Carmella’s Quest:
Taking on College Sight Unseen
Carmella Broome
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Carmella Broome
Author photograph by Erik Dawson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written consent of the publisher.
Published by Red Letter Press
Columbia, South Carolina
RedLetterPress@gmail.com
http://redletterpress.googlepages.com
Second Edition
For my supportive and loving family. Most especially for Chandler, Darren, and Kristy. I can’t find the words to express how much you mean to me. I never would have believed any three kids could capture such special places in my heart the way you have. I’m so proud to be your aunt. You bring so much happiness into my life just by being who you are. I love you!
Reader’s Note
When the publisher and I were trying to figure out a title for this book, we spent a lot of time shooting ideas back and forth. I either liked titles that were too simple and boring or too philosophical. Selecting a name might’ve been the hardest part of the entire process. How could I capture in a few words what this book was about and what it symbolized for me? He kept saying, "Go back to why you wrote this." I started writing this book because I thought it was a pretty eventful and interesting time in my life. I believed the characters and various experiences I had were fairly entertaining and that enough went on to make a book out of it. I wanted to describe a segment of my life that was, for me at least, very important and meaningful. This was the launch point for my educational and career pursuits and, for me, becoming an independent adult. I thought it might be an entertaining and enjoyable read for other people as well. Some experiences are very unique to me as an individual, but a lot of the emotions and themes are hopefully something many people can connect with. This book has moments of happiness, sadness, humor, frustration, fear, and the gambit of authentic emotion. It is a book about goals and relationships and facing challenges in life. It just seemed like a story worth telling and I hope there are readers who will enjoy it. I’m so excited about the book finally going somewhere and about whatever new paths it takes me down.
I’ve tried to be as honest and straight forward as possible when sharing events and experiences. Of course, my own opinions and perceptions may be very different from the perspectives of the other people involved. I have tried to be accurate and fair and own this as my own take on things. I talk about the good and the more difficult experiences of this period of time because they happened, not because I needed a forum to embarrass or attack anyone. That is one of the trickier aspects of memoir writing. I have no ill feelings about anyone in this story and see all of my interactions as opportunities to learn about myself, other people, and life. Some names have been changed to protect privacy, but my close friends are who I say they are.
Prologue
“Now, I’d like to present the award for Female Resident Student of the Year,” announced a voice I recognized as Michelle’s. “The Resident Assistants chose the recipient from among all of our on-campus girls.”
I wonder who they picked, I thought distractedly, a lot more concerned about the algebra final looming over my head.
Everyone was assembled for the second to last chapel service of the year. The staff of Student Services was onstage presenting awards in various categories. The past twenty-five minutes had been a jumble of flowery speeches, applause, and stage crossings.
RAs had been honored, and various students had received awards for excelling in specific academic or athletic pursuits. Several staff members had been recognized for their support of student organizations.
“The award goes to Carmella Broome.”
I sat frozen for a moment, unable to believe what I’d just heard. My heart began to pound as the auditorium erupted into applause. I knew I should be thrilled, but all I felt was a sense of dread. How was I going to handle this? I had to make my way to the stage to accept the award, and I didn’t have my cane with me. I considered turning around to ask David for help, but I wanted to go by myself. I’d been up there before. There were steps and cords, and probably podiums and chairs. I could trip or run into something and really embarrass myself in front of all these people. I might fall down the stairs or step right off the edge of the stage. Was I familiar enough with the stage to chance negotiating it without help? Deciding that I was, I got up and, trying not to step on anyone’s feet, made my way toward the center aisle. “God,” I begged silently as I walked toward the stage, “I know I’m being really stupid, but please help me get around up there.”
Climbing the steps, I was relieved to hear Reverend Crouse’s low instructions. “Watch these cords. Good. It’s a straight shot.”
I walked forward into the brightness of the spotlights, mentally coaching myself to keep my head up and not shuffle my feet.
“Here I am,” Michelle whispered, placing a plaque in my hands. “Congratulations. Look to your left a little so they can take your picture for the paper.”
I turned my head and smiled. The camera flashed. Amidst another round of applause and cheers, I turned to make my way back across the stage. Now came the hardest part. How was I going to find that top step? I slowed down when I neared where I knew the steps to be, probing the area with my foot. I felt Reverend Crouse’s hand on my arm. “There’s the step,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” I whispered, descending the steps carefully.
Thrilled that I’d made it down from the stage without incident or embarrassment, I turned up the center aisle and counted rows until I reached the sixth one. Trying not to step on anyone’s feet once again, I counted my way past the first seven chairs. As I sank gratefully into my assigned chapel seat, thankful that I hadn’t miscalculated and wound up in someone’s lap, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. David’s voice whispered, “Congratulations.”
With the ordeal of accepting the award behind me, I was finally able to turn my attention to the plaque Michelle had placed in my shaking hands. No one could possibly guess how much it meant to me. I had no idea what it said, but that didn’t matter. The public recognition wasn’t what made it so special, though that was certainly nice. To me, the plaque’s truest value was what it represented. It was a tangible symbol of success. I had done something I hadn’t been sure I really could do. I’d successfully completed my first year of college.
