319 Winesap Lane - 20. Chapter 20 - The Family Visit

Erik’s POV

It’s kind of strange here at the school. I suppose it’s because up until not too long ago I was fully sighted and now I can barely see past my eyelids. The ophthalmologists and neurologists explained most of it was because of all those beatings Mr. Arnold gave me, but the kicker in my case was a bout of asymptomatic meningitis that gave no outward symptoms other than my ever-increasing blindness. In the end, they put me on a general antibiotic and probably saved my life.

When I first came here I was afraid the other boys were going to make fun of me because I was new, but nothing like that occurred. Yes, I was new and I didn’t know what to do, where to go, or anything. The only thing different for me than most of the other kids was I could see some light and dark, but it was so nebulous as to be immaterial to my situation. Hell, I couldn’t use a cane worth shit. Dad, Jerry, and Jamie had pretty much led me around the house instead of making me learn to use the cane, so when I got to the school I was put in a class on how to use the thing. I’m pretty good, now; still, there are times when I get lost on campus and have to stop and wait until a staff member notices and comes to my rescue. My favorite staff member is Ronny. I guess he’s responsible for new kids like me.

Last month I received a letter from a woman in Maine who said she was my grandmother. When Ronny read the letter, which was strange because the woman said she was working on getting me back to Maine where my family was and away from “that homosexual so called foster father” who probably had plans to rent me out to other perverts in New York. When Ronny said it was signed “Abigail Franklin,” I told him I didn’t know anyone by that name. Ronny called Mr. Daniels at the Lyon County Department of Social Services and advised him that I had been contacted by someone who might be posing as a member of my family. I hoped Mr. Daniels was going to handle it.

Unfortunately, this Abigail Franklin sent a letter to the New York State Police demanding they investigate Dad for running a homosexual boy’s whore house catering to the homosexual perverts in Warnton. Plus, she got in contact with Mr. Daniels and demanded I be put in a residential situation more suitable to my disability. Luckily, I was placed in a home here in Batavia that already had a few blind children from the school. The thing was I had to move out of the dormitory and live at that home and be bussed to school. I suppose it was inevitable that I sunk into a general funk and stopped learning the things they were trying to teach me at the school.

For what it’s worth, there was a psychologist and a psychiatrist on staff at the school. When the teachers saw that I wasn’t participating, they took me to the psychologist first. Her name was Dr. Helen Wagner and she expected me to address her as Dr. Wagner. Like, “Well, Dr. Wagner, you see I’m depressed because my living situation changed because of some woman I don’t even know.” Except, I usually said something like, “I don’t know,” and left it at that.

“I cannot help you, uh, let’s see, oh, yes, Erik, unless you participate in your treatment,” she said.

“Fuck it!”

“Watch your mouth young man or I’ll be forced to give you demerits,” she said in a very threatening manner, which surprised me because I thought she wasn’t allowed to do that sort of thing.

“What are you going to do, kick me out of this place?”

“Okay, that’s it, two full demerits.”

“What do I have to do, stand me in a corner, if I can find one?”

“Two more demerits; one more and you’ll be placed on restriction.”

“Listen, bitch, a year ago I was playing the clarinet in a youth orchestra in Maine. You can find my solo on YouTube. Now, I can’t even find my clarinet, let alone read the music. I was abused so severely I started to go blind and then I got that asymptomatic meningee-something and totally lost my vision. And, now, some bitch from Maine, I don’t even know, is fucking my life up. Give me demerits! Put me on restriction! I don’t give a shit what you do; unless you can see it in your heart to put me out of my misery.”

“Oh, dear, I had no idea.”

“Obviously, you didn’t.”

* * *

On Wednesday, I was supposed to meet with the psychiatrist because the psychologist thought I might have something organic wrong with my brain that was affecting my attitude, but when I came out of the group home in Batavia Mr. Daniels met me at the curb.

“Erik? I’m Bill Daniels, your social worker from Lyons County,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“Sure, but why are you here?”

“Your grandmother, Abigail Franklin, has come down from Maine to meet you and possibly take you back with her.”

