A bengala branca

By that time, at 22, I’d been legally blind for a few years, the result of several failed retinal detachment surgeries. I had a white cane, but I never used it. Once, alone and lost in downtown Washington, I unfolded it, immediately sweating as I felt hundreds of eyes shift onto me. A man who was panhandling grabbed me and showed me the way home.

It made an impression, but it wasn’t enough to sell me on it. The cane stayed in storage. To me, it signified defeat, so I kept it out of sight at college, social events, job interviews — everywhere.