by Erik Smiley
The truck pulled up and parked at the curb with a hiss of air brakes and an idling engine. This seemed like a normal thing which happened every few days or so. Another delivery was being made to the local store by an ordinary- looking truck with "United Groceries", plastered prominently on the vehicle. I was supposed to be taking care of my own errands and deliveries but something made me stay and look again. The child, a boy of about age 6 stood nearby and with great anticipation worked his way closer to the idling truck. It looked for a minute like he was going to walk right under the machine. With the toe of his right foot he felt for the edge of the curb and reached up to touch the truck's rounded front fender. Keeping his hand on the vehicle, he listened with rapt attention.
A truck! I heard it from down the street coming closer and closer and now stopping. I knew right where it was and headed over to get better sounds and smells. Mom and Dad told me about staying out of the street, saying a car could hurt me very badly. A few days ago, I had tried to touch the school bus right when it stopped in front of us so we could get on. I thought my hand would just brush the bus but no, it pushed my hand and arm and I would have fallen if my friends hadn't caught me. The bus driver, scared that he may have done serious damage jumped off to see if I was all right. "Don't you ever do that again", he said. "This bus could have run you right over." I waited until this truck was stopped all the way. "Pshshshshsh", went the air brakes. Now, it was time to move. I followed the curb with my foot. I knew this curb on this street. It was my street. It's called Playa and I was across the street from my house and the store was behind me. The truck was idling right in front of me now, the heat and diesel fumes of the engine were coming out at me and I touched the amazing machine which I knew I could reach. I heard the air brakes hiss and the door close. I didn't think there was anybody in it.
A growing group of us stood a short way down the sidewalk with our backs to the shops and our business forgotten for the moment as we watched this unusual and possibly dangerous but fascinating situation unfolding before us. It was much more interesting than the mundane stuff that most of us had in store for the rest of our day. The little boy was now standing very close to the truck. His left hand was still on its front fender, feeling the vibration of the idling machine. "That's really dangerous", someone in our group said, but the woman's voice was swallowed by the engine of the truck and the boy was oblivious to anything but the pounding pistons, heat and diesel fumes just in front of him. "Good," I thought. "Be quiet and let this happen a little longer." Now some other voices of concern, "Should we call the police!", "Who is he?", "Is he___was "Blind", I answered the question. "What!, "should he be by himself?"
"You lost kid"? Oh! It was the driver, back from making his delivery, startling me back to the world, bending close, his voice loud to be heard over the engine, his breath smelling like cigarettes and onions. "What's in this truck"?, I asked. "I'm the driver", he answered. I asked again, facing up toward his voice, "What's in this truck!" "Oh, I got groceries for the store in here." "What kind of engine's in this truck!" I wanted to know. "It's a big diesel engine, son". I listened to the idling machine, wanting to get in and go where it and this amazing man who drove it were going.
"Ok, I got to go and finish my run, and then go all the way back to San Jose." I know about San Jose. It's where we pick up relatives at the airport and there are more neat sounds like screaming jets, roaring freeways, and trucks everywhere. "Let's get you back out of the way so I don't run over you as I go out. Your mother would kill me if I did that, wouldn't she." Big hands on my shoulders were now bringing me back from the edge of the curb. "Now, stay right there so I can get goin. You be careful out here all by yourself, see you later." The driver's door slammed, air brakes hissed, the motor revved, gears ground, and the truck was off.
The truck pulled out and the little boy stood where the driver had parked him, listening intently, head tipped forward taking in the last groan of engine and whine of transmission which was getting further and further off and finally giving way to the usual sounds of this small town: light traffic, someone's laugh, children at play, bird song, and always the comforting surf about a quarter mile away. Some of the crowd had moved away but now a someone behind me remained curious to see what would happen next. "Shouldn't someone help him?" "Hold on a sec", I said. "My kids go to school with him and they told me some stories about the blind kid who walks around with his eyes closed and knows where he's going." We didn't have to wait long to have this confirmed for us. The child turned from where he had been standing and yes, with eyes closed, making clicking sounds with his tongue, walked into the general store about 20 feet away. We could hear him talking excitedly to someone about what he had just experienced. "O", said the concerned onlooker picking up a bag and heading to a parked car not far away. Now, I was alone on the sidewalk, with the surf and bird song. The child, the truck and the voice of concern had gone to continue the day and now it was my turn to do the same.