“But, I don’t know who she is,” I said. “I have my Grandpa Herschel, my father’s father and there is Grammy Lois and Granddad Freddy, my mother’s parents, but I don’t know who this Abigail person is and how she can be related to me. Why do I have to meet her?”

“She has a court order stating she is your grandmother and we must follow procedure,” Mr. Daniels said. “Come along, there’s a car at the curb. May I help you there?”

“Okay, but can I get legal representation in this?”

“I anticipated your reluctance and Geoff has retained your lawyer from Lyons.”

“Good, I like him.”

“Here’s the car; wait a moment while I open the door. There you go.”

I sat in the seat, not knowing whether I was in the front or the back, but I fastened my seatbelt and waited.

“Erik, this is Bob Sunderland, a social worker here in Genesee County,” Mr. Daniels said.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Erik,” Mr. Sunderland said. I couldn’t quite place his accent, but I knew he wasn’t from anywhere near Batavia.

“You’re not from around here,” I said.

“Tennessee, Murfreesboro, to be exact, it’s south of Nashville.”

“Do you listen to country music?”

“I play a five-string banjo in a bluegrass band up in Rochester.”

“I play the clarinet or, rather, I used to.”

“Have you ever tried to play by ear?”

“No, I never thought of that. I’m quite new at being blind.”

“So, I’ve heard. Maybe you should take it up and give it a try. I’m sure we could find you an instructor who’d be willing to help.”

“Really? Gee, that’d be great; that is, if I’m still here.”

“Don’t worry, you have friends who will help you with whatever you want in this situation.”

I sat there in the backseat of the car trying not to think about the upcoming meeting with this woman who somehow thought she was my grandmother. I thought and thought about who she might be, but no matter how I wracked my mind over her name, I couldn’t place anyone named Franklin at any time in my life. Eventually, the car seemed to turn off whatever street it was on and enter a parking lot.

“Oh, good, there’s a handicap parking space up by the front door,” Mr. Sunderland said. “Let’s see, where is that tag? Bill, check in the glove box.”

“Yeah, here it is,” Mr. Daniels said. “I suppose I should get one of these for my Explorer.”

“It comes in handy,” Mr. Sunderland said. “I suppose that gentleman on the sidewalk is Erik’s attorney?”

“Yes, he is,” Mr. Daniels said. “Erik, wait until I get out and I’ll help you.”

If anybody had asked me at that moment how I felt about being blind, I think I would’ve hit them. I hated being helpless, having to rely on sighted people to get me around. I unbuckled the seatbelt and waited for Mr. Daniels to open the door. I knew he was going to try and guide me into the building so I tried to release the tension from my body. The door opened and I grabbed my cane before turning to get out. I stood up and allowed myself to be moved away from the car so the door could be closed. I thought of a joke going through the school about the blind kid being guided around by a seeing eye person versus a seeing eye dog. I would’ve liked to use my cane to show them I did have that skill, but that was not to be today.

“We’re at the curb,” Mr. Daniels said.

I felt it with my toe and stepped up.

“Erik, it’s good to see you again,” a voice said. I knew I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t quite remember who it belonged to.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t see you,” I said. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the severity of your blindness; I’m Arthur Hillyard, your attorney.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you. Do you think I’ll be able to go back to living with Geoff?”

“That’s our goal, though first we have to determine who this woman is. Bill was saying you don’t recognize anyone named Abigail Franklin.”

“I haven’t a clue who she is,” I said.

“Okay, well, I’ve reserved a meeting room where she and someone she said is your uncle Spencer are waiting for us. Now, you do not have to say anything. It’s up to her to establish her relationship with you. Okay?”

“Sure, okay.”

We went into whatever building it was where the meeting was to occur. That’s the problem with being blind; you just can’t see the marginalized objects in the vision field. It could have been an office building, a government building such as the courthouse, or maybe it was one of the motels in Batavia. I just didn’t know where we were. I allowed myself to be guided through the front door, along an interior space of indeterminant space until we came to another door that we negotiated without undue stress. Finally, I was told where to sit.

“Mrs. Franklin, if you will state your relationship with Erik Robertson we can begin,” Mr. Hillyard said.

“Erik, I am Arnie’s stepmother, formerly married to his stepfather Harold Chapman.”

