by Tiffany King
I was growing tired of the sympathetic smiles from everyone. Like they were telling me they felt bad, but didn’t know what to say. Anyone that spoke to me wore sympathy like a badge. For years the one thing I craved most, other than sunshine, was human interaction, different people to talk to, opportunities to make friends, but I never imagined everyone would pity me. I hated it.
The television served as a distraction, so I could watch people who had no idea who I was. The characters on the screen didn’t care about me, as long as I kept the channels away from the news stations. They couldn’t seem to go five minutes without another mention of me. Every aspect of the last ten years of my life was under a microscope. Pictures of my basement room had been released to the news media. In the harsh lights of television it looked so much worse than I remembered. My empty bookshelves looked barren. They hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when I had a nice collection of books lining the shelves. Nowhere in the news story did they mention how books had helped me survive, provided an escape. It felt like a false representation of what my life had really been like. Those books had helped me keep Mia alive in my head.
I flipped the channels abruptly when they flashed the picture of my bed, stopping on a cartoon with bright images of characters singing cheerful songs every few minutes. I didn’t have much experience with cartoons, but I could see the appeal, especially if you were a kid. The songs were supposed to make you want to dance, to feel happy. I wanted them to make me happy. I could flutter around the room singing with the forest animals. Anything to avoid thinking about the images on the news channels. I could explain my empty bookshelves, but my bed with the soiled sheets and metal chain was a different story. It was shameful and everyone had seen it. From that point forward I avoided the news stations at all costs. Holding the remote was a small luxury that made me feel powerful. Unlike my time with Judy, I could watch what I wanted, when I wanted.
I’d been too busy pinching and squeezing my wrist to fully digest what the absence of the IV in my arm meant. I could leave the bed and walk out of my room if I chose. No one said I had to stay. The point was pressed over and over again that I was no longer a captive. In the two weeks I had been at the hospital I was too weak to do much more than use the bathroom, eat, and sleep. The only time I ventured out of my room was when an orderly wheeled me to some test or procedure.
I had only recently graduated to sitting in a chair in my room. It was a vast improvement when Dr. Marshall came in for our sessions. I felt better sitting in the chair. Less vulnerable.
I slid my legs over the side of the bed, feeling a little shaky as I stood up. It only took a few seconds to feel sturdy enough to walk. My body was slowly growing stronger from the food that was constantly pushed on me. My weight was carefully monitored and according to the nurses, I was bulking up nicely.
Judy’s last punishment had withered me away to an all-time low. My ribs and collarbone stuck out to the point where I almost resembled a skeleton. I had overheard the doctor telling Mom and Dad that I wouldn’t be released until my weight showed vast improvements. Mom took his words to heart and started bringing me food from the outside that I had never eaten before. Last night we all sat around my bed eating my very first pizza that I could remember. It only took one gooey bite with the melted cheese and sauce running down my chin for me to declare it my favorite food.
I slipped on the new terry cloth robe Mom had brought me over my cotton pajamas, which were also new. Everything around me was new. Considering how soft they both were against my skin, I felt kind of weird for missing my old clothes, but I did sometimes.
Before leaving my room, I stopped in my bathroom to relieve my bladder. I avoided looking in the mirror as I washed my hands, following the same thorough regimen that had been pressed upon me for years. I squirted extra soap on my hands, scrubbing them a second time. Freedom from the room was within my reach, but I was stalling. I should have been excited, ecstatic even. Instead I was terrified at what lay beyond the door. My hand reached for the soap nozzle a third time, but I forced myself to step away from the sink and leave the bathroom.
The hallway was busy when I finally worked up the nerve to pull my door open. I stood in the doorway filled with uncertainty, wondering if someone would stop me. It would only take one step to leave the doorway, but everything outside the confines of the room was unknown territory. Scanning the hallways for an authority figure that might object, I tentatively stepped across the threshold, waiting for an order to be barked at me.
No one even looked my way.
With sweaty hands I took one more step away from the door. I was now in the hallway, and yet still no acknowledgment. Peering to the left, which was normally the direction I was taken for testing, I abruptly turned right, stepping slowly but steadily as I passed other rooms. I couldn’t help peeking inside the rooms as I passed, curious about the other patients and the ailments that brought them here. Most of the rooms held two beds, making me wonder why my room had my bed alone. I was thankful, but curious nonetheless. It would have felt awkward to share with someone anyway.
I continued to shuffle down the hall, making a left turn when I hit a junction. I didn’t know where I was headed, but it was the furthest I had walked in years. My legs were starting to burn from exertion, but I ignored them and pressed on.
A nurse pushing an IV stand approached. I stiffened, expecting her to ask me where I needed to be, but she merely flashed a smile as she passed.
Picking up my pace before she could change her mind, I made a right turn and spotted a sign I didn’t even know I was looking for. Smiling, I followed the directions, making another right turn where the hallway opened up into a huge reception area banked with a wall of windows and two sets of double doors.
