018 | Filed under blindness Guide dogs Poem Relationships writing Writing Life

I got on the bus last week and took out my cell to pass the time. I opened Face Book and fingered through my status and read that it has been 9 years since I met Verona. I shared the milestone like a good little FB user but the nostalgia stayed with me all day. I wasn’t able to reach out and pet her to say thanks for a wonderful first guide dog experience. It was like not saying “I love you,” to my human family upon leaving for a day’s work.

There are so many reasons for writing this post, from appreciating the people involved in bringing Verona and I together to those who helped me make the decision to retire her and supporting our family so we could keep her and let her live out her retirement with regal dignity.

It’s a little overkill, perhaps, to keep writing about this dog, but, hey, I write about relationships and the most meaningful ones have been with dogs, so, you know, write what you know, right?

Verona continues to provide unconditional love dressed in ebony, a constantly wagging tail, and a gentle nature. She is the only dog in our lives that has generated a fan club and a long list of possible retirement homes when folks heard she was hanging up the harness. All the paratransit bus drivers talked about her, how intelligent she looked, that she “has smart eyes,”. We are featured in the para transit taxi program brochure; when she retired, the local newspaper wrote an article about how much the veterans would miss her. She saw her trainer the other day and actually jumped up to lick her face, prancing around like she was two years old. It is in these moments for which I feel grateful. I am appreciative of the dedication and expert attention to her training and breeding. Our family has benefitted from such a phenomenal dog, she is a true Labrador retriever and the kind of guide dog who became an ambassador because of her character. This is why I write about her so much, have written a book, two poems and dozens of articles about her. She is exceptional. It is this piece of canine personality which grabs our attention and stays with us. It is this type, this definition that sticks to our hearts like Velcro and owns a part of our hearts making us grieve when the animal passes.

People talk about soul mates, and a great guide dog match is similar. Some folks refer to it as a spirit dog, or a heart dog. I felt her unique energy the first time we met and don’t ever want to forget it. The energy still keeps me grounded, gives me confidence.

Here’s to you, Verona, sweet girl, whose ability to trust me and to have been able to take us places and lead us into adventures is the most powerful partnerships I’ve known. Happy ninth anniversary. I love you.

The Authenticity Gnome

December 19, 2017 | Filed under Relationships writing

I picked out another fossilized pine needle from my sock; it was so dry I thought it was a tooth pick. How did it get in my shoe, then poke through my sock and the my tender tootsie? I believe it is the curse of the authenticity gnome. Yes, the bug-eyed eccentric mini-man is related to the elusive cousin, the elf on the shelf and looks similar to its country cousin, the garden gnome. It takes the needles from the old Christmas trees and sprinkles them into the radiator, the closet, and the bowl of water left for the dogs. This nefarious little creature also infuses the needles with a special energy that pushes them out from under the vacuum and broom.

You see, it does these things to keep us from deciding to opt for a fake tree, what is now called a fiber optic tree. It works like this: when a human is picking the old pine needles from the clogged vacuum, the human thinks, I should really buy a fake tree so I don’t have to do this anymore. Then the human looks off into the distance, recalling the many holidays, the smell of fresh balsam and gifts given that brought smiles and thanks and as the human sets down the unclogged vacuum, the thought of the facsimile tree is wiped from the human’s frontal lobe by a magical flick of a stubby authenticity gnome finger. Classic reverse psychology and it works. I wonder if they get kick backs from the tree farms.

A Kiss From Arrow

December 17, 2017 | Filed under blindness Guide dogs Relationships writing Writing Life

The photo depicts Arrow kissing my face.
What could be more comforting than puppy kisses? This is what I thought as I held yellow lab pup Arrow. She wagged her tail the whole time I held her and she tickled my cheek with her warm tongue. Every time I get the chance to hold a puppy, I think, is this pup going to grow up to be a guide dog? A detection dog? A search and rescue dog? The only fact I can rely upon for a pup like Arrow is this: no matter where it goes, it will be loved and cared for and given a rewarding life, whether it guides or is given a place in a forever home. Thanks to Guiding Eyes, A pup like Arrow will learn to develop its innate traits so it can grow to become a well-rounded and confident dog.

As someone who has marveled at and given much thought on the psychological growth of puppies, knowing a purpose bred pup like Arrow is nurtured and encouraged to embrace its true potential is amazing; every pup has a gleam of potential and when graduation time comes and I hear their name I send up a huge thanks to those who have contributed to make it happen.

May you and your loved ones share a happy and peaceful holiday season and Merry Christmas from all of us here at Castle Chiappetta

Being Pawsitive

November 21, 2017 | Filed under blindness Fiction Guide dogs Poem Relationships writing Writing Life

Thanksgiving is about staying connected and sharing love and companionship. For guide and service dog teams, it means so much and more – here’s to our partners and how much we appreciate their unconditional regard, trust and protection of us.
Whatever you bring to the table, Bailey, Verona, Nikka, Titan the cat and the humans in our home wish you all peace and warmth.

Read on for a book update.

Well, readers, since the last post, FOLLOW YOUR DOG has taken off at a solid trot. It seems like just about every time I’ve asked businesses and other entities to consider a partnership the answer is YES. I am pleased and just a little bit intimidated by it. Don’t worry, though; I have been practicing for this for what seems like years and Bailey and I are ready for the attention. I hope, gulp.

Go to http://www.dldbooks.com/annchiappetta/ to fill up a stocking or two with the new book.
Guiding Eyes for the Blind has been gracious and supportive, too, which is an added bonus. If you are reading this blog post, consider them as one of your organizations of choice for monetary giving. Go to www.guidingeyes.org/

If you are in the Yorktown Hight’s neighborhood on December 9 for the Guiding Eyes graduation, I would be happy to personally sign your copy of the book. Stay tuned for more information on the event or visit my personal website to find out more about other events to promote the book: www.annchiappetta.com

Ahead of Schedule!

