Page 50 of Yolo

“You’re welcome, Bindi girl. Be safe. I’ll see you in a couple of hours when my route brings me back ’round,” Cool called out.

Cool’s actual name was Coolio, but he didn’t go by it.

He said he hated getting compared to the actual Coolio.

I may be black and attractive, but if I get one more “Coolio, do you want to get high with me?” I might kill someone.

I’d learned his name after about two weeks of taking the bus.

He was sweet and sounded like he was quite a bit older than me, thanks to his speech patterns, but I wasn’t rude enough to ask.

“There’s a curb right in front of you!” he called out.

Thanks to his warning and Rooster’s insistence to take it slow, I was able to make it up on the curb just fine. “Have a good day, Cool!”

After hearing a reply of “yeah, right,” the bus took off, and I was left heading toward the police station.

According to the bus stop information, I was exactly two blocks, one light, and a slightly busy intersection away from the police station.

“All right, Roo,” I said to him. “Let’s get going.”

Rooster led the way and did perfectly up until something stopped him near a car in the parking lot.

“No, boy. We gotta go, I have a meeting in ten minutes,” I urged him.

The car was running, anyway, so I didn’t particularly want to stay where I was and cause whoever might be in the car to think I was weird for just standing there, trying to figure out what had Rooster freaked.

I steeled my shoulders, then started walking to where I could hear people talking.

Someone would have to tell me where to go.

I’d made it to this point, though, so that was good.

When I got to the voices, I said, “Excuse me.”

The talking stopped—something about speed traps and court dates—and one woman said, “Yeah?”

“Could you possibly point me in the direction of the front door of the police station?” I asked.

I’d learned about five months into this blind thing that you didn’t have a choice but to ask for help. If you didn’t ask, you’d never know where you were.

Luckily, almost everyone was nice about me asking for help.

I’d only run into one rude person, and they were chastised by quite a few people willing to help me.

“Oh, sure, honey,” a woman with a deep southern accent said. “Want me to take you to the door?”

“Oh, that would be great.” I smiled. “But if you’re busy, just point us into a direction. My dog can help me get it from there.”

“I’ll go. I have to go pay for my son’s ticket, anyway.” She sighed. “I swear, being a mom is so hard. It’s like, I want to protect my kid from everything, but who the hell is going to protect him from himself?”

I smiled. “Kids are God’s gift, aren’t they? I was the perfect child, however, so I have no advice for you.”

The woman caught my sarcasm and chuckled. “I’m sure you were, dear. I’m sure you were.”

She led me into the station and said, “You’re going to go right. There’s a reception desk about twenty feet away with a woman manning it.”

“Thank you so much,” I grinned. “I hope your children woes get better.”

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