I expected strange looks from the various people scattered about since I was decked out in a robe and pajamas, but again, no one seemed to care. I paused at the doors. Thinking about what was beyond them made my heart jump erratically in my chest. My hands trembled as I reached for the door handle. I glanced back over my shoulder at the safety of the hallway I had just come from. If I turned around I could be back in my bed within a few minutes with my television remote in hand. I could pull the blankets up to my chin and hide.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d been hiding long enough. It was time to be brave, to face the world. Exhaling with determination, I pushed on the handle—only the door didn’t budge. Disappointment coursed through me. I had been denied once again. Sudden tears filled my eyes. I felt like an emotional roller coaster, going from fear and wanting to hide back in my room to acute disappointment and genuine heartache. All because a door wouldn’t open. It felt symbolic. I could literally see the outside, brilliant sunshine, perfect green grass, and yet once again it was just beyond my grasp. It wasn’t fair. I was forever destined to be locked away.
My disappointment turned to anger as I pounded my fist on the door.
“It sticks sometimes,” a raspy voice said behind me. An elderly, wrinkled hand reached past me and pushed hard on the door. It made a grinding noise, but popped open.
“Thank you,” I squeaked as the older man walked around me and held the door open. I stood paralyzed, unsure of what to say or do next. Human interaction wasn’t my strong suit. Most of what I had to say to strangers was parroted from what I had seen on television. I envied the characters in the shows and the ease they displayed while interacting with others like it was nothing. I realized it was all make-believe. I just hoped to be able to one day feel that comfortable.
“You coming?” The older gentleman gave me an odd look and I realized I’d screwed up another interaction by standing there gaping at him.
“Oh, yes, thank you again,” I said, walking through the open door. I tried to smile to show him I was normal and capable of acting like a real person.
“It’s my pleasure, young lady,” he acknowledged, returning my smile before shuffling off.
My shoulders sagged
as I watched him walk away. I wasn’t ready for this. I couldn’t smile at people and hold conversations. The process somehow got screwed up in my head. I reached back for the door, ready to admit defeat.
“Was that you banging on the door?”
“What?” I asked, spinning around toward a bench off the sidewalk behind me.
“I can’t believe an old man totally out-Hulked you.”
A younger guy, relatively close to my age, sat at the bench that was positioned near the entrance, but with full access to the sun.
I looked around to see who he was talking to, but could only assume his comment was meant for me because no one else was within close proximity. “Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding his meaning. I stepped closer to him and the bench, unable to resist the pull of the sun’s warm rays. “Are you talking to me?”
“Do you see anyone else around?”
“Well, no,” I answered. Although his tone was playful, his bluntness confused me. My pulse began to quicken. What was I supposed to say next? I was about to screw this up just like I had with the old man. I looked back at the doors, wishing I were behind them.
“Neither do I,” the boy said, cackling loudly as he held up the walking stick I had missed.
“Oh, so you’re blin—I mean, you can’t see,” I said, stumbling over my words.
He laughed harder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. Sometimes I just can’t resist a little blind humor. Here, as a peace offering, I’ll share my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,” he offered, holding up an orange package.
I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly sure what they were, but I had the feeling they were some kind of chocolate candy.
“Come on. I won’t bite,” he said, wiggling the package out at me. “You know you want to.”
I flushed at his teasing. I knew he had to be poking fun at me, but it was hard to tell with his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
He wagged the package at me again. “They’re really good. Everyone that’s cool does it.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth while my legs made the decision for me. They had reached the extent of their output and were practically screaming at me to sit. I sat cautiously on the bench next to him, leaving as much space open between us as possible. The sun was bright and hot. I could feel it radiating against my skin. For a brief moment I wondered if everyone had been wrong. Maybe I was allergic. It only took a second to decide it didn’t matter. Sitting outside felt too good to care. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the sun wash over me.
“Feels good, huh?”
I jerked my head toward him. How did he know I was enjoying the sunlight? Was he just pretending to be blind? I felt stupid for falling for his ploy. I was a dumb girl who had no idea how to tell when someone was messing with me.
“It’s not nice to screw with people,” I said, making a move to stand up, but my legs clearly weren’t ready.
“By offering to share my peanut butter cups?” he asked.
I sighed. Instead of talking to Dr. Marshall about my stupid name, I should have asked her how to do this. How to make sense with people. “By pretending you can’t see.”
He snickered before answering. “I can’t.”
“Then how could you tell I was enjoying the sun or that I couldn’t open the door? And why are you laughing?” I asked defensively.
He shot me a wry smile. “Well, I’m blind, not deaf. You sighed real big when you sat down. As for the door, you were the one pounding on it. That was easy to determine after you thanked the old man when he held the door open. Being blind doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what goes on around me.” His friendly tone was gone. I’d offended him.
“I’m sorry. I’m not really good at any of this,” I muttered, hoping he’d be aggravated enough to leave me in self-loathing.
He didn’t leave though. Instead he offered the candy package to me again. “Here, you can have the last one. Good at what, by the way?”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to take your last one. I’m not sure I even like them.”