October 29, 2017 | Filed under blindness Fiction Guide dogs Poem Relationships writing Writing Life

For Immediate Release

Contact: Ann Chiappetta, author 914-393-6605 ann.m.chiappetta@gmail.com

Writer tells Compelling Tale, and it is all for the love of dogs
New Rochelle, New York — October 24, 2017 – Local author and poet, Ann Chiappetta, celebrates the release of her second book, a memoir titled, “Follow Your Dog: a Story of Love and Trust”.
Legally blind since 1993, Chiappetta received her first guide dog from Guiding Eyes for the Blind in 2009. The nonfiction book tells of her struggles growing up as a visually impaired child and learning how to cope with progressive vision loss while working and raising her family. Throughout the book, her relationship with each dog in her life at the time shares a prominent place.

“It’s all about the dog,” she says, summing up being out in public with her guide dog, adding, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The latter half of the book focuses on the human and canine bond that develops when matched with a guide dog. Chiappetta writes, from the back cover: “With this book, I hope to take the reader on a journey of understanding: learning what it’s like to overcome the darker side of disability by walking the path of independence with a canine partner. “
Chiappetta will be scheduling book signings and readings throughout the United States, beginning with a book signing at Guiding Eyes for the Blind in Yorktown Heights on December 9. The book is available from popular eBook and print on demand booksellers.

To purchase Ann’s book, go to http://www.dldbooks.com/annchiappetta/
Or, to access Ann’s schedule of book signings and interviews, past interviews, or request her as a guest speaker, go to https://www.annchiappetta.com

To find out more about the publisher, go to http://www.dldbooks.com
To find out more about Guiding Eyes for the Blind, visit http://www.guidingeyes.org

An Oldie but a Goody

October 8, 2017 | Filed under Fiction Relationships writing Writing Life

Ann Chiappetta
Iona College
Dept. of Pastoral Counseling & Marriage and Family Therapy
CNS-510 Lifespan Development
Br. K. Barry
3/15/05

The Breakfast Club and the Systems Within

They are sometimes morbidly, often curiously, preoccupied with what they appear to be in the eyes of others as compared with what they think they are
–from Identity, Youth and Crisis (1968) by Erik Erikson

Dear Br. Barry;
You asked each of us to watch this movie and comment on it. To make inferences based on implications. I accept the fact that I had to sacrifice five whole days to write this paper because I had to take this class. Call me crazy but I think it’s crazy. What I really want to know is, with which character do you most identify?
Sincerely,
A breakfast skipper

Introduction
The characters portrayed in this film dramatize what it is like to be human, to grow, to stagnate, and to take chances. For instance, Mr. Vernon’s midlife crisis reminds us that teens are not the only ones who struggle with identity. According to Erik Erikson, midlife crisis is referred to as “generativity vs. stagnation, the seventh stage of human development called middle adulthood. Mr. Vernon is suffering from disillusionment and is questioning his decision to become a teacher and administrator. He is essentially seeking out the very same things that the five teens in detention are seeking: a sense of purpose and belonging.

The following is an analysis based on a systemic perspective. The purpose of this paper is to compare and contrast the elements of what defines the family system and the peer system. Additionally, pursuing connections and/or identifying the differences between the two groups exposes the motivations of the individual and his/her interactions in a group setting.

John’ Bender the Criminal
“Eat my shorts.”
He is the bad-boy; neglected, tortured, and lost; he elicits your attention because without it he knows no other way of affirming his own existence. A trained clinician would note that John is angry, resentful, and insecure. Conversely, the same clinician would note that John is resourceful, observant, and able to create cohesiveness in the group by challenging them. We see this in the beginning of the film when he sabotages the library door. No one reports him to Mr. Vernon assuring him that he can take charge. By the end of the day, John successfully roots out and exposs everyone’s foibles as well as sharing the ugliest parts of his home life, like the cigar burns on his forearm. The clinician watching this film would make an educated guess that he likes being in control of others and feeling powerful boosts his self-esteem. It is suggested that John is living in an abusive household with and alcoholic father. Because of his unstable home life, the only way John can communicate is by creating chaos and finding out about others through his/her own negative experiences. This particular group provides John with a sense of belonging, a dynamic he cannot find at home. The peer system is a surrogate for the things he is missing in the family system.
Whether he is aware of it or not, John symbolizes the desire to rebel against authority in order to affirm his place in society. He has already found that by being an outsider, he does not need to conform. Erikson asserts that when someone like John is “driven to the extreme of their condition [they] find greater sense of identity in being withdrawn or in being delinquent than in anything society has to offer them (1968, p. 254).” This is apparent in John’s disdain for authority and others, like Andy and Claire, who have made the choice to assimilate into the larger peer group. John holds back but it is not clear if he does so because he is afraid or if he has found another secure group outside the school’s influence.