“In other words, you admit you do not have a blood relationship with Erik,” Mr. Hillyard said.

“That doesn’t matter because it is obvious the boy’s soul is in danger of being thrown into Hell because of the stain of ho-mo-sex-u-al-ity.”

“Why do you people keep insisting I’m gay?” I asked. “Is it because I don’t want to play football, baseball, soccer, or any other contact sport?”

“Arnie told me on many occasions that you had the stain of ho-mo-sex-u-al-ity upon your soul and he was doing everything he could to remove it. I’m going to take you back to Maine where I will enroll you in a treatment facility where you will be freed from the hideous demon of ho-mo-sex-u-al-ity.”

“Fuck you, bitch, I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

“You do not have any choice in this matter,” she said. “I have a court order stating you will return to Maine with me.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Mr. Hillyard said. “Here is a court order issued by Judge Fletcher of the Family Affairs Court here in Genesee County staying any out of state order transferring jurisdiction of Erik Robertson’s residential status to an out of state jurisdiction. See you in court Mrs. Franklin.”

* * *

On Thursday, after school, I was moved from the group home back to the dormitory at the school. I didn’t really know what was going on, but allowed the staff at the group home to pack my clothes and carry my bags out to the bus. At the school various staff came out to get my bags and take them into the dormitory. Meanwhile, I went to my classes and tried to concentrate on my lessons. I didn’t know what was happening, legal wise, but I had to assume that my being relocated to the school dormitory meant that Abigail person’s claim to our relationship had been somehow negated.

At the end of the day, after dinner, I went up to the dormitory where I was welcomed by my invisible friends. They asked many questions I couldn’t answer and eventually accepted the fact whatever reason for my relocation to the group home had somehow resolved itself.

* * *

I didn’t know what was to become of me at the end of school on Friday, so I lagged behind the other students as we made our way out to the dormitory. I had a feeling that someone was near me, so I said, “What’s going on?”

“There’s no way to fool you, is there?” Ronny asked. “Of all the students, only you seem to have mastered the art of second sense.”

“Where am I going for the weekend?” I asked.

“Where you should go, with the man who wants to be your father.”

“You mean they’ve cleared Dad of all those accusations?”

“We didn’t want to get your expectations up, but, yes, Dr. Johnson is waiting for you out in the parking lot.”

“What happened? I thought that woman was going to take me back to Maine.”

“The short answer is she didn’t show up at the hearing and the judge vacated her claim to be related to you. The long answer is the State Police found out she is wanted in Maine for various offenses in relation to young LGBTQ people. Seems she runs one of those conversion therapy camps that purports to treatment young LGBTQ until they disavow their homosexuality.”

“Oh, wow, and to think she almost got me.”

“Well, here we are at the dormitory. You go ahead and get your weekend clothes and whatever you want to take with you; and I’ll wait for you out here.”

I went inside and found my duffel bag, which I filled with clothes that I thought would be appropriate for a weekend at 319 Winesap Lane. Of course, I didn’t really know what I was putting in my bag because I couldn’t see, but simply assumed the clothes would be appropriate. It was hard being blind and not knowing what clothes I was putting in my bag. It was easy with the underwear and socks, but the pants and shirts were something else. That was the problem with being blind, you just never knew you were wearing something appropriate. It was always a matter of trust with a sighted person who you thought was a friend to ensure you were wearing clothes that went together. At this early stage in my blindness I hadn’t yet found someone who I could trust to say I was wearing the correct clothes. Well, at least I could count on Dad to tell me whether I was wearing the correct combination, but I never saw him until my bag was packed and I was out in his car.

I picked up my duffel bag and went downstairs and out the door to the parking lot, where I went down the walk until I reached the curb.

“Ronny, are you near?” I asked.

“No, he’s gone to help another student,” Dad said.

“Dad, are you really here?” I asked, turning toward the sound of his voice.

“In the flesh, which of course you can’t see. Here let me help you out to the car.”

There were so many questions I had to ask, but I knew nothing could be said until we were in the car and heading back to Warnton. Dad took my bag and softly held my arm as he led me along toward the car.

“Here we are; I’ll let you sit up front,” Dad said as he positioned me alongside the car so I could sit in the seat.