“You’ve never had a Reese’s?” he asked incredulously.
“No.”
“Holy alien nuts. Are you the one messing with me now? Playing with a blind kid’s emotions?”
Alien nuts? What was that supposed to mean? “Uh, no. I’m serious.”
He shook the package at me. “You definitely have to eat one now. Wait, you’re not one of those freaks who can’t stand chocolate, are you?”
“No,” I answered, accepting the candy package that was practically shoved in my face. I tore the orange wrapper, revealing a round piece of chocolate. The scent of chocolate and peanut butter wafted into my nose. I brought the candy up to my mouth, taking a small, tentative bite. My teeth sank down into the chocolate that was softer than I had been expecting.
“Wait, you’re not allergic to peanut butter, are you?”
I shook my head, forgetting he couldn’t see me. “No,” I said, chewing on the candy that tasted heavenly. It melted deliciously on my tongue except for a small part that I pulled from my mouth, blushing when I realized it was paper. Turning the remaining chocolate over, I saw that it was sitting on a small piece of brown paper. Pulling it off, I popped the rest of the candy into my mouth before it could melt.
“Judging by that sigh, I’d say you’re a Reese’s fan. I’m Gunner by the way,” he said, holding his hand out.
I wiped a little melted chocolate off my fingers before holding out my hand. “Le—I mean, Mia,” I said, letting go of another piece of the old me. I could almost feel it dying as I said my given name.
He twisted on the bench to face me. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, tapping his fingers on his leg.
I shrugged, forgetting again that he couldn’t see me. Gah, I was so bad at this. “So they tell me,” I muttered.
“Ah. I know who you are. You’re practically a celebrity here,” he said, nodding his head as he connected the dots.
Well, that didn’t take long. Bring on the pity party.
“Do you like to play checkers?” he asked abruptly.
“Um, checkers? I’ve never played.”
He slapped his hand loudly on his jean-covered thigh, startling me enough to make me jump. “It’s settled then. We have to go play,” he said, hopping to his feet and grabbing his walking stick. “Shall we?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I looked at his hand warily for a moment. Over the past couple weeks Mom had reached for my hand almost constantly whenever she was with me. I liked the feeling of warmth when her fingers wrapped around mine, but I didn’t know how I felt about holding someone’s hand who I really didn’t know. I sat gnawing on my bottom lip, contemplating what to do. Gunner waited patiently while I worked through my inner turmoil. It only took me a few moments to accept his offered hand. I didn’t want to offend him. Despite our rocky start I enjoyed talking to him. It felt normal.
21
GUNNER’S HAND dwarfed mine, but it felt nice. Once I was standing, he tucked my arm around his. “You don’t mind, do you? I hate using my stick in crowded places. Just don’t let me run into anything.” He laughed.
It took me a moment to adjust to his close proximity. It was one thing when Jacob surprised me with his spontaneous hug, but I wasn’t related to Gunner. I had no idea if this was okay. Sure, I’d read plenty of books over the years about boys and girls interacting, but it was all new to me.
Gunner urged us forward toward the glass doors. “I’ll show you a cheating method.” He felt along the wall for a large button with a blue outline of a wheelchair engraved on it. “Push here,” he said.
I pressed the button and the doors opened on their own. I shook my head at how stupid I must have looked earlier.
“Magic, right?” Gunner laughed, walking forward again. He kept his pace slow, which I was grateful for. My legs had gotten a little rest while we were sitting down, but they still shook slightly with each step. I hated feeling so
weak.
Walking through the halls with Gunner was a different experience than my previous venture. He seemed more comfortable being on display than I was. Despite being blind he was keenly aware of his surroundings.
Gunner talked the entire time we walked. It seemed like he knew everything there was to know about the hospital. I wanted to ask him how long he’d been here but decided maybe that was too personal considering we had just met. As we approached the hallway where my room was located we ran into an elderly janitor blocking our way as he mopped the floor.
“Excuse us,” I said. A smile spread across my face.
The janitor turned with a smile that slowly slipped from his face.
My own smile slipped away. Great, more pity. Was there anyone in this hospital who didn’t know who I was? Gripping Gunner’s hand, I mumbled that he should be careful not to slip as we made our way over the wet section of the floor.
“Don’t let me fall,” Gunner said. “The last thing I want to do is bust my ass in front of a girl I just met.”
I snorted, shocking us both.
“Did you just snort?”
“No,” I said, blushing brightly.
The custodian wasn’t the only one who acknowledged us as we walked down the hall. Nurses, orderlies, doctors, and even other patients all waved as we walked by. I was amazed that Gunner could tell where we were just by the sounds around us. I had firsthand experience with how certain senses could become heightened after the loss of another sense, but I’m not sure even after all my time in the dark that I could have been as good as he was.
Gunner’s room was in the same wing as mine. By the time we reached his room, the last of my energy was spent. I sank down into one of the chairs at the small round table in his room before my legs could give out.
“You okay?” he asked, sitting in the chair opposite mine.
I nodded and then smacked myself in the forehead. “I’m fine.”