Allison Reynolds the Basket-Case
“When we grow up our soul dies.”
Allison is the least differentiated person in the group. She is the basket-case, symbolizing the least developmentally evolved personality. She is the least attached to the peer system, her identity evolving through out the entire film. Because the family system appears to be disconnected, Allison’s own sense of balance is affected. For example, her confrontational way of speaking at awkward moments and/or refusal to speak leads this clinician to extrapolate that Allison is not skilled in the social graces. She admits to lying, stealing, and sexual promiscuity to seek attention from the others yet is reluctant to speak honestly about herself when asked. Seeking negative attention is Allison’s preferred way of communicating with others. She most likely learned this maladaptive skill from her family system. When pushed, she admits to being ignored by her family and that her home life is “unsatisfying”. A good clinician would hypothesize that Allison is being emotionally neglected and quite possibly physically neglected as well. For example, her hair looks unwashed and her clothes appear to be borrowed. She has strange eating habits, as if pop-tarts and cornflakes are all she is offered or accustomed. She is missing the little bits and pieces of parental instructions and/or demonstrations, like her mother making sure she has a nutritious lunch and clean clothes. Things most children in middle-class America take for granted. These clues point to parental neglect.
Allison’s place within her peer group is precarious, evident by the way she often hesitates joining in and holding back. Her fear of rejection is stronger than her need to belong, to test where she fits. A good clinician would conclude that her hesitation in joining her peers is a result of feeling lost within her family system.

Claire Standish the Princess
“I hate it! I hate having to go along with everything my friends say!”
John calls her a “richie”. Andy is her friend, Brian lusts after her,and Allison , well, her opinion of Claire changes by the end of the film. It’s hard to feel sorry for her; she is priviledged, attractive, and intelligent. She lives in a world that all of the other kids can only imagine. She is the popular girl, a role model for the other girls in the school to emulate. She says she hates it yet she seems to be quite comfortable in her role until John uncovers what’s going on in her family system: divorce, alcoholism, infidelity, and perhaps a bit of high-brow rebellion. After all, she did cut school to go shopping.
Since Claire is the top of this particular peer system it is noteworthy to pay attention to how guarded she is throughout most of the film. She fiercely defends her place in the group by magnifying the faults of others while defending her character. It works quite well in keeping everyone else in his or her place, except for John. A clinician would surmise that this is how Claire’s family system operates, or rather, how she operates within the family system. She likely has to guard herself against the conflict between her parents. She mentions that she disobeys her mother only when her father compels her to and that if she had to choose who to live with, she would choose her older brother instead. Claire, like all the others, cannot escape the parallelisms that exist between the family and peer system. The more she struggles against the yoke of preconceived expectations, the tighter she is entwined.

Andrew Clark the Athlete
“He is like this mindless machine that I can’t even relate to anymore.”
Andy is describing his inability to connect with his father. Andy sees himself as less than human. He feels as if he’s being used for his athletic prowess and that his emotional needs are being ignored. Andy wants to do the right thing but is easily influenced by his father’s worldview. A clinician would conclude that Andy is also an angry young man but for different reasons than those of John Bender. Simply put, he is being exploited by his father’s overpowering need to excel, to win at all costs, even at his own son’s expense. A clinician would try to find a way to help Andy use his athletic gift to free him from his father’s control. It is implied that Mr. Clark is domineering and this could be why he and his son are struggling for control. It is natural for Andy to test his father and it is often the parent who resists the shift in the relationship, causing the adolescent to resist, resulting in a stalemate.
Andy’s place in the peer system is the most stable due to his family’s position (working-class) and his innate desire to excel and good social skills.

Brian Johnson the Brain
“I don’t like what I see.”
A truly intelligent, intuitive person, Brian Johnson is the group’s observational conduit. He is the door mat, pitied by John, ignored by Andy Claire, and Allison. He is overly solicitous to adults and other kids who outrank him. By all appearances, he is a geeky ass-kisser, an overachiever, a genius who failed shop. Unlike the others, instead of lashing out, Brian holds in his emotions. When pushed he cries rather than becoming angry. A good clinician would take note of this and ask Brian if he ever gets angry, and what happens when he does. It is possible that Brian internalizes his anger and frustration because in his family system, tears and fits of anger are not how an intelligent person behaves. A responsible, mature young adult does not entertain suicidal thoughts. Like Allison, Brian struggles with his identity; he doesn’t like what he sees and yet he has not attempted to change or express how he feels until John challenges him.

Conclusion
In the social jungle of human existence
there is no feeling of being alive without a sense of identity.
–from Identity, Youth and Crisis (1968) by Erik Erikson

Who among this group has the most potential to become successful? The answer is all of them. Each teen has a chance to either succeed of fail depending on what the future unveils. For example, Andy may very well blow out his knee and this may upset his father’s plans and add more distance between them. Claire’s father could remarry, or Allison could run away and become a crack addict. For that matter, John could graduate, get discovered by a film producer and star in a movie about teen angst. Brian could become a firearms instructor/left-wing anarchist. My point is that there is no such thing as a sound future. They all have great potential and a good chance to find a positive direction and purpose. Discovering who they are and who they want to be is what adolescence is all about.

References
Breakfast Club, The (1985) A&M Films Channel Productions. Universal City Studios, Ca.

Erikson, Erik. (1968) Identity, Youth and Crisis. Norton, New York.

Santrock, John W. (2004) Life Span Development. Mcgraw Hill New York.

Surprise Visitor

September 16, 2017 | Filed under blindness Fiction Relationships writing Writing Life

Got this from my old writing folder. Enjoy.
Surprise Visitor
© 2007 By Ann Chiappetta

