Four Year Old Confessions:
“You’ll Wish You Never Asked”
By: CaspHer
Feb 22nd,2019
It was around this time of year four years ago, I was about to embark on a life altering experience in another state out of Massachusetts.
I was entering an intense training center for the blind out of Minnesota. A place known for extremely cold temps and very friendly people.
I grew up in Boston Massachusetts and didn’t know a single thing about nice people or much about Minnesota except that I may never experience summer again. I was uncertain about whoever I would run into in Minnesota. I was leaving home for a very long time and secretly anticipated that long haul from historical Boston. I figured it was time for some new air and new experiences aside from the useless anxiety that haunted my happy thoughts.
After three months of adjusting to life in Minnesota and liking things about my new surroundings, I found my new best friend and it tasted really good! My new best friend gets brewed and served in a nice hot cup. My best friend is drinkable and it’s called Caribou Coffee! That was the first thing I started enjoying about Minnesota; the coffee and their cheese curds which also came with an awesome sauce out of Ray Jay’s. I would greedily order the curds first and the drunken wings afterward. I started learning my way around the city of Minneapolis and making friends here and there outside of the training center. I met a nice and new hair dresser who took pride in making sure my long and healthy dreadlocks were maintained weekly. I had to always keep my appearance up for self motivation because of the intense training I endured.
That training experience not only worked in the way it was designed but it also permanently stressed their students beyond repair. I had more than one disability with me and that was part of the extreme stress but I managed with walk in therapy sessions on Chicago avenue bi-weekly.
Part of my therapy was shopping for nice and new clothes in Macys on Nicolette Avenue in Downtown Minneapolis and constantly going to the hair salon just because I felt like it. List shopping sessions were so intense, I would have to take the shared rights service home from the mall. As long as I got all of the Polo/Ralph Lauren products I wanted, I was totally fine.
If therapy sessions weren’t enough to placate how I was feeling, I went to Gay90s on Hennepin Ave and danced the stress away with or without friends. Anytime I went to Gay90s, I always came out happy and content and ready to deal with the insane stress. I danced until my legs felt like sheets of lead and I was okay with that. As long as I got to dance all night into the morning.
Four years later, life after training and enjoying Minnesota for the amount of time I was there, people back in Boston were telling me about all of the weird stuff that happened.
Did I want to know?
Was it worth knowing?
Were they serious?
I am now an assistive tech trainer for the blind and visually impaired after rubbing elbows with the politicians in the Massachusetts House of Representatives and passing legislations.
Somehow me and my niece landed on the subject of creepy things happening while I was away at training.
Gladly whatever happened in Massachusetts didn’t happen to me while I was in Minnesota.
She was fascinated with the creepy dolls videos on YouTube and me and my mother both told her to cut that shit out. We already live in creepy Massachusetts and the last thing a child needs is to not be able to sleep in her room alone because of a lousy video online.
My mother went on to explain some crazy stuff that happened to her while she used to live in Florida and then my niece told me what happened while I was gone.
She begins, “So…a few years ago when you went away to Minnesota for training, we were hanging out near your room and the door was wide open. Everything was fine and dandy until we started hearing your Perkins Braille writer typing on it’s own. I know it doesn’t work with electricity and we thought it did at first.”
I asked, “Who else saw the braille writer typing alone?”
She continues, “All of us. We were by your room and we heard and saw it typing alone. We all ran away because it was so weird and your room looked very crazy inside with the writer going on alone,” I thought they were joking when they confessed that to me a while back.
I knew it was real when my mother joined our conversation of confessions of weirdness going on while I traveled. for certain amounts of time. It’s like Boston gets sick when CaspHer is gone for too long and is in better behavior when I return. When I left Minnesota, I left friends behind crying. Literally.
I explained the way the braille writer works, “Okay…I believe you all but there’s one thing I need to explain….this machine does not need power to operate. What happened was extremely strange,” I let my mother explain her experience.
Mother begins, “One night I was asleep and I suddenly heard heavy and hard typing from what sounded like a typewriter coming from your room. I popped my head up and listened harder, it still kept going on very fast and heavy. For a second I thought you were back in Boston. That didn’t make sense at all. You were in training and no one was in your space. I got out of bed and went down the hall to your room, opened the door and saw nothing there. Your braille writer was simply typing very fast alone. I watched the keys going up and down. I slammed the door shut and went back to bed. After doing that, the noise stopped,” I sat there dumbfounded. I could not believe my ears.
I literally thought they were kidding when they finally confessed all of the weirdness that happens when I am out of Massachusetts.
My niece jumps in, “Looks like you have a blind ghost in the house. We have not heard anything else going on since then.”
I added, “Not only was that weird and crazy, but why would I be typing on the brailler at that hour of the night? That seems a bit rude while others are asleep.”
They nodded in agreement.
This is what I get when I let people tell me about what happens when I am gone for a very long time. I should have never asked. I was paranoid about that space and braille writer for a while. I eventually got over it and agreed that if I did notice anything like that, I would be throwing it out of the house.
The end
Photo description:
A sheet of braille paper with light shining directly down on it. The dots are raised and fresh. There is a wooden stylus laying across the sheet of brown paper. A stylus which is a device used to produce braille manually.