Chapter One
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and reached over to flip through channels on the radio for what had to be the hundredth time. Everything was pretty much the same as it had been five m inutes ago. The classical station was still playing somebody’s violin concerto. The guy on the country channel was still wailing mournfully. Commercials were on several channels. I paused momentarily to listen to a song I normally liked, but for some reason it didn’t sound as good as I remembered. I hesitated for a couple seconds before punching the scan button again.
Mom cleared her throat loudly.
“Did you like that song?” I asked, ready to turn back.
“Not really,” she said. “I’d just be happy to get to hear any song all the way through.”
“Sorry.” I forced my hand away from the radio. I knew my habit of constantly changing stations drove her crazy.
I pressed the button on my talking watch.
“It’s three forty-five p.m.,” the computerized voice announced.
We’d been on the road since one o’clock. What should’ve been only a three-hour drive seemed to be taking forever. A steady rain that had been falling since Mom and I left home was making the ride longer by slowing down traffic, but that alone couldn’t account for the fact that I felt as if I’d been in the car for days. My own nervousness had to be the real reason the ride seemed eternal.
“Almost there,” Mom said.
My stomach began to knot up. I can’t believe this is happening, I thought. In a matter of minutes, I would step into a strange new world called “college.” I knew nothing about that mysterious place and, suddenly, wasn’t at all eager to learn. Though I’d known this change was coming for months, and I should have been more emotionally ready, I was completely overwhelmed and unprepared. I felt as panicked and caught off guard as I might have if I’d been given twenty-four hours notice that this would be happening. It seemed ridiculous that I should feel so unsure of a transition I’d known for several years was coming.
Not long after entering high school, I’d begun to understand that college would be a necessity for me. The realization had come gradually, starting more as a vague awareness and growing slowly toward irrefutable certainty. It became increasingly obvious to me that, as a legally blind person, I would have to acquire knowledge and skills related to a specific line of work if I ever wanted a good job.
Besides, I knew I could never be content with just any job. I had been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with too much ambition and motivation for that. I would never be able to settle for simply earning a paycheck. I wanted a career I would enjoy investing mental and emotional energy in. I wanted to do something I would love, something meaningful. I wasn’t completely sure what that “something” was yet, but by the time I was sixteen I knew it would be related in some way to psychology or counseling. Once that decision had been made, I knew that college was even more vital, since most fields involving those areas required higher education.
Not long after I decided on the general area I wanted to study, I discovered something about myself that moved my thoughts about college beyond mere necessity.
As I began to take greater interest in academics, I was surprised at how much I loved feeding my mind with new information. I had a hunger for knowledge that was in no way based on the practical need for it. I wanted to continue learning. I respected both the process and the result of being “well-educated” and wanted to become someone who could be described that way. This understanding, once again, led me to conclude that the best course of action for me would be to go straight from high school to college.
The big question was where. Several good universities were located near where I lived. I knew I could get a quality education at any of them and stay in the home and community I’d lived in for seventeen years. This would mean less stress on me because I wouldn’t have to deal with adjusting to an unfamiliar environment. It would also mean less of an economic burden on my parents. Even so, I never seriously considered local colleges an option. I didn’t want to spend another eight semesters sitting in classrooms with the same people I’d known in high school. Somehow, though we’d spent four years chatting in the halls and eating lunch together in the cafeteria, few of them had become more than acquaintances to me. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t been able to cultivate more lasting relationships, but I had no desire to spend another four years the same way. I wanted a new environment with new people.
My aunt was the first person to tell me about a small Baptist college called North Greenville. She lived relatively near the campus and mentioned it to me one weekend when she and her family came to visit us. I told her I’d keep it in mind, but, at the time, I was only a sophomore in high school and college seemed foreign, overwhelming, and blessedly far away. I wouldn’t have to start seriously thinking about it for another year, at least.
But other people were thinking about it. The topic of my college plans began to come up more and more often in conversations. Not knowing what to say and uncomfortable with the subject, I would respond that I was “looking into” going to North Greenville. This statement always met with positive responses.
Then, the summer before my senior year, two students from North Greenville did some work with my church youth group. After learning of my interest, they passed my name along to a representative from NGC named Andy Ray. Andy called one evening to talk to me about the school. He asked about my areas of interest, told me more about the college, and promised to send me additional information and an application.
According to Andy and the brochures I received shortly after his phone call, North Greenville College was a small, co-educational, liberal arts institution affiliated with the South Carolina Baptist Convention. After I translated all that into everyday English, I decided that NGC offered several things that could be very beneficial to me. “Small” meant that, hopefully, I wouldn’t be just a faceless number and could have more personal interaction with instructors. “Coeducational” meant guys. In fact, Andy told me after I had asked about the girl-to-guy ratio that more men than women were on campus. This was of some interest to me since I was a young single female who didn’t plan to spend every waking minute studying. The school’s emphasis on Christian beliefs and values also meant a lot to me because I held the same convictions. The more I thought about studying at such a school, the more the idea appealed to me.
I saw only two drawbacks. The first was the distance from home. NGC was a three-hour drive from where I lived. This meant that I would have to stay in the dorms and that I would have to turn to someone besides my parents for any help I needed. That thought was distressing to me; I hadn’t spent a lot of time away from home and wasn’t sure I felt independent enough to risk it. The other drawback was that North Greenville had, for many years, been a junior college and was only just beginning to offer four-year degrees in various areas—and unfortunately psychology was not one of them. I could get my two-year degree from there, but if I wanted to continue studying a social science, I would have to transfer to another school.