I helped Linda in with the last bag of clothing, placing it beside the others in the small bedroom of her new apartment. I looked around at what we’d brought in; all she had was a bed, a table, a computer, and a few boxes of personal things. I wished I had enough money to start her out the right way but I didn’t and even if I did, she probably wouldn’t want it anyway. Linda was proud and didn’t accept charity, not even from her own brother.
“Well, I got my work out for the day.” I said, wiping the sweat off with the arm of my tee shirt. The apartment was on the second floor of an eight unit brownstone in the Riverdale section of the Bronx, close to her new job. A long way from Katonah, I thought, but it was a nice enough area. Linda made the decision to move from up county because she wanted to be independent. Mom and Dad, however, tried to talk her out of it but she moved anyway, saying,
“How can I live my life when I can’t even get to work on my own?”
The truth was that our parents didn’t know how to let go, to deal with Linda’s disability. She and I talked about our parents facing the truth, that they both struggled with what it meant to have a blind daughter. Despite mom and dad’s difficulty accepting her vision loss, Linda wanted to get out on her own, just like any other college grad. She met her blindness head-on, with courage and perseverance. I wished mom and dad could do it, too, but they weren’t ready.
Linda rummaged through a box marked KITCHEN and found two cups. She rinsed them off, filled them with water,and handed one to me.
“I hear it’s the best water in New York state.” She said. Grinning.
“”Here’s to your new place, Cheers.” I replied, touching her cup with mine toasting the occasion.
“Thanks, Danny.” She said, “I couldn’t have done this all without you.”
“I would be insulted if you didn’t ask, baby sister.” I said, hugging her. “I’m so proud of you.”
I drank another cup of water, watching Linda unpack the rest of the items from the box thinking about how much she had overcome. She started losing her vision in high school, the retinal disease progressing until she was left with only a small portion of her sight. It was a long, hard road for Linda, but she walked it and now stood in her own apartment, sparsely furnished but all her own nonetheless.
I went to the nearest pizza place and brought back dinner, then went home.
I was opening the door to my apartment when my cell rang. It was Linda
“Hello?’
“Danny, you’re not going to believe this but I think there’s a bat in my bedroom.”
“A what?”
I suppressed a laugh but she must’ve heard the little bit that escaped into the phone
“Stop laughing, Danny, it’s not funny. You know how I feel about those disgusting furry things.’
I closed and locked my apartment door and headed back to my car.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, just stay out of the room and call the super.”
An hour later, we stood at the bedroom door listening to the bat flapping around, its leathery wings fluttering against the walls as if desperate to find a way out.
“Okay, Linda, I’m going to turn the light back on and hope it lands somewhere where we can find it.” I cracked the door open reached in and switched on the light.
Linda crossed her arms and shivered,
“Yuck, I will never understand your attraction to all those furry, slimy animals.”
“I got them just to torture you with them.” I teased, “Besides, I don’t see what’s so slimy about hamsters or bats. They have fur, not scales.”
“Danny, just get the darned thing out of here, okay? I’m going to make some coffee.” She went back into the kitchen, shaking her head in disgust.
I searched the room for twenty minutes but all I could find was a small hole near the radiator. It was big enough for a bat or rodent to squeeze through. I stuffed the hole with a couple of steel wool pads held in place by duct tape. The super would have to plaster the hole but my temporary seal would suffice until then. I tried looking for the bat again and finally found it in the back of the closet. I missed it before because it was only about four inches long and its grey fur blended in with the shadows. I got a towel and threw it over the bat, then I put it in an old shoe box Linda gave me earlier. I carefully poked a few holes in it for air and carried it out to the living area.
Linda was on the phone,
“… I said I’m being chased around by a bat. B-A-T. Okay, thanks, good bye.” She put away her cell phone and turned to me, “Is it in the box?”
I nodded, “Did you call someone to come get it?” I asked.
“Yes, they’re sending a patrol car.”
I almost dropped the box when the banging at the door began,
“Police, open the door.” Came a muffled bellow.
Linda froze. I went to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, there was not one but four officers waiting to be let in and they looked like they meant business.
I opened the door and they rushed in, two of them covering me, one of them covering Linda and one checking the other rooms.
, “We got a call there was someone being chased with a bat.” Said the lead officer, eyeing me.
Linda and I burst out laughing. I held up the box.
“The bat’s in here.” I said, then began laughing again. The officer took the box from me and peeked inside, then he handed it back,
“Holy cow, the sergeant isn’t going to believe this.” He put away his baton and nodded to his fellow officers,
“Hay boys, you’d better come look at this.”
Ten minutes later, officer Halaran shook my hand and grinned,
“Danny, we’re going to be telling this story for months. The other three officers were still chuckling as they left.
Linda thanked them and closed the door but there was another knock. She opened it, finding the super standing there, a confused look on his face,
“Did the cops get the guy with the bat?”

Just When I was Feeling Down …

August 31, 2017 | Filed under blindness Guide dogs Poem Relationships writing Writing Life

Hello folks, just when I thought I’d never manage to step out of the pity party pot, someone offered me a hand and helped me get past the worst of it. Actually, it was more than one person, so read on to find out more.

A month ago I injured my right ankle. I was turning a corner with the left knee ACL strain and the left foot fracture from 2015 had healed. I still feel pain but for the most part the rawness is gone. Anyway, I somehow managed to hurt the right foot and ankle. The pain is horrible, the lack of mobility is worse. It was all getting to me and I began feeling unmotivated and blech. I am limping and back to the support cane. The mornings are the worst, too. The injury stiffens and it takes an hour and pain meds to even take the edge off the pain. At these times I am the bitch mother and I cannot even talk without fire pouring from my mouth.

One can just imagine how unpleasant it is to be around me, and my family has been forgiving and tolerant. 🙂

Now that I’ve established how miserable I was, and still am, to some extent, two things happened: a visit to an assisted living facility with the dogs and the husband and an absolutely stellar review of Upwelling by a person for whom I hold in very high regard. The first part with visiting the ALF pushed me past my pain, forced me to put my own suffering aside. Thanks to Jerry and the dogs, we brought smiles to seniors. Jerry knows how much it means to me to help others and let Verona take on her role as a therapy dog. I think Jerry is beginning to like it, too.

The visit renewed my resolved to work past this injury, to be patient and do my best to heal.

