This is a work of fiction, despite being written from the first-person perspective.
After walking through the herd of cattle and Dad content that every animal was in good health, we stepped away from them. Dad would do his customary look-over of the windmill and the water trough, make sure everything was running smoothly.
“I’m going to clean off the cane tip,” I told my dad.
Dad nodded and strode off in the direction of the windmill.
I moved toward the large gate, where I would head into the smaller pen and dip the cane’s tip in the water trough to clean off the crap. This seemed to be a routine for me every time I came to the ranch.
I unhitched the chain, pulled the gate open, and then went through. I left the gate slightly ajar. Sliding the cane, I came up to the water trough. I dipped the tip of the cane in the water. Reaching in, I rubbed off any of the manure that remained.
Lifting the cane out of the water, I flicked a finger over the roller tip. As the tip rolled clockwise, droplets of water came away from it. I leaned the cane on the pen’s fence.
I removed my glasses. Hunching down, I dipped my hand in the water and cupped some of the water in my hand. I splashed my face. The water was cool as it hit my face. I splashed more water over my head and hair to try to cool down.
Late August in South Texas is probably the worst month in terms of heat and humidity. Any outside activity is met with an immediate dampness over the body and the shirt stuck to your back.
I put my glasses back on and reached for and grabbed my cane. The heat had dried it. I stepped under the shade of a large mesquite tree and waited for my dad to check the water trough, even though I could have told him it was full of water.
As I waited and rested from the heat I began thinking of what occupied my mind for the past month. The upcoming school year. It was my senior year at the high school.
For most students senior year means ruling the school for that final nine months before moving on to college, a job or the military. My situation was a bit different.
I twirled my cane around. It moved clockwise before me and I frowned. My options were pretty limited. Two years prior after being diagnosed with optic neuropathy, my whole life changed and so did my future after high school.
Freshman year sitting in the top ten percent of my class, the future looked bright. Even though I had little idea of what I wanted to be, I knew I was headed to college. But the summer of 1986 changed my life, now the solitary visually impaired student at the high school.
Thinking of the future made my stomach queasy. Nine months from now I would presumably be a high school graduate. That was all good but from this standpoint nine months before that time, the future looked bleak and unknown. That scared me.
I was drawn from my thoughts by the sound of the pen’s gate squeaking. Dad was coming in.
“All good?” I said.
Dad nodded. “Si.” He moved past me and leaned over the water trough. He pushed ddown on the float to check the flow of water coming in from the pipe. He gave a thumbs up.
“Listo?”
“Yep. I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said.
We headed out of the pen, Dad clasping the chain around the gate. I tapped my way to the passenger side of the truck, careful and hoping not to dip the cane in manure.
Once in the truck, Dad patted me on the back. “One more week, mijo, and you start school. Your last year.”
He sounded pleased and happy. Why not? His oldest boy, legally blind, was finishing high school. Me? I was feeling anxiety at full throttle. Only time would tell what would happen.
- Roel -
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