After careful consideration, I decided it might be good for me to have to handle things without so much help from my parents. Besides, NGC was growing and expanding in many areas. Psychology might soon be one of them. This would mean I wouldn’t have to transfer. I decided to apply and was accepted before I began my senior year of high school.
I never bothered checking into any other colleges. I threw away all the brochures that came in the mail about various universities and didn’t go to the College Day activities at school. I saw no reason to go through all the hassle when I liked everything I heard about North Greenville. At least, that’s what I told people. Actually, I didn’t want to have to think about something as unknown and overwhelming as college. Illogically, I told myself that something would happen to keep me from going. It had to.
But nothing did. And now, here I was, about to enter that strange new world, and no matter how I felt, I had no choice but to go through with it. Anything less would be quitting, and I was too proud to even consider doing that. I had decided to go away to college because I was tired of the confining life of my small town. This was an opportunity for me to make new friends and experience new things.
Besides, I wasn’t going to be completely alone, I reminded myself. A friend from my church was starting her freshman year at North Greenville, too. The couple who had worked with my youth group would be there, and so would another married couple from my hometown. My aunt and her family lived only 45 minutes away. Things couldn’t be so bad as long as I knew somebody, I tried to assure myself.
“Here we are,” Mom announced.
I’m going to throw up, I thought, feeling the car slow to a stop.
From what Mom and Dad told me when we came for pre-registration, I had a pretty good idea of what the college looked like. NGC was made up of various old brick buildings clustered in a compact circle and located in the foothills of upstate South Carolina in a small town called Tigerville. The Blue Ridge Mountains were visible from almost anywhere on campus.
We parked near the dorm that I would be staying in, and Mom opened an umbrella as I unfolded my cane. We hurried to White Hall, the building in which all faculty members had offices.
“Hi!” Andy greeted us exuberantly when we reached his office. “Isn’t this weather awful? I’m glad you made it safely. We’ve got flashflood watches out and everything.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “So, are you ready for this?”
“I hope so,” I said, trying to smile.
Andy and I had been in regular contact over the past few months, and I found him very friendly and helpful. The instinctive liking I’d taken to him during our first phone conversation had been strengthened in our talks because of his interest in making my adjustment to college as painless as possible.
“We’re flexible,” he’d assured me. “Just let me know what you need, and I’ll do my best to see that it’s taken care of.”
Before and after I arrived on campus, Andy had done quite a bit of behind-the-scenes work on my behalf. NGC hadn’t worked with many students with disabilities, so there wasn’t a designated department set up to handle the special needs of such students. Because Andy was my on-campus contact person, he was the first to hear about my specific set of considerations and needed accommodations and the first to get the ball rolling to work them out.
“We can go ahead and get your final registration stuff finished before the mob gets here next Tuesday,” he said, after inviting us to have a seat. “I guess the first thing you’ll need to do is go over to Student Services and get your room keys. They put you in Howard, right?”
I nodded. One of the decisions Andy had helped make was which of the four women’s dorms would be best for me. He and other staff members had decided that Howard Hall was the best choice because of its larger rooms and central location.
Mom and I stayed and talked with Andy a few minutes, waiting for the rain, now a downpour, to let up a little, but we finally decided to make a run for it to Student Services.
As we got up to leave, the couple who had worked with my youth group on several occasions appeared in the doorway. It had been a while since we’d seen them, and I’d been hoping to run into them on campus sometime soon. I was pleased it had happened so quickly.
“I’m really glad you decided to come here,” Kim said, giving me a hug.
“Are you going to audition for Joyful Sound?” Mike asked.
Joyful Sound was a singing group made up of NGC students who were selected by audition. The group performed contemporary Christian and southern gospel music and traveled around the state to various churches and other locations several times a week. Mike and Kim had both been a part of the group; after hearing me sing at church one Sunday, they’d told me about JS and encouraged me to audition.
“They’d love to have you,” Mike had told me. “And you have the voice for it.”
When Andy called to talk with me about NGC, he, too, had brought up the subject.
“Mike spoke of you very highly,” he’d said, “and it takes a lot to impress him.”
That knowledge was very affirming. I respected Mike and Kim a lot and regarded them as excellent singers. But I wasn’t so sure about working with Joyful Sound. I had serious doubts about my vocal abilities and even more doubts about dealing with the travel involved.
“Maybe next semester,” I told Mike. “I figured I would need at least one term to get adjusted to college life before I took on such a big commitment.”
“That’s wise,” he said. “Don’t forget about it, though. Your time here will fly by, and there’ll probably be several things you’ll want to do. But JS is a great opportunity. I know you’d love it.”
“They’d love you, too,” Kim added.
“I won’t forget,” I promised.
“Come by tomorrow if you need anything,” Andy said as we finally left.
Student Services, like White Hall, was buzzing with activity. People scurried around to pull files, key in information on computers, and answer phones that were ringing off the hook.
“I’ll be so glad when this semester finally gets started!” one woman exclaimed, sinking into a chair. “How can I help you?”
I told her who I was and explained that I’d come up early to get familiar with the campus.
“There was another blind girl here a couple years ago,” she remarked. “Her name was Carrie. Couldn’t see a thing, bless her heart. Let me get Michelle, our Women’s Housing Coordinator, to talk with you.”