I got in and buckled my seatbelt. I waited for Dad to get in, but unexpectedly I heard Jerry say, “Hi, Erik how’re you doin’?”

“Jerry? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the hospital. I had a relapse when our new boys showed up.”

“Did they scare you?”

“No, I’d seen them before in my hallucinations at the hospital. Dr. Avianca said the mind sometimes tricks us into seeing things that we don’t expect. I’m much better, now.”

“That’s good,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. “Uh, who are these new residents?”

“They’re twins; I think you’ll like them, though they’re only nine.”

“That’s awfully young for our house.”

“I think Mr. Daniels is trying to put boys who need help in our home, whether they’re gay or not.”

“I don’t know if it’ll work out, though.”

“Geoff seems willing to try so we have to go along with his wishes, after all he is the foster father in this experiment.”

“Do you think it’s an experiment?”

“It has to be considering who we have living in the house.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I said.

“Okay you two, what’s going on?” Dad asked when he got into in car.

“We were discussing the new boys,” Jerry said. “Who is watching out for them, now?”

“Mrs. Campbell came over to watch the house until we get back,” Dad said. “Oh, Erik, good news. Your family in Maine has relinquished their rights and have concurred in my request to adopt you.”

“Oh, thank you, there is a God in heaven,” I said.

“Are we going to have a party when we get the papers establishing Geoff’s adoption?” Jerry asked.

“I suppose we should,” I said.

“Good, Thamalthos will be appeased,” Jerry said.

“Who?” I asked.

“The god of good tidings in the ninth universe.”

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry, you do not understand. I apologize for your misunderstanding. I was out of line to suppose you would be knowledgeable of the multiverse according to X!thansys the Oracle.”

“Dad, what is he talking about?” I asked.

“I don’t really know,” he said. “Jerry’s been off on these strange tangents that none of us can figure out.”

I sat there in the car lost in my dark imagination as I tried to figure out what Jerry was saying. Obviously, he had been reading somethings either in Geoff’s bookshelves or possibly online that were coloring his view of the universe.

“Dad, could you turn up the volume on the music just enough so I don’t have to lister to Jerry?” I asked.

“Sure thing, Erik.”

“In the seventh to the fourteenth power multiverse, B!Nunebre’ith! the Great Bear on whose back the Forty Virgins carry the Orb which is Brenderathal through its universe which is somewhat smaller than the expanse of eighty to the seventy-fifth power quadrillion light years, there exists a people who assume their universe is the quantum multiple of all multiverses of all time,” Jerry said. “Unfortunately, for the inhabitants of Brenderathal their multiverse blackhole is swallowing all rational existences at a rate that Brenderathal will cease to exist in seven million, three hundred and five thousand, four hundred and forty-three years, on a Tuesday at seven-eighteen in the morning.”

I sat there listening to one of Dad’s Rush CDs. Jerry was babbling in the backseat, while I concentrated on the music coming out of the car’s speakers. I’d grown used to Dad’s Rush albums to the point where I expected him to play only those. When the album “Counterparts” finished I expected Dad to put in another Rush CD, but he didn’t do that. Within a few bars I was able to determine Dad had inserted The Travelling Wilburys’ first CD because the song “Handle With Care” was playing. I relaxed back into my seat and concentrated on the song all the while trying to ignore Jerry’s irrational babbling in the background.

Finally, after I don’t know how long, I noticed the car slowing down and turning into what must have been an alley because of the bumps and sways of the car. We were back at 319 and I would be able to go up to my bedroom. Jerry was babbling about his mythical Brenderathal, but I ignored him. Now, was not the time to get involved with his fantasies. The car turned again and came to a stop.

“Well, here we are,” Dad said. “Jerry, you can go ahead and get out. Erik, I have your clothes that you keep here in the back. Jerry, it would be nice if you could help Erik.”

“Sure thing, Commander Johnson,” Jerry said. “I am here at your bequest and will serve you to the best of my abilities.”

“Just wait at the back of the car and I’ll give you Erik’s bags to carry into the house,” Dad said. “Erik, you might as well make your way into the house.”

Using my cane, I walked up to the backdoor where I went through as if I knew where I was going. Once I got into the kitchen, Mrs. Campbell said, “Oh, Erik, it’s nice to see you back home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Campbell, it’s nice to be back home,” I said.

