The following morning, the sun was dancing through the trees and busting into Monica's bedroom. She and Rose gabbed incessantly on their journey to town.
Monica felt bubbly, her thoughts tingling with expression. She smiled and wished everyone she saw a good morning upon encountering them. It made no difference to her whether the recipient of the salutation responded. She was happy. Jim stopped by her office and was impressed by the manner in which she was pursuing her work. He thought he was in her way and excused himself so Monica could continue on with her aggressive program.
Her ideas of how to accomplish the tasks given to her on the personnel problem bounded forth from her brain. She believed her responses were limitless because they were flowing so expeditiously. The ideas for solving her personal dilemma overpowered her and she wondered where they were emanating from.
"Could the discussion I had with Harry yesterday have promoted the mechanics of my mind?" she thought aloud.
She knew that Harry's comments to her about passing the tests and meeting the requirements for the job had something to do with her reactions and for making her feel not neglected.
So it was with the reactions she had this morning and the dress that brightly entombed her body. The garment was magnificent red with white interlaced around the outer fringes.
Monica felt as good inside as the appearance the garment projected on the outside. When the clock on the hallway wall showed four o'clock, she left her cubicle and began the journey to Harry Martin's office. Whenever she had gone there before, it seemed such a struggle to manipulate the wheelchair the distance. Today was different since she felt born again and happy.
Harry was standing at his secretary's desk when Monica approached. He turned and smiled. "Hey, Monica, you are right on time for our little sojourn."
"Good afternoon, Harry. How are you, Mary?"
"I am fine, Monica," said Mary, "it seems that you are quite chipper."
"She sure looks it, doesn't she?" said Harry. "You ready to go, Monica?"
"Seeing as how I don't know exactly where we are going, I guess that I am ready as I will ever be."
"I'll get my coat and be right with you." He walked into his office and pulled on the door to show the coat rack, having slid the green sport coat over his frame, Harry proceeded to straighten the cuffs on his white dress shirt. "I will not be back today, Mary, so if anyone is looking for me, tell them I have a date with a gorgeous girl, who will probably keep me out all of the night. You can give that message to everyone except my wife because she is the only person who would not understand if I were playing around."
"Don't worry, Harry, you can bet I'll keep your secret for this evening," said Mary with a grin. "See you tomorrow. Good night."
"Night, Mary," said Monica.
Monica and Harry were exiting from the building whenever Monica said, "What is it you are taking me to see, Harry...a new computer system?"
"No. Nothing like that, Monica. Let's go over to the side of this building and wait a few minutes, because the item I want you to see will be coming along in just a few minutes."
They moved out of the way of the gleaming sunlight and into the towering shadow of the office building from which they had just departed. Harry said nothing more to Monica. His eyes were fixed on Liberty Avenue, looking toward Gateway Center.
Monica glanced at him and tried to figure out what or who was so important for Harry to take time to show her the importance. What was he after? She wasn't sure.
Eternity seemed to have passed before Monica, while sitting fast in the dark cloud cast by the structure, but only five minutes had elapsed.
She had begun to hear a tapping sound and when she looked at Harry, he smiled and winked at her. As the pounding on the concrete increased in volume, Monica could see the person hitting a cane against the pavement. The man was blind. This is the person Harry had brought her to see.
Harry turned to her and said, "Watch this fellow, Monica, as he makes his way down the sidewalk and how he approaches the intersection by himself."
They both followed the movements of the blind man walking on the opposite side of the street. He would shift from one end of the pavement to the other casting his stick in front of him for guidance. Persons hurrying in both directions watched for the man and gave him room.
"Why did you bring me to see this man?" questioned Monica.
"Because I wanted to show you someone with a different handicap than you have, Monica, and how this man copes with his problem. He can't see where he is going the same way you and I can, but he knows the way. When he gets to Ninth and Liberty, Monica, he will be helped across, either by that policeman over there," Harry pointed to the intersection, "or by other pedestrians who look out for him. Do you know the type of work that fellow does?"
"Not really, but let me take a guess. Does it have anything to do with data processing?"
"Yes, Monica, that man is a fellow computer programmer for one of the financial institutions in town. He went through a training program at one of the schools here in Pittsburgh and when he completed the course, he succeeded in obtaining a position with the bank. They put him through a little more comprehensive program and he, from what I hear, is one of the more productive employees in the data processing area. Being blind didn't stop the man from obtaining his goal and probably will not prevent him from doing what he wants to do in the future with limitations. The important thing to remember is that he succeeded in spite of obstacles thrown into his path. In a way, his case parallels yours, Monica, in that he too was able to see at a point in his life, then an accident took away his sight. From what I understand, he was bitter and didn't care if he lived or died, but through careful prodding, he was shown and given the opportunity to get out of the rut, and he did."
"How old is that man?" asked Monica, her head shifting to the right following the movement of the cane. Then she saw an individual come up behind the fellow who could not see and say something to him. The blind man put his hand on the fellow's arm and together, they negotiated the crossing.
"I believe he is thirty-eight years old."
"What?" said Monica, her eyes still trained on the movement of the two men.
"You asked me if I knew how old that fellow is, Monica, and I answered the question."
"That is right, I did ask you about his age, didn't I?"
Monica glanced at Harry, then rotated her head back up in the direction of the two. She thought to herself, "Is being blind worse than not being able to walk? I can't imagine having sight and then losing that capability. That man's experience in total darkness is hard to comprehend, and to understand his plight, one would have to be placed into similar circumstances. Programming is probably much tougher for him than for anyone I know. I wonder how he goes about correcting the errors in his programs?"
"Monica," said Harry.
She didn't respond, because she was totally absorbed in her thoughts about the blind man. "Monica." Harry touched her left shoulder.