Andy had mentioned Carrie to me, and I would hear her name at least fifty more times during my first year of college. In fact, I would be addressed as “Carrie” at least half of those times. I came to regard the inevitable mistake as an honor since people always spoke highly of her.
“Hi, Carmella, I’m Michelle,” said a voice from the doorway. “I’m really glad you’re here. Let me give you your keys.” I heard the familiar jingle and reached out to take them. “One is for the outside door into Howard and the other is for your room,” she explained. “Yours is the first one on the right on the bottom floor. My apartment is just down the hall from you.”
Michelle also gave me a booklet, “The Enlightener,” which was second only to the Bible when it came to the Written Law at NGC. It contained all campus rules, regulations, and policies. Students were expected to be thoroughly familiar with it and to abide by all its teachings.
The next item of business was to check out the room that would be mine for the next seven months. There were several entrances to Howard Hall, and Mom pulled the car around to the back door so we could unload it later on. We went inside, climbed a flight of stairs, and passed through another door and a set of double doors before entering a long hall with about ten rooms on each side. As Michelle had said, my room was the first on the right. I had been trying to make mental notes about all the places I was going, but I was already getting confused.
We unlocked the door to Howard 32, and I began to explore my new living area. As Mom described each piece of furniture, I moved from item to item, taking mental note of its location and trying to combine all the small pieces of information into an accurate picture of the space and what it included.
My room, like all the others in Howard Hall, was about twelve feet by sixteen feet and contained two twin beds, one by the window and one by the door. Each of the beds had a drawer in the side of it and was bolted to the wall. Between them was a long desk with two lights, two chairs, two sets of drawers, and two sets of shelves. Across the room, on the opposite wall, stood a sink with cabinets, two closets with a single drawer in the bottom and cabinets on top, and a small dressing table with two drawers underneath. A door also led into the bathroom my roommate and I would share with our two suitemates. A heating and air-conditioning unit sat beneath the window. Over the sink were mirrors and florescent lights. Blinds hung from the window.
At first, it seemed there would be plenty of room, but when we started unpacking the car, I realized there wasn’t quite as much space as I had thought. And a lot of my stuff was still at home, waiting to be brought up by Dad the following day. Fortunately, part of that load included a desk—with several drawers—to put my talking computer on, and Mom had bought a set of stackable shelves that she planned to assemble later in the evening. Surely there would be space for everything. For now, I went to work putting away the stuff I had brought with me.
“You need some carpet in here,” Mom said. “These concrete floors will get awfully cold during the winter.”
I agreed. Blue carpet would be nice and would give the place a homier look. I’d always wanted blue carpet.
“We need to get some pictures and posters for your half of the wall space,” she went on.
I wouldn’t be able to see them once they were hung, but I knew such visuals were important to other people and would give the room more character.
I was hanging the last of my clothes in my closet, and Mom was trying to make sense of the instructions for putting the shelves together, when someone knocked on the door.
“Hi, I’m Christina,” the girl in the doorway introduced herself. “Andy told me you were here, and I thought I’d come by.”
I invited her in and we talked for a few minutes. She told me that she often babysat Andy’s little girl and that she was an RA.
“RA?” I echoed, not sure what she meant.
“Resident Assistant,” she said. “We help supervise the dorms. You know, keep noise levels down and stuff. We also conduct hall meetings and distribute materials to the students on our halls. I’m the RA for the floor above this one. We call it top Howard.”
She asked where I was from and what I would be studying. I fought against my customary shyness, answered her questions, and directed similar ones her way. I was eager to know more about the school, and Christina seemed eager to discuss it.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked at one point.
I shook my head. The more complicated answer to her question was that there was a man I was interested in, but he was quite a bit older than me. We’d discussed our mutual interest and decided it was important that I not be “tied down” to one person my first year of college. We planned to talk on the phone sometimes, and get together on occasion, but for all intents and purposes, I was very much a single woman. I figured that was all Christina really needed to know.
“Good!” she exclaimed. “There are so many nice guys here, Carmella. I’m already thinking about several I know that you might really like. I’ll have to introduce you.”
I like her, I thought.
“Have you done your schedule yet?” she asked.
I found the printed copy of my courses and handed it to her.
“Eighteen hours! Wow, that’s a lot,” she said, looking it over. She told me which classes would be easier or more fun and which professors I would like. I laughed as she imitated a couple of them.
Before she left, Christina gave me her phone number and told me to call her if I needed anything.
When we finally turned out the lights that night, rain still poured outside. I was not looking forward to the following day. Not only would I have to start getting used to this unfamiliar campus, but I would also have to use my cane, which I was not accustomed to doing. Though I’d been visually impaired all my life, my first exposure to this particular travel aid hadn’t come until my freshman year of high school. I’d always had enough sight to get around okay in familiar places, and I usually just held someone’s arm when I went somewhere unfamiliar. Maybe I was just an adolescent wanting to fit in with my peers and resistant to anything that made me seem even more different than I already was, but I’d hated the cane from day one. People responded to me differently when I walked with it, and it made me feel clumsy and awkward. Because I disliked it so much, I had rarely made use of this (in my opinion at the time, at least) most uncool of blindness accessories, and as a result, I still wasn’t comfortable doing so. To me, the cane was a label. It would cause people to assume all kinds of things and virtually establish my reputation for me. I felt that the cane made me conspicuous. It bothered me that blindness would be the first thing people associated with me.