“Do you need help into the foyer?” she asked.

“No, I think I can make it on my own.”

“Are you really blind?” I heard a voice at my right.

“I guess so; I’m using a cane to get through the house,” I said. “And, you are?”

“I’m Steve, David’s brother.”

“Glad to meet you, Steve,” I said.

“Do you need help getting upstairs?”

“No, I’ve got it down pat.”

As I went up the stairs, I sensed Steve’s presence. I figured he was simply amazed that a blind boy could get around in the house without running into trouble. I came to my room and took the key out of my pants pocket. I inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. I walked in and sat down on the bed and sensed someone else sitting beside me.

“What’s it like being blind?” Steve asked.

“Shut your eyes and keep them shut,” I said. “Whatever you do don’t open them. Now, stand up and walk out of the room.”

“How do I do that?” he asked.

“You have to remember how you came in.”

“Wow, that’s hard.”

“Yes, but you get used to it in time.”

“Where do you want these clothes?” Jerry asked.

“The underwear in the top drawers, the shirts in the middle drawers, and the pants in the bottom drawers,” I said.

“Sure thin, my Capitan,” Jerry said.

“He’s weird,” Steve said.

“Yes, but he’s nice,” I said. “Steve? I’d like to have a short lie down. If you would excuse me, I’d appreciate it.”

“Can I lie with you?”

“I think you’re a little young to do that,” I said.

“I don’t want to do any sexy things; I just want to lie next to you like I do with David.”

“What do you know about doing sex?”

“Don’t get mad!” Steve whispered as I felt him lie down and snuggle up next to me. “Please don’t tell Mr. Johnson. I’ll do anything you want, but don’t tell Mr. Johnson. David makes me put my hand down there in his jammies. Please don’t tell anyone or David will get mad and say I do it because I like it.”

“Why that little son-of-a-bitch,” I said. “Don’t worry we’ll take care of this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll take care of David making you touch him.”

“Please don’t tell Mr. Johnson or we’ll have to go to another home.”

“Look, Steve, don’t worry; we can take care of this hopefully without involving Dad.”

* * *

The next morning, after showering and getting dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather sandals, I made my way downstairs. I wasn’t using my cane because I knew the house, but as I was going down the stairs someone stuck a foot out and tripped me. Since I was going slow just to be careful, I didn’t fall too terribly bad, but I did scream bloody hell. I ended up in a crumpled pile at the foot of the stairs and heard giggling above me.

“Got you, you little fucker,” I heard Jamie say.

“Hey! Let go of me!” I heard a voice I couldn’t quite place.

I started testing limbs for obvious injury, while I heard two people coming down the stairs.

“Erik, are you okay?” Jamie asked.

“I think so, but I’d appreciate someone giving me the once over.”

“I’ll get Billy to help you, I’ve got to take David to Dad.”

“Was it him who tripped me?”

“Saw it all. We gotta get this fucker out of the house, if he’s going to be playing pranks.”

“You can’t do anything,” David said. “I’ll tell them you messed with me. They’ll put you in jail.”

“What’s going on in here?” Dad said. “Erik what’re you doing on the floor?”

“David tripped him on the stairs,” Jamie said. “I saw him do it and he laughed, too.”

“I did not!” David said. “You can’t prove a thing. It’s your word against mine.”

“And, mine,” I said. “I might not be able to see, but I can hear.”

“Okay, that’s enough for me,” Dad said. “Come along David, I’ll take you up to your room. Jamie, check out Erik.”

“You can’t do anything to me,” David said. “I’ll tell the police you touch me.”

“Okay, if that’s the way it’s going to be come with me to the kitchen,” Dad said.

I heard some shuffling and Dad’s heavy foot tread going down the hall.

“Let me get a look at you,” Jamie said.

“I hope Dad does get rid of him because he’s been making Steve touch him at night in bed,” I said.

“What do you mean ‘touch him’?”

“You know, touch him.”

“The little perv! I’m going to tell Dad.”

“Don’t, unless you think you should. I promised Steve we wouldn’t. What about me? My head kinda hurts; do you see anything?”

