Part Two: The Girl in the Yellow Dress
Ed first met Lily when he was nine years old.
She had recently moved into our neighborhood with her adoptive parents. She was a small, quiet girl who wore a yellow dress on the first day of school and carried a white cane that seemed almost as tall as she was.
Ed came home that afternoon talking about her as though he had discovered someone extraordinary.
“There’s a new girl in my class,” he announced at dinner. “Her name is Lily, and she can’t see.”
My father glanced up from his plate.
“Is that so?”
“She listens better than everyone else,” Ed continued. “She knew Mr. Carter was standing near the window because she could hear the traffic behind him.”
Mom smiled faintly.
“That’s impressive.”
“She doesn’t know where everything is yet,” Ed said. “So I told her I’d help.”
Mom’s smile tightened.
“That’s kind of you, Edward, but you don’t need to make her your responsibility.”
Ed frowned.
“She’s not a responsibility. She’s my friend.”
A few days later, he brought Lily home.
Before they entered the kitchen, I heard him whispering instructions to her.
“There’s a step here. The table is on your left. Alice is sitting near the window, and my mom is by the stove.”
Then, in a louder voice, he announced, “Mom, this is Lily. She can’t see our faces, so we should make sure our voices sound friendly.”
Lily laughed.
“I can still tell when people are pretending.”
Ed looked horrified.
“Mom isn’t pretending.”
My mother gave a small, uncomfortable laugh.
“Of course not.”
Lily extended her hand in the wrong direction. Ed gently guided it toward Mom without making her feel embarrassed.
That was how he was with her from the beginning.
He never pulled Lily through a room or spoke for her when she could answer for herself. He described things when she asked, stayed quiet when she wanted independence, and learned to walk at her pace rather than forcing her to follow his.
A month later, our families met at a neighborhood barbecue.
Lily’s adoptive parents told us that her biological mother had left the hospital shortly after giving birth. Lily had been born blind, and the woman had decided she could not care for her.
Lily’s parents had adopted her when she was only a few days old.
Ed listened to the story without speaking.
That night, he came into my bedroom while I was reading.
“Her first mother left her,” he said.
I closed my book.
“Yes.”
“Because she couldn’t see?”
“I don’t know, Ed.”
He sat at the foot of my bed, his face unusually serious.
“I’m never going to leave her behind.”
I smiled sadly.
“You’re nine years old.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
At the time, I thought it was something a kindhearted child would say and eventually forget.
Ed never forgot.