But I knew that, in this situation, I would need the help my cane provided. There were steps all over campus, and if I wanted to travel around NGC independently and safely, I would have to use the cane to locate them. If I didn’t, I would most likely tumble headlong each day down at least one flight of stairs until I learned exactly where they were. It was easy to decide which would be more embarrassing, but I still viewed the cane as a necessary lesser of two evils. Two years later, I would return to campus accompanied by a beautiful, capable guide dog, which suited me much better than traveling with a stick with no personality or appeal to other people. At the time, however, the cursed cane was both my friend and my foe.
“It’s only temporary,” I told myself, crawling into bed that first night on campus. After a little while, I would probably become familiar enough with the layout of campus that I wouldn’t need to carry it as much. Consoled by that prospect, I eventually drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Two
An incessant banging noise brought my night’s sleep to an abrupt end at 8:30 the next morning. Across the room, Mom was hammering away at the shelf again.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled sleepily.
“I put this one on backwards,” she replied, sounding entirely too refreshed and chipper.
“You could’ve waited till I got up to do that,” I grumbled.
She laughed, undisturbed as usual by my early morning grouchiness. “If I waited for you to get your lazy self out of bed, it would be past lunchtime before we ever left this room. Now come on, we’ve got lots to do.”
Mom attacked the shelf with renewed vigor. She wasn’t going to let me go back to sleep. Admitting defeat, I threw back the covers and swung my feet to the chilly concrete floor.
“It’s stopped raining,” Mom said.
I glanced toward the window. The blinds were closed, but I could tell by their brightness that the sun was shining. At least I wouldn’t get wet trying to learn my way around this place.
My stomach began to churn nervously as I got dressed. In a few minutes, I would be exploring a whole new environment. I would meet other staff and students, and word would start getting around that there was a blind girl attending classes at North Greenville College. I wanted very much to make a good first impression on anyone I came in contact with, and I knew that throughout the day I would feel that I was constantly being watched. I hoped I wouldn’t say or do anything that would lead people to wrong conclusions about me.
“Don’t forget your cane,” Mom reminded me as I finished tying my shoes.
“Thanks,” I said, though we both knew I didn’t mean it.
I snatched it roughly from the desk, slipped off the elastic band that kept it folded, and gave it a slightly more violent shake than necessary as the pieces snapped together.
“It’s just something else that makes you unique,” Mom said, reading my thoughts. “People are going to like you for who you are. When they get to know you, they probably won’t even pay any attention to it. I imagine you’ll worry about it more than they will.”
“Nice mom speech,” I said, “You’re supposed to tell me things like that.”
Still I was glad for her encouraging words and hoped she was right.
A group of girls was gathering in the lobby as we headed outside. One of them came over to me.
“Hey, it’s Christina,” she said. “We’re about to have a RA meeting. Have you met Laura and Janet yet? They’re the RAs in charge of your floor.”
The two girls stepped forward and Christina introduced us.
“We’re really excited that you’re living on our hall,” they said. “Let us know if there’s anything you need.”
How many times had I heard that since arriving on campus yesterday? If everyone was half as accommodating as they seemed, I wouldn’t have any problems.
“Okay,” Mom said, as we made our way out of Howard Hall and up a flight of steps, “most of your classes will be in the administration building. We also have to go there to register.”
“Might as well head that way first,” I said, looking around to take in what little I could of my surroundings.
Mom consulted the map Andy had given us. “It’s straight up this sidewalk.”
As we walked, she helped me pick out landmarks that I could use to let myself know where I was. To my left were a parking lot, White Hall, a sidewalk that branched off toward the cafeteria, and some white poles. To the right were the music building and auditorium.
I was pleased to discover that the administration building wasn’t large and its arrangement was systematic. All the classrooms were on the second floor. Rooms on the left side of the hall were odd numbered. Rooms on the right were even numbered. It didn’t take me very long to find the four or five classrooms I would be meeting in. I was beginning to think getting around campus wouldn’t be as difficult as I had feared.
Completing registration was a relatively simple process. I got a computer printout of my schedule and made sure there was nothing to take care of in the business or financial aid offices. My picture was taken so my student ID card could be made, and I picked up my long-distance phone card at the switchboard.
Mom and I spent the next couple of hours picking out the best ways to get to various buildings on campus and exploring their interiors. Most of them were easy to find. I was somewhat concerned about the cafeteria. Getting to it was no problem, but it was so dimly lit that I had trouble getting around inside.
I’m bound to trip and spill something in this dark place, I thought.
“Maybe they don’t want y’all to get a good look at what you’re eating,” Mom said, trying to lighten my mood.
The buildings furthest from my dorm were the Student Center and library. I would have to cross parking lots and roads to reach them. And everywhere I went were flights of steps. Wide steps and narrow steps. Steps with rails and steps without rails. Steps in expected and unexpected places. They were numerous and unavoidable. I had to admit that I was thankful for the cane. Without it, Carmella plus steps would most certainly have equaled any number of accidents waiting to happen. But my admission of its necessity did little to soften my heart toward the stick.
We went by the post office so I could learn to work the combination lock on my mailbox.
“Three turns to the left, four back to the right, and then two more turns to the left,” Mom instructed, consulting one of the papers in a stack that had grown steadily as we went from office to office.