“Yeah, you got a big bump on your forehead. How about arms and legs?”

“I think they’re okay, but could you get a cold pack for my head?”

“Hey, what happened Erik?” Billy asked.

“David tripped him on the stairs,” Jamie said. “Get in the kitchen so Dad isn’t alone with him.”

“Sure thing,” Billy said. “I’m going to have Dad call the medics so they can check you out.”

“Do you have to do that?”

“Yes, now lay back and try to get comfortable,” Jamie said.

“Oow! My back, I must have twisted it.”

“Hey, Steve, come here and stay with Erik.”

“What happened, did you fall?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” I said, leaving it at that.

“I’m sorry; is there anything I can do?” Steve asked.

“No, just stay with me. You’re nice, you know. I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

I laid there in a small degree of pain wishing I could see what was happening around me. I felt someone take my right hand and hold it softly. I had to assume it was Steve who didn’t know what else to do. It was probably the most comforting thing he could do and strangely I appreciated his effort to make me feel better. After a while, I don’t really know how long, I heard the sound of an ambulance coming our way. The sound got louder and louder, then stopped, but I knew the ambulance wasn’t at our curb because I couldn’t hear the engine. That was one of the things I noticed more about being blind, the ability to concentrate on sounds to the point where I could hear someone close to me by their breathing all the while feeling the soft touch of their hand; and, the ambulance approaching from a distance. Finally, I heard the medics come in the front door and come over to me.

“How’re you doing?” one of them asked.

“He fell down the stairs,” Steve said.

“Is that so; well, I’d prefer talking to the victim if you don’t mind,” the medic said.

“Oh, okay, sure,” Steve said. “I’ll go over here out of your way.”

“He’s nice,” I said.

“Obviously,” the medic said. “So, how are you.”

“My back hurts a little, but everything else seems to be working okay,” I said.

“He’s blind,” Steve said.

“Oh, okay, thanks,” said the medic. “Bob, get me the neck brace and the backboard.”

“Sure thing, Dave,” the other medic said.

“Okay, can you lay flat on your back?” Dave the medic asked. “Go slow, don’t force yourself.”

“I think I can,” I said. I moved slowly just away from any sensation of pain. It took a bit of time, but eventually I was laying on my back with my legs straight out from my hips.

“Any pain?”

“No, not really.”

“How much on a scale of one to ten.”

“Maybe two in my lower back, but nothing in my legs.”

“How about this?”

“Ow! What did you do to my foot?”

“Just checking. How about the other one?”

“Ow! Stop that!”

“Steady, son, just checking for paralysis.”

“My name isn’t son, it’s Erik.”

“Okay Erik, let me check your arms and hands.”

He did his job as painful as it was. He checked my abdomen and listened to my heart. Finally, Dad came out and asked, “How’s our patient?”

“Seems to be okay other than the bump on his head and a little discomfort in his lower back,” Dave the medic said. “We’re going to transport him down to Newark just to be certain nothing’s significantly wrong. Will you be accompanying us?”

“No, unfortunately I have another situation here at the house, which I’ll have to take care of before I can go down to Newark,” Dad said. “Erik is a foster child here at the house. Erik do you have your medical ID card?”

“It’s up in my room.”

“Where?”

“It should be on my dresser.”

“Okay, I’ll go up and get it.”

“Okay, Erik, let me put this collar around your neck,” Dave said.

He was quite gentle as he went about his tasks. With the help of the other medic, they put the backboard under me and strapped me to it. I felt them lift me up and place me on the stretcher.

“Here’s his medical card,” Dad said.

“Thank you, sir, just call the hospital to check on his condition,” Dave said. “I’m sure they’re going to keep him overnight in case he has a concussion.”

“Dad, what about David?” I asked.

“I called Mr. Daniels,” Dad said. “He’s coming down to take Dave to another placement that might be more suitable for him.”

“Don’t let Steve go with him, please,” I said.

“Why? They’re brothers and shouldn’t be separated except under extenuating circumstances.”

“Talk to Steve; if you’re nice, he’ll tell you what David has been doing to him.”

“I see. Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll come down to the hospital this afternoon; okay?”

“Sure, Dad, I’m okay, honest.”