Page 88 of Nerdplay
“I never said I couldn’t see without them.”
“It’s implied by the wearing of them on a daily basis.”
“So what does that mean? That I’ve entered into some sort of contract with the public to be visually impaired?”
“There’s a certain expectation, yes.” I give her a rueful shake of my head. “You’re a fraud, Cricket, if that’s even your real name.”
“You already know it isn’t.”
Laughter bubbles up to the surface and I don’t bother to resist. I let it pour out of me.
Her hand rests on her hip. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this moment. You should really savor it. Care to take a video for posterity?”
“Would you object?” I hold up my phone and she swats it away.
“Of course I would object.” Something catches her eye, and she shushes me.
“You’re the one talking,” I point out.
She motions behind me. I turn around and squint in the gloaming. It takes me a second to spot her. Buffy is atop a branch curled against the trunk of an oak tree. She’s shivering. She’s too high to reach without climbing, which doesn’t feel particularly safe at the moment.
“Aim the light at her,” I tell Cricket.
The second the light hits Buffy, she glides toward me in search of safety. I guide her into the pocket of my hoodie, which is soaking wet by now, but the sugar glider doesn’t seem to mind.
Cricket switches off the light. “We found her.”
As much as I want to celebrate this victory, I can feel Buffy’s vibrations through the wet cotton. “We should get her dry.”
Cricket takes off in the direction of Gloria’s cabin and I follow at a slower pace, exercising caution. One slippery step and I could crush the very creature I’m trying to save. I try not to think about that.
My heart is thumping like an erratic drumbeat by the time Gloria’s door swings open. Cricket ushers me inside first so that I can deliver the precious parcel. Gloria’s face is streaked with tears when I tug open my pocket to reveal Buffy.
Gloria throws her arms around me and breaks down, choking out relieved sobs. I don’t care about anyone as much as Gloria cares about this tiny animal. I feel in awe of her emotions, but mostly, I feel deprived. Why have I not grown that attached to another living creature? Where’s my Buffy or my Chewy? My Olivia?
My anyone.
She scoops Buffy from my wet pocket and carries her to a blanket where she wraps her delicate body in warmth.
“Thank you both,” Gloria says.
“It’s no problem,” I say. “I’m glad we found her.”
“She took refuge under a tree,” Cricket adds. “I bet she would’ve stayed there until the rain passed.”
Gloria seems to really see us for the first time. “Look at the state of you. You’re both saturated.”
Gloria spends fifty weeks a year helping someone else without support. I have no desire for her to feel guilty about asking for help now. “Nothing a couple towels can’t handle,” I say. I feel Cricket’s eyes on me, but I resist the urge to meet her gaze.
“Maybe you should wait here until the storm is over,” Gloria suggests, but neither of us seems keen to stay.
“We’re already a wet mess,” Cricket says. “And we’re making puddles on your floor.”
“Thank you again,” Gloria tells us. She looks ready to cry all over again.
“Have a good night,” I say. We leave before the fresh batch of tears begin to flow.
As we reenter Cricket’s cabin, I realize why I didn’t want to see the gratitude in her eyes. It’s the same reason I felt uncomfortable with Gloria’s praise.