I could work the lock by touch, but it took a little practice to master the trick. If I didn’t get the dial lined up exactly right at any point, I had to start over.
“Oh, my, it looks like this is going to be a problem for her,” said the voice of an elderly woman from my right. “You know, we can always get someone to bring her mail to her or come and open the box for her. That would be no trouble at all.”
She was speaking to Mom as if I were invisible.
“I can open it,” I said quickly. “I just have to remember how many turns to make each way.”
“You’re sure, dear?” She patted my arm.
“I can work it,” I repeated.
She still seemed hesitant, and, though I couldn’t see it, I knew she was casting a questioning glance at Mom.
“She’ll do fine.” Mom’s voice was quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument.
“Oh, of course,” the woman hastened to agree, “but we all need help sometimes, don’t we? You just let us know, dear.”
I assured her that I would and we left. I would’ve liked to try the combination a few more times, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her scrutinizing every turn of the dial I made. I knew I would fumble self-consciously under her gaze and seemingly confirm her worries.
Mom and I decided to get lunch at the little family-style restaurant we’d visited the night before and headed back to my room so she could pick up her purse. Carefully noting each landmark that clued me in to where I was, I traced the route we’d mapped out to get from the post office back to my dorm. My cane alerted me when I reached the steps that led down to Howard Hall. I descended them quickly, pulled my keys from my pocket, and unlocked the outside door. As I stepped into the lounge, the group of RAs still meeting there began to applaud. I slipped the keys back into my pocket, forced a smile, and hurried past them.
“I can’t believe that!” I burst out indignantly as soon as the door to my room was closed behind us. “They just applauded me for walking down some steps and unlocking a door. Five-year-olds can do that stuff.”
“Don’t take it so seriously,” Mom said gently. “You know they meant well. They’re only trying to encourage you.”
“You’d think the fact that I’m going to college would prove to people that I’m somewhat intelligent,” I fumed. “That lady at the post office didn’t even think I could open my own mailbox.”
“They don’t know what to expect,” Mom said reasonably. “You’re probably the first blind person most of them have come in contact with. It’s up to you to educate them. It won’t take people long to realize how capable you are.”
In my opinion, it had already taken too long, but these two episodes my first day on campus strengthened my resolve. I would be as independent as I possibly could and ask for help only when absolutely necessary. And I would study hard and make excellent grades. Then they’d have to be the blind ones not to see that I was self-reliant and intelligent.
After we’d eaten, Mom and I stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up “a few things.” But our shopping cart was soon full to overflowing with snacks, shampoos and tubes of toothpaste, cleaning products, school supplies, and medication to treat any possible illness. Each time we thought we were finished, one of us would come up with some forgotten necessity and off we’d go in search of whatever it was.
Dad arrived on campus later that afternoon, the back of his pickup full of stuff. The valuable cargo he carried included my two CCTVs, a cart to roll one of them on, a desk, and my talking computer, as well as a small refrigerator.
We decided the best place for the desk and computer was in front of the window. It took Dad quite a few minutes to untangle the jumble of chords and get everything plugged in correctly.
“I hope your roommate is okay with all this,” he said, surveying the amount of space my various electronics took up. One of my CCTVs sat on my half of the desk and filled almost the entire space. This bulky, box-shaped reading machine consisted of a small camera, television screen, and magnification lenses. I’d relied on it heavily throughout elementary, middle, and high school and used it on a daily basis to complete various reading and writing tasks.
I frowned. Because of some last minute changes, I hadn’t even spoken with Kelly, the girl I would be rooming with. I hoped she would understand that I needed the computer space. Even more, I hoped she would be comfortable living with me.
We went in search of Andy to try to figure out where the second CCTV would be stored. He led us up to a small room in the administration building.
“They keep TVs and VCRs in here,” he said. “We’ll get you a key made so you can come and go as you need to. Mrs. Greenwood will assign you a student worker to help you get it from building to building. I’m sure she’ll be in touch.”
Since all classes in the admin building were on the same floor, I could move the CCTV from room to room myself, just as I had throughout high school. Wheeling it around was the closest thing to driving a car I’d probably ever do. I had good enough vision to steer clear of large objects and people in my path and through narrow doorways. The rolling cart I pushed it around on also served as a portable desk. Once I made it to the correct room, all I needed was access to an electrical outlet and a chair, and then I’d have the setup to function almost as effectively as my sighted peers. This system had worked very well in high school, and I was glad I would be able to continue in similar fashion in my new environment.
It had been decided that some young man would transport the CCTV to other buildings for me when necessary, earning work-study payment for the job. He’d have to be strong; the machine weighed 50 pounds. And he’d have to be reliable; I might need it moved at odd times. And he couldn’t be clumsy or careless; the CCTV was expensive, and I couldn’t do much without it.“Guess I’d better hit the road,” Dad said, after moving the CCTV and its cart up to the little room. “Are you staying here tonight?”
“Probably so,” I said. “We’ll go to Aunt Sissy’s sometime tomorrow.”
“Then you’ll come back here on Monday?”
I nodded. “My new roommate should be here Tuesday morning, and I want to be around when she shows up.”
“And classes start Wednesday,” he said.
“I have my first class Wednesday morning at eight.”
“Sounds like your days of sleeping till noon are over,” he said lightly, reaching out to give me a quick hug. “Good luck, honey. You know we’re really proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, hoping this exchange wouldn’t get too mushy.