The second gift was reading a beautifully written review of my first poetry collection by the editor of Dialogue Magazine www.blindskills.com/ . It brought me to tears, the thankful kind, very different from the tears of pain and frustration I’d been crying beforehand. I am so thankful to be reminded that I do matter, that others respect and like my work and that just when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to push past the struggle, I received two beautiful and meaningful reminders.

In The Spirit of Revisions #7 — the whole story, please!

July 4, 2017 | Filed under Fiction Relationships writing Writing Life

Hello Readers, well, now that this story is ready for some exposure, I am posting it here with the hope that when you read it, you will also respond. One thing, though, it hasn’t been fully edited and may have some minor editing and formatting left. I hope that by now the story is better, having edited over one third of the original word count. It is now under 5000 words. I hope you like it and have a great Fourth of July.
Mind, Body, Spirit
By Ann Chiappetta © 2017

“Wake her up.”
Something warmer than the frigid aluminum gunwale touched my face.
“Amy, get up, babe, its Cole, get up and open your eyes.”
Cole? Why did he sound like that? He sounded worried. I opened my eyes and met Ray’s bruised face, He pointed a pistol at me, his hand steady.
I clutched Cole’s hand. The gun had all my attention. The blueish gun metal glinted dully in the shafts of light breaking through grey November sunset. We were heading out of the harbor. I turned, getting my bearings and ignored the pain in my head. We were approaching an island just outside the basin. As we got closer I picked out an Arial tower. I knew then where we were going, Governor’s Island.

The events of the last two hours finally came back with consciousness and I retched. I felt the boat shift. The top of the old jetty could be seen, covered in icy slush and debris.

“Take the line and tie up,”
Cole secured the craft,
Get her out.” Ray ordered, steadying himself with the handle of the outboard motor, pointing the way with the gun. We splashed and slid our way up the submerged slab of concrete. The icy water soaked our legs up to the thigh. It was so cold, I stopped feeling like puking
Ray watched us, trying to keep his balance on the slick ramp after climbing out of the dinghy. He was still a few feet from the dry land, his hand on the line when the water surged up the ramp and knocked the boat into the back of his legs. He stumbled and fell to one knee, the icy water dragging him down. Cole sprang, yelling,
“Amy, run!”
Cole knock the gun out of Ray’s hand before I turned and headed up the rocky shoreline. The gun skidded down the ramp under the dinghy and was lost. I started to run, but then I stopped, feeling dizzy and out of breath. I found something to rest on, closing my eyes.

Strong hands pulled me up, “Amy, babe, we’re almost safe, but to be really safe we have to climb.”
“Cole? Is that you?” He was pushing me from behind.
“We can rest up there. Let’s go.”
We started up the rusty ladder. Cole helped by moving my hands and feet as we made our way up. Once we reached the last third of the tower, the wind hit us so hard we grabbed at the iron rungs with renewed desperation. It was almost dark now and I started to cry from the pain in my head and the cold and wind ripping at us.
“You’re doing great, just a little farther then you’ll be safe,” said Cole kissing my head.
The tower platform was still so far away. Cole pressed closer, lips pressed to my ear so I could hear him above the gusting wind.
“I love you Amy. Don’t give up. We’ll find a way, but we have to get to the top.”
I shook my aching head and buried it in his damp shirt. “No, I can’t. I’m so tired.” I felt his body jerk, and then I felt the thump-thump below us on the ladder. Ray was coming
* * *
I met Cole in 1983 while working in a linen shop in a seaside town called Montclair. He had just been hired as our new stock clerk. My first impression of him was that he had long, attractive legs and muscular thighs clad in khaki hiking shorts. My manager, Miriam, a petite Latino, Tooke two strides for every one of his as they made their way down the center aisle to her office. By the look on Miriam’s face, she was upset about those shorts. A few minutes later, she came back to the main counter and took me aside.
“That new young man you saw, his name’s Cole. I want you to show him how to bring up stock. He can’t work the floor because he came to work in shorts and it’s against our dress code. But he can work in the basement for today.”
“No problem,” I nodded and went to meet Cole.
I found Cole on the loading dock steps, smoking a cigarette. I lit one of my own and then leaned on the railing.
“Miriam said we should get to work in the stock room.”
I didn’t need to introduce myself; a red and white tag on my shirt did it for me. It read, AMY–ASST. MANAGER.
I looked down at his legs again.
“Can you go home and change?” I asked.
He laughed, a smirk pulling his lips, “No, I live on my Dad’s Yacht in New Rock. It’s too far.”
I crushed out my cigarette and looked at my watch, not sure if he was telling me the truth about living on a yacht.
“Cigarette break’s over, let’s get to work.”

+++
When I realized Cole was sticking around, I started taking him seriously. We talked and joked as we stocked the shelves. One Afternoon, while we were sitting on our stools folding fifty cent napkins, The Most Boring Job in Linens, Cole said that he had broken up with his girlfriend.
“Why?” I asked.
Cole stopped folding and looked at me, “Well, she’s still a virgin. And we weren’t alone long enough to find out if she wanted to change her mind,”
I blushed when he looked at me. I wasn’t a prude, but at that time, I hadn’t been alone with a guy in over a year.
I caught his smile, and I smiled back.
It wasn’t a shock when, after that conversation, we found ourselves alone together. Cole and I walked through town one fall evening after our annual inventory. Sometime after the first mile he reached for my hand. As we made our way under the I-95 overpass, we were arm-in-arm. We came out from under the overpass and I stopped, facing him. “Do you like me, Cole?”
He smiled down at me, “Yes, very much.”
“Then make a move.”
His hands cupped my face and we kissed. His touch overcame the loneliness I’d been feeling for a long time and I gave into the passion. Sometime later, I showed him to a private spot known to a few of my friends by the town reservoir. We jumped a low fence and I led him to the spot. We cleared the rocks and twigs from the grass and laid our jackets down, spreading them out end to end. Suddenly, I felt like it was the first time I’d ever slept with anyone. It felt as if I’d gone back to being 16 again.
He knelt down in front of me.
“This place is perfect.” I said
He pulled me down next to him and kissed me
“Amy, I’ve wanted this to happen for so long.” He said, “Let me show you what you’ve been missing