Her arms flew upward, and she shrieked. "I am sorry, Harry, you startled me."
"Are you ready to take a stroll farther up Liberty?"
"If you insist, Harry, then I guess I am all set for the next viewing." She pushed the strands of hair, fallen by the breeze, back onto the top of her head.
"You may be somewhat shocked by the next individual I show you, Monica, but nevertheless, I want you to see the adjustment the man has made with what is available to him."
"How far up the street must we go?"
"Up to Tenth and Liberty."
Monica turned her wheelchair in the right direction and said, "Let's go."
When they encountered the first curb which had not been lowered for handicapped people to pass over handily, she guided the mobile chair to the edge of the sidewalk, turned her back to the street, then flipped the vehicle to the right to lower herself over the ledge.
"Where did you learn that trick, Monica?" asked Harry.
"One of the individuals in the rehabilitation center of the hospital showed me how to accomplish that task. Whenever I first attempted to go over a curb, I thought I would fall out of the wheelchair, but I was able to make it through the episode. You can help me get up the other side, Harry, because I don't want to use all my muscles in one day."
As Monica and Harry approached Tenth and Liberty, their attention was turned to a girl darting in front of an automobile. She wiggled her bum at the passing motorist. He blew his horn at her and they heard him say, "We almost had a rear end collision there."
"That would be some back end to hit with an auto," said Harry. "It would cost more to repair that than the rear of a car."
"What is she doing running in front of a car like that?" asked Monica. "She mustn't know about jaywalking."
"She probably does know," answered Harry, "but she also in all probability doesn't care about the law. She may be one of the girls who dances in the mature entertainment theaters along Liberty."
"You ever been in one of those places, Harry?" Before he could answer, she added, "I will not tell your wife."
"Contrary to what you may believe, Monica, I have not been in any of the so called "joints" downtown. I do know some people who have been in them, but I can't tell you who they are, because their trip into the strip shows is supposed to be a secret. I believe we can stop here." He halted in front of a small restaurant.
Monica pushed her confinement chair up against the building and turned to face Harry. "What are we looking for this time?"
"Another man, Monica, but I am not sure he will come along. If he does show, we are right on schedule to see him." Harry pushed the cuff on his left wrist back to check the time.
Commuters were moving about the street in all directions, most were on their way to the bus stops or to the parking lots for their autos. Some were scurrying along and made their connection just in time, while others stood back away from the bus or streetcar they were trying to catch and mumbled a few choice words at the driver of the vehicle.
While Monica was watching the traffic of people, buses and streetcars traveling in all directions, Harry's attention was focused on the corner of Liberty, which was the direction he expected his subject to come from.
He was not disappointed. "There he comes, Monica."
"Where?"
She couldn't see whom Harry was talking about. "Who is it you want me to see, Harry?"
"Do you see the fellow who is the shortest in that group of people waiting to cross the street? Wait a minute for the light to change because someone has stopped in front of him blocking our view. The light is going to change shortly and you will be able to see him."
Monica strained her eyes to see the individual about whom he was talking, even to the point of raising her body from the seat, but to no avail. She observed the top light changing from green to red so the pedestrians could cross.
The group moved in unison across the muddy pavement. Then she saw the person Harry was speaking about. Her mouth opened wide in amazement. There, at the intersection, was a man wearing gloves. Harry was right, he was the shortest person in the group of people crossing the road.Monica watched as the individual swung himself along the pavement. He wore glasses, sported a crew cut and smiled as he
meandered along. His suspenders held up a pouch. "Do you see the handicap that man has, Monica?"
"You were right, Harry, I am surprised to find a person getting around the way that man is, without any legs. What happened to him?"
"I am not certain, Monica," answered Harry, "but I have heard by rumor that he lost both legs when they were run over by a train. However, don't hold me to that statement because it is just hearsay."
"Where does he live?"
"Somewhere near New Kensington, I think."
"Does he do any kind of work, that you know of?"
"He may be employed, but I don't know where. The interesting facet about the man is that he gets out and surveys the world and doesn't allow the loss of his legs stop him from coming into Pittsburgh. I have seen him in other parts of the county, also. One day when I walked the street over on the other side, there was an artist painting his picture. Usually, that fellow will place himself over near the restaurant where is now and watch pedestrians. Some know him and say hello and others who don't know him may stare, but quite a number of them recognize and nod. I was coming up here to get the bus one evening and wasn't aware the stop had been changed. He saw me standing there and told me about the move. Every time I speak to him, he always has a smile to go with his answer or greeting."
"Judging from the expression on his face whenever he was going across the street, I would have to say he looks happy, or is doing a great job of displaying joy while hiding his true feelings."
"One of the these nights, or evenings I should say, Monica, I am going to sit down and have a rap session with that man to find out how he really does feel about the world and how it is treating him."
"Now that you have seen the two persons whom I wanted to show you, Monica, how do you feel about your own handicap?"
"Truthfully," she responded, wiping her lips with her right hand, "I would have to say I still don't like the condition I'm in, but seeing those two certainly makes one think that things could be a lot worse."
"I hope that you will take a view that will help you succeed and with more purpose in life, Monica, because you have the ability to achieve."
"Thank you for your kind words, Harry. Now can we go?"
"Sure."
They proceeded in the direction from which they had come earlier and for five blocks, neither spoke a word.
When Rose pulled along side the curb in front of their office building, Monica said, "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Harry."
He watched for a few seconds as the car moved into a course on Liberty and he wondered if Monica would have a response to the handicaps she had witnessed today. Would she show an impressive attitude and accept herself for what she was or would she once again try to tumble from the living? We will see tomorrow. And in the days to follow.
He turned around, scratched his head, then headed in the direction of the parking lot where his car was stored.