“We’ll miss having you around the house,” he went on.
“Tigerville isn’t halfway around the world,” I reminded him. “I’ll be coming home a lot.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but it’s not the same. Call and let us know how things are going, okay?”
I promised that I would, and Dad headed home in his much lighter pickup truck.
Mom insisted several more times that afternoon that I practice finding various buildings.
“I know where they are.” I was trying to assure us both.
“It would just make me feel better,” she said. “I don’t want to leave you up here unless I know for sure you can find your way around all right.”
Something in her voice caught my attention. I’d heard the same underlying tone in Dad’s parting words. Now I recognized it for what it was. My parents were worried. I had been so caught up in my own anxieties the past couple days that I had given no thought to how they must be feeling. They were about to leave me in a strange, new place far away from their help and protection. They had raised me to be independent enough to handle such a challenge, and I knew they were proud of me for doing it. Still, this had to be tough for them.
I headed for the library, resolving that I’d walk around campus all night if it would make Mom feel better about leaving me here.
Chapter Three
Mom and I had gone to NGC almost a full week before classes were to begin so we’d have plenty of time to take care of whatever needed to be done. We had no idea how long it would take for me to learn my way around campus, and we weren’t sure how many last-minute things might come up or who we might have to wait around to talk to about scheduling or the CCTV or anything else. We’d arrived there on Thursday evening, and within twenty-four hours, everything that could be done in advance had been done. We’d made arrangements to stay with relatives who lived about forty-five minutes away from campus so that if we finished things early, we wouldn’t have to go all the way home only to turn around and come back or get bored hanging around the dorm all weekend. Saturday morning, Mom and I left NGC to go to their house. I enjoyed spending time with my aunt, uncle, and three young cousins, but was preoccupied throughout the visit with feelings of apprehension and excitement. We stayed there until Monday evening, when we returned to campus.
My roommate, Kelly, arrived at about nine the following morning.
“I’ve been here since eight o’clock and just now got my room key,” she said, throwing several bags on her bed. “Those lines for registration are awful.”
I was glad I’d gotten all that stuff out of the way the day before.
“Good, you have a computer,” she went on, sounding genuinely pleased. “That’ll come in handy. What’s this?”
I could see that her head was turned toward my CCTV, which sat on my side of the desk.
“This is a closed-circuit television,” I said. “I’m visually impaired, so I use this to do my work.”
I slipped into the chair in front of it to give Kelly a quick demonstration and placed my copy of the Enlightener on the CCTV’s sliding tray. As soon as I flipped the “on” switch, the two fluorescent lights mounted beneath the TV screen came on to illuminate the page I’d opened to, and a section of text filled the screen.
“Is that a camera between the lights?” Kelly asked.
I nodded. “Whatever it picks up comes up on the screen.”
I flipped a switch located on a panel just beneath the screen, and the black words on a white background became white words on a black background.
“I prefer reading it this way,” I said. “White on black is easier on my eyes.”
“Does it do colors, too?”
“This one doesn’t, but there are some that do,” I said. “Everything that comes up on this one is like it would be on a black and white TV.”
“What about those big knobs right under the screen?”
“This knob makes things bigger and smaller,” I said. “And this one adjusts the focus.”
“It really makes stuff big,” Kelly said, peering over my shoulder.
I moved the sliding tray, and a line of print passed across the screen.
“No student shall set or cause to be set any unauthorized fires in or on campus property,” Kelly read aloud. “Can you write under it, too?”
I removed my book from the tray and replaced it with a notepad that lay by the phone. “Hi, Kelly!” I wrote on the top page.
She chuckled. “I don’t see how you do that. It makes me dizzy. Does it take you a lot longer to do things that way?”
“Maybe a little, but I’ve gotten pretty fast. I’ve been using one of these since third grade, so I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Is that when you lost some of your vision?”
I turned in my chair to face her. “No. I was born three months prematurely. My lungs weren’t developed well enough for me to breath on my own, so I was placed in an incubator. Too much oxygen from it got into my eyes and damaged the retinas. It’s a condition called retinopathy of prematurity.”
“I’ll definitely take your word for that,” she said. “How much can you see?”
This was always a hard question for me to answer. Since I’d been visually impaired all my life, I really had no way of comparing normal vision to my way of seeing.
“Well,” I began, “I can’t see at all out of my left eye. The vision in my right eye is just enough to get me in trouble really. I can see shapes and colors and can get around okay in familiar places most of the time without a cane. I have trouble with steps, dimly lit places, and stuff like that. I usually know who people are by their voices. When I look at someone, I can kind of get an idea of their size, hair color, and maybe what they’re wearing. Like, I can see that you have blonde hair and that you’re wearing a white t-shirt with something written on it.”
“It says ‘Myrtle Beach.’ That’s where I’m from,” she said. “Do you mind me asking all these questions?”
“Not at all. Ask me anything you want.”
A brief silence followed. I hesitated before breaking it. I had no trouble answering questions, but there was something I needed to ask, and I was more than a little uneasy about it.
“Does my not being able to see well make you uncomfortable? I mean, do you mind our being roommates?”