We dozed off around 3 a.m. and awoke with the coo of the mourning doves. It was then that I saw the scars. The pre-dawn light revealed them. I had felt them during our loving session but seeing them gave my stomach a tug. I didn’t ask him about them, but couldn’t get them out of my thoughts. We parted at the fence and got ready to greet the day with only a few hours of sleep. But it was worth it.
When I walked into the linen shop at nine that morning, Cole was already there sweeping the floor.
“Hi Amy,” he smiled. We just stood there staring at each other, goofy grins on our faces. He broke the silence.
“Did you get enough sleep?” His hazel eyes danced with mischief.
“Not enough, how about you?”
“It was rough, but I managed some on the bus ride this morning.

I went down to the basement and put my purse and jacket in my locker. Miriam was at her desk crunching yesterday’s numbers, manicured nails tapping on the calculator keys. She glanced up, her eyes narrowing as she watched me get a cup of coffee and sit down on a chair.

front’s done, do we have any deliveries today?” asked Cole, standing in the doorway to the office.
Miriam was quiet, her shrewd gaze taking in first Cole, then me.
“Thank you, Cole, the delivery sheet’s upstairs behind the register.”
He nodded and turned to leave, both of us watching him go.

She waited until Cole was out of ear shot then playfully shook her finger at me,
“Just remember to be on time when it happens again.”
“I wasn’t late today.”
She looked up at me, then glanced at the doorway where Cole had just been, a knowing smile on her lipstick red lips,
“Trust me, you will be.”

It turned out Cole was on a strict curfew for our late night of love-making. He was so furious about it that he didn’t admit it until after quitting time. We stood outside the store, arm-in-arm. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, wishing we could be together again tonight. I felt his body heat through the polo shirt and thought about those scars. We walked to the bus stop and took seats under the small shelter.
“Cole, how did you get those scars?” I asked.
“Scuba accident.” He answered.
He got up to look for the bus. I didn’t know what else to say, so I stayed quiet. He stood with his back to me for a long time.
“They’re just there to remind me to be careful.” He said.
“To be careful? About what?”
“Here’s my bus. Don’t worry, okay?” he turned to me and smiled, pulling me in for a hug and kiss before jumping on the bus.

I turned things over in my mind as I walked home. I was sure those scars on Cole’s chest and back were not accidental and I had a good idea who inflicted them. By the time I made it home that night, I decided on two things: I had to move out and when I found a place, I’d ask Cole to move in with me.

+ *

On the evening of Cole’s 18th birthday, we hopped on his new motorcycle and rode up to a small brownstone building overlooking the harbor.
“I have something to show you.” I said, taking off my helmet. He got off the bike and followed me inside the building and up to the second floor. I took out the key, entering the one-bedroom apartment I’d just rented. He looked around, finding the bedroom. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, he snatched me up and deposited me onto the bed.
“I love you, Amy.” He said, covering me with kisses.

We celebrated moving in together at a local pizza place and walked back to the apartment. As we made our way to the front door of the brownstone, Ray Tabman, Cole’s father, stepped out from beside the stoop. He looked at Cole, and then at me, his lip curled in a sneer. The reflection from the brownstone’s lamp made his eyes look dark and threatening.
“Out celebrating?” he asked.
“Go home Ray,” Said Cole, leading me up the steps to the door. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t bother coming back to the yacht for any of your shit, it’s all with Davey Jones,” Mr. Tabman called after us, laughing.

Ray’s appearance seemed to affect Cole more than he wanted to admit. He tossed and turned from nightmares. The lively, crooked smirk I loved was gone. He made love to me as often as possible, however, an almost desperate need to touch me, to prove to me that he was worth keeping seemed to be the theme. He was distracted and I often found him lost in thought. At first, I thought it was because he had changed jobs, finally working as a carpenter’s apprentice and going to school.

Then one evening in early October, he came in late. I looked up from the book I was reading,
“Cole, what happened?”
His mouth and nose were bloodied and one of his cheeks was already swelling. I helped him off with his coat; He winced when it dragged over the knuckles of his right hand. He held it up,
“Not broken,” he grunted, flexing his already bruising fingers.
“What happened?” I repeated, going into the kitchen to get ice.
“Ray,”, He said. “Jesus, he was slapping Daisy around,”
My heart sank,
“What were you doing at your dad’s?”
After that night in front of our apartment building, Cole had avoided Ray and his step-mother, Daisy as much as possible.
I placed one ice pack on his cheek. I wrapped another around his right hand.
“Daisy asked me to help her move out today. She said that Ray was going to be late tonight so I said yes, as long as she was sure I wouldn’t run into him.”
He popped the two aspirin I gave him into his mouth and washed it down with a beer.
“My boss let me out a little early and I got to the yacht while the bastard was beating her up, throwing her clothes into the water, “He chugged his beer, finished it, and asked for another before continuing.
“I ran in and pulled them apart. He swung at me but I got in a few good ones. I helped Daisy out and took off,”

