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Deliverance from Jericho:

Six Years in a Blind School

by Bruce Atchison

            We chose our desks and I sat at one in the middle of the room. Mrs. Rose, who had a gentle voice, introduced herself to us. "Now I want each of you to stand one-by-one and tell the class your name," she instructed.

            After everybody was introduced, she said, "Now I want each of you to tell the class what you did this summer." As the other boys stood and delivered their hesitant speeches, I racked my brain for an interesting story.

            Since my family stayed home and I had no exciting tales of travel to relate, I told the class about the time I set a case of empty beer bottles in the basement on fire. "How shocking!" my new teacher exclaimed as I sat down. I didn't think so, Dad had plenty of empty bottles down there.

             A woman interrupted the class a while later to announce that my mom had given birth to a girl named Linda the previous day. That was mildly interesting to me but the grownups appeared to be inordinately excited. Mrs. Rose and the messenger congratulated me but I felt puzzled. I had done nothing to warrant acclaim.

            I recalled the time when Mom asked Diane and me what she should name our baby sister. We thought up the worst names we could. Fortunately, she ignored our suggestions.

            I returned to the dorm at noon since I had always gone home for lunch when I attended school back home. The place was deserted. I wandered through the hallway and rooms, baffled that no boys were present and no adult came to feed us.

            "Miss Boyce? "Is anybody here?" I called out, but nobody answered. I thought perhaps someone would come along and take me to where the rest of the boys were if I waited in the playground.

            Mrs. Rose finally spotted me. Grabbing my left arm, she hustled me to the Dining Hall. I had no idea why she sounded so flustered. "Hurry up. Mrs. Tyler will be so worried about you!" she said as if that explained everything. I found out later that this person was a white-haired elderly raspy-voiced lady who was the matron of the Dining Hall.

            I followed the rest of the boys back to the dorm after school. Doubtless, I thought, a grownup would soon be picking us up and taking us home. As it was a warm sunny afternoon, the wait was somewhat pleasant.

            Becoming bored with hanging around the swings, next to the dorm, I asked one boy, "When will we be going home?

            "Christmas," he said bluntly. I could not believe my ears.

            "You're joking!" I managed to blurt through the shock.

            "No, I'm not. We really have to stay here till December."

            I felt utterly devastated. How could my parents betray and abandon me in such a far away place? Christmas seemed a million years away. What began as a wonderful adventure suddenly became a tragedy. I held back my tears, though I certainly felt like sobbing.