I was prepared to present a convincing case if I needed to. I would tell her that I was very independent, that I wouldn’t need her help to take care of myself or find my classes. I was ready to promise her she wouldn’t have to babysit me. “Really, I’m a normal person,” I would insist. “I’m…”
“Of course not,” she said. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”
I was so relieved, I could’ve hugged her. Opting for restraint, I smiled instead and promised myself that I would try my best not to give her any reason to regret that decision.
Mom returned then. She had left in search of coffee a few minutes before Kelly showed up. After introductions were made, my new roommate left to finish unpacking her car, and Mom and I went to do more walking around campus.
I quickly realized why it had taken Kelly so long to get registered. People were everywhere. Girls were pouring in and out of every door in Howard Hall, most of them weighed down with suitcases and chattering as they went. I wondered how many of them paused to stare at me and my white cane.
My self-consciousness grew as I left the dorm. If more girls were milling around, it stood to reason that more guys were somewhere around, too. Like every college freshman, I was looking forward to meeting new people and having an active social life, but as I headed for the administration building, I wondered if I was being realistic. I would be noticed certainly. I would be talked about. But would I be considered “dateable”?
I knew from what people told me about myself what my best physical features were, but would anyone be aware of them? Would guys notice my long wavy brown hair, pretty smile, slim figure, or nice skin? Or would they just see a blind girl? There were plenty of other girls on campus to choose from. Girls who could see normally, flirt normally, and who didn’t need extra help of any kind—girls who wore make-up and fixed their hair in all kinds of cute ways. I, on the other hand, wore a simple haircut and very little make-up.
“You’re not supposed to be thinking like this,” I reminded myself. “This is your new beginning, remember?”
With an effort, I forced a smile and moved forward as if I’d been here for years and knew full well that I was the most popular, most attractive girl on campus. I hoped it was a convincing act.
After I took Mom to the cafeteria, student center, White Hall, science building, auditorium, music building, and the library, we returned to Howard Hall. A note on my door from Wanda, my friend from church who was also beginning her freshman year at NGC, said that her room was only four doors down from mine. I was thrilled and more than a little relieved. Mom and I went to see her and found her busily assessing storage space and arranging her belongings.
“I don’t know where I’m going to put everything,” she complained. “I thought I had lots of room, but I’ve filled up the closet and all of my drawers, and still have stuff to unpack.”
I knew the feeling.
We talked for a while before Mom said the words I’d been dreading. “Well, let’s go get some lunch before I have to leave.”
I was too nervous and scared to be hungry, but I wanted to postpone her leaving as long as I could. Suddenly, all my grand ideas of independence vanished. I wanted to go home to what was familiar. I felt like a little girl again, not wanting to be away from her mommy. I didn’t want her to leave me in this strange new place.
But I didn’t say that. Over lunch, she asked if there was anything else I needed. There wasn’t. She asked if I thought I would be able to get around campus all right. I did. She said I could call home as often as I wanted. I had a feeling I’d be calling a lot.
“Don’t be shy about telling people what you need,” she admonished. “Everyone we’ve met seems more than willing to help you. Call Andy or Michelle or one of your RAs.”
“I will,” I promised. “I’ll eat my vegetables, take my vitamins, and get plenty of sleep, too.”
Neither of us said much on the way back to school. I never was one for a lot of mush. I couldn’t have stood it right then, anyway. I was too close to tears and panic.
“What are you going to do this afternoon?” she asked when we returned to my room.
I didn’t know. It was only 1:30. It seemed that this day was going to drag on forever. I hated the thought of all the empty hours, filled with nervousness and apprehension.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll hang out with Wanda.” I didn’t want to be by myself. I wasn’t sure where Kelly was. I figured she must be visiting her friends from last year, since she was a sophomore.
“I think that’s a good idea.” Mom said. “Maybe you two can get to know some of your neighbors. Don’t be shy.”
“I’m sure I’ll make lots of friends,” I said, trying to convince us both. Mom knew as well as I did that I tended to be an introvert.
“I know you will,” she said. “You’re going to be fine. Just remember we love you.”
The tears came then. I couldn’t stop them. I was scared and homesick already. So many things could happen here. What if I got lost? What if the professors didn’t want a visually impaired student in their classes? What if I didn’t make friends? What if…?
Mom gave me a big hug. I knew she was crying, too. “I’m really proud of you, honey,” she said, with a sniff. “Call and let us know how things are going. See you this weekend.”
She pulled away and hurried out before either of us could change our mind about my staying here.
I sat on my new bed, willing the tears to stop. I didn’t like being alone in the strange room, but I didn’t want anyone to see my face all red and puffy either. With an effort, I took a few calming breaths, pressed a cold washcloth to my eyes, and headed down the hall to find Wanda, counting doors as I went. Her room was seven doors down from mine on the same side.
“Hi,” she greeted me. “Is your mom gone?”
“Yeah, she is.” I tried to speak nonchalantly, as if her leaving hadn’t been a big deal.
“Come in and sit down,” she said.
I perched tensely on the edge of her bed, too nervous to get comfortable.
She introduced her roommate, Theresa, and we exchanged the standard basic information of hometown, class rank, and intended major.
The door was open and I listened to the constant flow of people and conversations passing by. Occasionally bursts of loud laughter and ringing phones could be heard from nearby rooms.
“Have you met your roommate?” Wanda asked.
I told her the standard basic information about Kelly, adding, “She seems nice. I think we’ll get along fine.”