I wet a paper towel and cleaned some of the dried blood from his face.
“No cops,” he said, “I know your Dad would help me but I don’t want you involved, okay?”
“But …”
He cut me off by pulling me onto his lap,
“Promise me, Amy, promise me you won’t tell your Dad. I know Ray. If we ignore him, this will all blow over.”
I looked into his eyes and what I saw made me feel uneasy. I sighed and put my head on his shoulder,
“Okay, I won’t tell Dad,”

That night, Cole fell asleep quickly but I didn’t. There were too many unanswered questions running through my head. In the morning I woke up to an empty bed. Cole had gotten up before dawn and left. He sometimes did that whenever he was commuting to Jersey or Manhattan for a job. the questions were still rolling around in my head as I drove to work.
Once I got to the linen shop, our annual inventory soon distracted me. It wasn’t until Miriam and I had locked the front door at seven that evening that I remembered those questions. Miriam, astute as ever, picked up on my mood.
“Amy, what’s the matter?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know …I’m worried about Cole,”
Miriam stirred honey into her tea. We were alone in the store, the quiet safety allowing me to tell someone about the past year about Cole’s scars, about Ray Tabmann’s violence, and finally about Cole rescuing Daisy from being beaten that night on the yacht. Miriam listened, sympathetic,
“I guess what I’m most afraid of is that one day I’m going to get a call that one of them is in the hospital or worse.”
I looked down into my cup, unable to shrug off the feeling that something bad was going to happen. When I looked up at Miriam, she was frowning. “Just be careful, I don’t want it to be you.”

Cole’s motorcycle was parked in front of the brownstone when I arrived. As soon as I opened the lobby door, wonderful smells of roasted garlic, wine, and tomatoes filled the air, making my mouth water. I followed the aromas to the apartment. I smiled, taking in the romantic scene: the little two seat table was set with candles, dishes, and a bottle of my favorite Chianti. Cole came out of the kitchen wiping his hand on an apron tied to his trim waist, a lopsided grin breaking across his bruised face.
“What’d you cook?” I asked, carefully kissing his swollen lips.
“Angel hair and meat balls.” He answered in between kisses.
He leaned in and pressed his hips against me, playfully.
“What about dinner?” I teased, pressing back.
“It can wait.” He answered.

He waited until after we’d made love, eaten, and were sipping our favorite hazelnut cordial, to break the news.
“Look, I know you don’t like my dad but he’s made me an offer I can’t refuse,” He got up off the sofa and began to pace, “He’s going to pay me three times what the union pays plus help me with school. For once I can use him for what I want and when I’m done I don’t ever have to see or hear from him again.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
You’re going to work for him? After the way he treated you? Cole, he’s never going to change.”
He looked at me, his face strained and pale.
“look, all you need to know is that he apologized, “
“You don’t actually believe that, do You?” I asked, getting angry, “What kind of explanation is that? For Christ’s sake, Cole, he beat your mom, Daisy, and God knows who else or what else he’s done You can’t honestly tell me that you trust him after all that.”
“Trust me,” he said.
I met his eyes and let the anger and fear flow out. He dropped his gaze and ran his hands through his hair, pacing.
“I do trust you, Cole, its Ray who we need to stay away from.”
“Don’t you get it? He owes me. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure he pays up. I can handle him.”

I wanted to argue with him, tell him this was a bad thing. Ray Tabman couldn’t be trusted. Every time Cole took off his shirt and I saw those marks, I was reminded that Ray wasn’t like other people. I felt the hot sting of tears and frustration begin to surface. I stood up, facing him.

“You know what hurts the most? That you cooked and cleaned and bought my favorite wine and made love to me so you could feel better about telling me you’re going to throw everything away and go to work for a monster.”
I didn’t wait for a reply and turned away, “I’m going to bed.” I said, and left him alone in the living room with his decision.
* * *
The gusts were so strong up near the top of the tower that the whole structure hummed like guitar strings. The loose pieces twisted and clanged against the struts and the wind screeched, buffeting the tower platform. It had once housed radar and radio equipment but was now near derelict, rusted through in many places.
“Amy, go, He’s coming!” The terror seemed to transfer from Cole’s chest into mine, and I began to climb, the adrenaline spurring me. I felt for the platform and crawled into it, turning to help Cole. But he wasn’t there. I crept to the edge and looked down. He had stopped a good two feet from me, his hands trying to loosen a rusted piece of a broken strut.
“Cole, he’s coming.” I shouted Ray’s Khaki jacket loomed up from the darkness below like a shark, his face white and shiny in the dim moonlight.
***
“Amy? Amy, Open your eyes.”
I was thirsty, so thirsty. Something cold and wet slipped in between my parched lips. It tasted sweet and clean. Not salty.
What is she saying?”
“Dad?” I asked, wondering how he’d gotten on Governor’s Island. The world came into focus as a warm hand touched my arm and sweeter wet things were put into my mouth.
***
I had to save Cole from the monster. The iron struts were slick with ice. The fear for Cole won out over my fear of falling. I stopped climbing when I felt a clang vibrate through the tower. The moon was low but full enough to see the struggle taking place. I scrambled closer, noticing I had a broken piece of the antenna in my hand. I looked for Ray and found him, his khaki jacket up and to the right. I was closer than I thought and not sure how I managed it.
I shimmied across the slick cross beam and struck.
***
“Amy open your eyes.”
Something stroked my cheek and I turned toward it. I smelled cedar and sunflowers. I opened my eyes, the light making me blink and squint. Things came slowly into focus. Two sets of eyes met my watery gaze, one set green, like mine, and one set hazel, like …
“Cole? Dad?” I tried to sit up, but Dad eased me back onto the bed pillow.
Easy, sweetie, you’re hurt pretty bad.” He answered. Like a slap, my memory flared into life and flooded my mind. But it didn’t make any sense. All I could remember was that Ray had asked me to come to the yacht to pick up Cole.
“Ray?” I asked, looking from dad to Cole. They both looked away. Dad put his hand on Cole’s shoulder
“He’s dead, Amy.” Cole answered. It was then that I realized Cole was in a wheelchair. I started to cry.

