Page 52 of Doing Life

“You’re aging yourself, man.”

“It’s Shakespeare. It’s timeless.”

“I don’t think they teach Shakespeare anymore.”

“How do you not teach Shakespeare? It’s like the law.Romeo and Juliet,Macbeth,Julius Caesar,Hamlet. It’s what you learn.”

Lance cracked up. “Spoken like an English teacher’s son.”

“English professor, thank you. And so?” Sloan chuckled, warm and good. He liked that the music and conversation at this place was a buzz, but low enough to hear Sloan.

“They say the classics are too hard now.”

“Bullshit.” Sloan sighed. “People need to do hard things. Learn hard things. Read hard books. Put themselves out there.”

He nodded. He got that. Sloan had always been… not radical that way, but firm. He believed educated people were way more willing to defend themselves than people who went with the idea that if it was on the internet, it was true. And he’d gotten in trouble with officers on occasion because of it.

Lance had thought he’d go, if not to medical school, maybe nursing school. That was one of the hardest parts of all this—not knowing what he was going to do with himself.

He had his disability, so the money part wasn’t the issue. The issue was he couldn’t just sit for the rest of his life in a house and do nothing.

It didn’t even matter which house. He needed a job.

“You okay?” Sloan asked.

He nodded, realizing he’d stopped paying attention toanything but the voices inside his head. “Yeah, yeah. I was just trying to figure out what I’m going to be when I grow up. Which is a dumb thing to think about in a bar.”

Sloan snorted. “Why is that weird? What do you think all of these other people are doing? They’re thinking about how to get laid. What are they going to be when they grow up? How are they going to pay for that next beer? Bars are good for thinking.” Sloan slid the toes of their boots together. “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I was going to be a nurse or a doctor or something in the medical field, but I can’t do that now.”

“Have you thought about being a therapist?”

“No.” The denial flew out of his mouth before he even thought, and he had to take a breath and explain. “I mean, yes, I’ve thought about it, but I have enough of my own shit. I have to admit, I don’t know that I can deal with everybody else’s. A couple of people, sure. People that I love, yeah. But no, I don’t… I don’t think I could handle it.”

“It’s cool that you know that about yourself.”

Brittany brought their beers, and he took his, lifting it to clink with Sloan’s.

Damn, that tasted good as all get out. Cool and crisp and hoppy.

“Okay, there’s stuff that’s not like psych therapy. Massage therapy, for instance.”

“Yeah.” Lance blinked. “Do you think I could do that? I mean not like practically give a massage, but like get my license? I’d have to take a test.”

“Don’t they have to have reasonable accommodations? I would think that’s a thing. I mean, let’s be honest.” Sloan made this odd little huffing noise. “The only thing I’ve ever read about blind people doing is writing books and being professors. Now, you could totally be a professor.”

“I’m not going to be a professor.”

“I really didn’t think you were going to be a professor. Also, I’m not even sure…are you literate, Lance?”

“Do not make me kick your ass? I could totally write a book about what a dick you are.”

Sloan laughed, and then the sound of the band warming up came to them. Abby huffed a sigh, leaning on his feet.

“Seriously, though, there’s all sorts of things you can do. Podcasts. That massage therapy. Help with the dog trainers as a practice blind guy.”

Lance hooted at that. “I can actually kind of imagine that. Here, let your dog walk me into the wall to save you the trauma.”

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