Barnes, Like the Bookstore

Who is He?

When I was halfway through my last stay at the Helen Keller National Center in late February 2017, I noticed a new student and his guide dog. I wanted to know about him, and I probably should have approached Chris himself.

But instead, I asked one of the staff members. I was curious and inquisitive, and I actually asked her about different people each time I spotted someone new walking the halls. You’d think I would approach THEM –ask their name and where they’re from—in order to make friends. But I was also shy and preferred to gain my information in a familiar, safe conversation with someone I saw as a friend.

“and what about that tall guy with the yellow lab? Who is he?” I asked my teacher.

“That’s Chris,” she told me.

“How old is he?”

“31,”

“where’s he from?”

“California,”

Upon learning that last detail you would have thought I’d put up a wall around my heart when it came to him, for fear of getting involved with someone from clear across the country. But I didn’t. When she told me he’s from California, I simply nodded, completely unaware I would, in fact, end up falling in love with him and remaining in a long distance relationship for two years, and blissfully oblivious of the joy and heartache in store for me.

You know what they say . . . love is pain. Of course, I knew none of this then, but my life was about to change.

The Helen Keller National Center training building where the students had classes, and the residence building where they slept, ate, and hung out were separated by a huge lawn, spotted with a few trees. There was a wide walking path that led from the doors of the residence to the training building and the parking lot beyond. Actually, think of the bigger, wide walkway as a t. There were two shorter arms of the t –a lower case t—one walkway turned off from the main one to lead to the parking lot and the track, while the other walkway turned off the main one in the opposite direction from the parking lot. This is how one arrived at where the wooden swing was situated, hanging from a wood frame. My friend Alex and I left the residence building, walked down the main path a good ways, turned left onto the smaller path that led to the swing. We sat swinging and chatting for a little while. Then suddenly a yellow lab ran over to greet me on the swing. I figured he was someone’s guide dog taking a park break. A few students had dogs. While the lab was demanding attention from me, Alex told me “Chris is singing”. Of course, I heard nothing, and I don’t know how Alex knew, since he’s also deaf. Maybe he was able to read Chris lips well enough to figure out he was lip synching. Chris was strolling quite a distance from us—I’m not even sure he noticed us, though Alex could see him. Eventually the lab wandered away. I didn’t know it then, but it was Chris’ guide dog who escaped Chris during his park break to come ask me for attention. Now I believe the pup was trying to get the two of us together even then.

One night I was in the elevator riding down to the cafeteria for dinner. I thought I was alone and I yawned hugely. When I opened my eyes post-yawn, I realized with a start that I wasn’t alone.

Standing across the elevator from me was a tall, broad guy. I could see his dark eyes and hair—Mexican?—and, without his yellow lab at his side, it took me a minute to recognize him.

I guess he’d been admiring my beautiful yawn, because he signed something to me.

I couldn’t see what he signed: he was too far away and not wearing a dark shirt. I stepped closer to him and signed, “What?”, then placed my hands on top of his to feel him sign to me.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

Well, duh. I’d just yawned in his face. But I guess he was just making conversation. So I nodded in answer, then, because I already knew who he was but had never learned the name of his sidekick, I asked:

“What’s your dog’s name?”

Of course, since he was only beginning to learn sign then, and I guess he assumed I was asking HIS name, as most first-time meetings would have occasioned, he finger-spelled his own name to me.

I was terribly rude! The polite thing to do would be to let his misunderstanding my question – he probably expected me to ask HIS name, not the dog’s! I should have just said “Nice to meet you, Chris.

I’m Quinn,” or something like that.

But no, I was temporarily dumb.

I said, “I know! I meant, your DOG!”

He was so nice and easygoing. He laughed and said, “Oh! Barnes,”

That was when the elevator doors opened. We were both laughing because I’d replied with a witty “Barnes! Like the bookstore?!”