* * *
Cole and I stayed in the hospital for a few more days and were released together. He’d suffered blood loss, a fractured leg and a deep gash on his side resulting from the struggle and fall off the tower. He and Ray had fallen together and Ray broke his fall, dying in the process.
“He was good for something, at least.” Cole joked, a hint of a smirk pulling his lips. It saddened me to see that it didn’t spread to his eyes; the black humor seemed to stall at lip level.
Dad and Miriam took turns helping me and Cole recover. Dad was especially helpful when it came to making our statements to the police, being retired from the local police force. I still couldn’t believe Daisy was dead. I still couldn’t believe Ray was capable of all he had done. I was still in shock about being cold cocked, dragged to an island in the middle of winter at gun point, forced to climb a thirty-foot tower to escape a murderer, and survive a fall.
“Earth to Amy?” Miriam’s voice brought me back to the present, and the soup in front of me. It was still too hot, so I blew on it.
“God, it was cold that night.” I shivered, trying the soup again.
“When I called that night to find out why you were so late for dessert, your Dad called one of his detective buddies and that got the ball rolling.”
I sipped the soup, the hot steam causing me to go back to that horrible night. It still came in short bits and pieces and I still couldn’t recall all of it, I did remember that I was going to pick up Cole for dessert at Miriam’s. It was her birthday and we were invited over for cake and coffee.
. Ray had asked me to pick up a six pack for him. Cole had gone with Ray to the yacht to pick up his paycheck. I brought the beer into the yacht and that was the last thing I remembered.

Harbor patrol found us at about 2 a.m. battered and hypothermic, but alive. Daisy wasn’t as lucky. Her body was found in a shallow grave not far from the tower.

“The neurologist said I might not ever remember everything.” I touched the bare spot on my head where it was shaved and sutured, where Ray had struck me with the gun.
Miriam patted my hand, “Maybe that’s for the best, that way the cops will leave you alone.”

Later that evening, after Dad and my step-monster, Agnes, who was surprisingly sympathetic, left, Cole and I sat on the sofa, sipping hazelnut cordial listening to music. He was telling me about the questioning which took place earlier that day down at the local police station.

Neither of us had spoken much about what happened. My memories were still unclear. “The DA is satisfied with our statements.”
“What about Daisy’s family?”
“So far, they can’t find anyone, that’s why her boss had to come and, ah, identify her.”
He shifted his bad leg on the ottoman, wincing a bit. He looked like he was preparing to get up but then he settled back again, his hand covering mine. “Remember that night at the bus stop when you first asked me about the scars?”
I nodded.
“I thought that if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
His hand let go of mine. It looked like the calloused hand of a man twice his age.
“I didn’t tell you the truth then because I needed someone to believe in me. I thought that if you knew I let him hurt me like that, you would only feel sorry for me.”
Cole, baby, none of this is your fault.” I took hold of his hand and squeezed it for emphasis.
He went on as if he didn’t hear me.
“I risked everything and for what? I am such an idiot.”
I reached out and caressed his face. His eyes were squeezed shut and I could tell he was trying not to cry.
“I want to tell you something, but promise me you won’t say anything until I’m done.”
“Okay.”
“I lied to you about why I started working for Ray. That night when I came in from fighting with him I couldn’t tell you what really happened because he threatened to hurt you. He said if I turned him in to the police for what I thought he did to Daisy, he’d kill you and pin it all on me. After what I saw that night, I believed him.”
He stopped talking, and took a deep breath,
“I got to the yacht club and found the yacht empty. After looking around I figured out that he and Daisy had a fight; It was a mess; blood on the floor and it lead out to the rear hatch. There were other things, too, like the throw rug from the rear deck was gone. The dinghy was gone; So, I waited for him. When he came back, he said if I tried to tell the cops about that night, he’d tell them I did it. I said, what did you do? He laughed and told me to go out to Governor’s Island and find out.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head before continuing,
“He said he’d hurt you if I went to the police. I lost it, I had him by the throat, I wanted to crush the air out of him, but I didn’t.”
I said nothing and held his hand.
“Daisy died that night, the night you came home all busted up?”
He nodded.
“Amy, I lied to you. He was making me do what he wanted and I was too scared to do the right thing. Don’t you see? It’s on me, Daisy, you, it’s all on me. I should have ended it,” he said, his voice breaking.
“Cole that’s not true, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have saved Daisy,”
I scooted over to him and held him as he sobbed, a few tears dripped from his cheek to mine. After a while, he wiped his face on his shirt and sighed.

“Tell me something, did I make you and Ray fall?”
“No, I saw you slip and fall.”
“How did you fall?”
“He was trying to swing the pick ax and I grabbed it, he lost his balance and we both fell.”
“I don’t remember any of it,” I said., wiping away his tears with what I hoped were soothing caresses.
“I’ll never forget any of it,” he said in a tone that made me shiver.

After a while he bent to kiss me. I knew that kiss. It was full of so many things and I scooted closer.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said looking into those amazing hazel eyes.
He smiled and this time the smile was what I hoped for. I got up and got his crutches and helped Cole to the bedroom. After making love I lay awake for a long time, replaying the night of terror in my mind and finally fell asleep nestled up against Cole’s uninjured side. It was over. We were still alive and together. One day, I thought, after the healing, all this would be just memories.

Support Indy Authors on Independence Day

July 1, 2017 | Filed under blindness Fiction Guide dogs Poem Relationships writing Writing Life

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