by E. S. Maria
“Oh, come on,” Brodie answers as he finally allows me to stand up on my feet. “You’re hanging with your big bro. You’ll love every single minute of it.”
“No, I won’t, but I’ll go because you’ll just annoy the shit out of me if I don’t. Now get out of my room so I can get ready ... please.”
He ruffles the top of my head, messing what feels like a bird’s nest even further. I slap his hand away, and he snorts a laugh.
“Breakfast in fifteen, yeah?” he yells out as he walks away.
When I hear the door close, I exhale deeply but couldn’t help the corners of my lips from lifting up.
Brodie can be annoying as hell, but despite this, and the fact that he’s three years older, we’ve always shared a closeness usually reserved between good friends.
That closeness was tested, however, when he found out about Atticus and me.
We just started getting serious when Brodie found out. He wanted me to break things off with Atticus, told me how ambitious he was, that his music was his key to moving out of his house, and away from his abusive father for good. I told him that I knew what I was getting myself into, that he couldn’t control my decisions, and that Atticus had been upfront with me from the beginning.
The latter was a lie, but my brother didn’t have to know that.
But I knew Brodie well. He will never stop guilt tripping me until I broke it off with Atticus.
So I told my big brother that I’ll break it off with Atticus.
I lied to Brodie to get him off my back.
I also lied to Atticus, and I told him that we had to keep things a secret because I didn’t want Brodie to find out and interfere between us.
Brodie believed my lie, and so did Atticus.
I thought back then that I was being clever, even finding some form of adrenalin rush from all the discreet acts of endearment, the sneaking in my bedroom window, and the raunchy text messages coming from our made-up aliases.
But I had to keep things under the radar because the alternative wasn’t even an option for me. I was falling so hard for Atticus, and I was falling so quickly that I didn’t even have a chance to rein it in. And the sad part about it all, was that it made me foolish enough to realise that I was on the road to making the biggest mistake of my life.
I thought that if Atticus felt that what we had was real and tangible, he would change his mind and never leave me.
So when he left town, no matter how much I wanted Brodie to choose my side, I couldn’t force him to do so because that would mean admitting that I lied to him and to Brodie, that whole time.
Atticus may have shattered my heart, but I wasn’t going to allow that to threaten the bond I had with my big brother as well.
And maybe it was a good thing that I never said anything because while Brodie was in the city, he reunited with Atticus, and they managed to continue on their friendship. They even busked right after each other at Pitt Street Mall … his band Halcyon and Atticus Foster.
One day while Atticus was playing a set, a well-known music producer who was shopping with his family saw his performance, and he wanted to hear more. He loved what he heard, and not long after he signed him up.
He mentored Atticus and helped produce his first album using his original songs. It didn’t take long before his first single hit the charts and became a staple on mainstream radio. One thing followed after another and now he’s touring all over the world, promoting his album, with Halcyon supporting him in each and every show.
Yeah, Halcyon got signed up too by the same record company. Brodie and his mates even had to defer from their university degrees just so they could go on tour together. But if their success continues, I seriously doubt that they’ll consider going back to their deferred courses anytime soon.
When I first heard Atticus’s song on the radio, it was bittersweet. His song was called “Underwater,” and as soon as the DJ announced the title, my chest tightened, and I didn’t know if I should cry tears of sadness, anger, or pride.
I knew the song so well.
That was our song.
Our story.
He sounded just like how he did when he sung it to me before―raw, gritty … beautiful.
He sang about how loving her was like coming up for air because it made him feel alive … how he wanted to drown in her loving arms … how she felt like his lifeline … and how he knew he needed to let her go so he wouldn’t take her underwater.
That line threw me. It wasn’t part of his original song. The original line was that he knew he couldn’t let go, and that he wished they could hide underwater.
I always wondered every time I heard the song, whether he changed that line to send me a message, or did he change the line to make it catchier?
Here I go again.
I rub my forehead back and forth roughly, frustrated that I’m back in this cycle.
Atticus is not the man I should be thinking about.
I’m not being fair to Paul.
Paul. My heart constricts painfully at the mention of his name.
But I need that pain.
Sometimes I need that reminder that I don’t deserve to move on after what I’ve done.
After a quick shower, I dress in denim cut-offs and a T-shirt. Mum organised my closet according to clothing types so it’s easier for me to figure out what to wear. I can tell separates just by feel and from memory. I told my parents not to buy me any new clothes since it’d just confuse me. That was only half-true. I love my mum and all, but her taste in fashion isn’t exactly up to par with my own. In other words, she wears mummy clothes, clothes bought from stores catering for women aged forty and above. I think the shops I actually used to go to, scares her a little. It must be from the tiny amounts of material used on the said clothes.
These are the times when I wished I had my girlfriends with me again. I trusted their taste.
I don’t even bother searching for shoes to wear. My favourite pair of thongs is right next to my door. That’ll do.
After giving myself a good pat all over, hoping I look decent enough, I square my shoulders and leave my bedroom.
Breakfast, then, outdoors.
You can do this, Hannah.
You got this.
I can’t do this.
After consuming Brodie’s signature pancakes, the one dish he can cook to perfection, he tells Mum that he’s taking me to the beach. And judging by Mum’s sharp intake of breath, she’s completely shocked that I agreed to it. Her immediate reaction causes me to doubt my decision, and now I think that maybe it’s a stupid idea, that I’m not ready to venture out, that I might hurt myself, that people I know will see me and either laugh at me or worse, feel sorry for me.
I seriously can’t do this.
Shit, why did I—
“I think it’s a great idea, Hannah,” Mum’s voice cuts through my thought process. “Actually, I think it’s about time. If all it took was your big brother convincing you, I would’ve told him to hop his bum in a plane and fly back home, even for a little while.”
I notice a hint of melancholy in her voice, and I know I’m the reason for it. I hurt her feelings. She’s been trying to get me to go out with her, even for a little while, but I adamantly refused each time. My brother’s been here for a day and I’m already heading out with him.
I wasn’t ready then. But for some reason, I feel that I’m ready now.
Well, not really, but I feel like I want to at least try.
“We’re just going to the beach, right? I mean, I wouldn’t know ...” I trail off, getting a little anxious.
“Of course you’ll know, silly. You want me to throw you in the water, or bury you halfway in the sand to prove it?” he snickers, patting my shoulder lightly.
“You’re an idiot,” I answer back. “Do anything like that to me and I’ll never trust you again.”
“Relax, lil’ sis. I was just kidding. I just want you to stop looking like a fuckin’ vampire.”
“Language,” Mum sternly warns Brodie.
“I meant freakin’ vampire,” he protests unconvincingly.
“I said, language,” Mum insists, and I can’t help but snort out in amusement, “and that goes with you too, young lady. I know you’re both adults, but spare your mum the heartache and at least try to take the profanity down a notch when you’re home?”
“For you, Mum, I’ll try,” Brodie answers back sweetly … a little too sweetly.
“Oh, you’re trying alright,” and as expected, Mum picks up on it. I can’t help but smile, as I listen to them go back and forth.
“Have fun today, mija.” I feel Mum cup my face, turning me so she can lay a gentle kiss on my cheek. My smile widens as I nod back.
“I’ll try,” I answer, showing her my cheeky smile.
She snorts back, “Oh, don’t you start with me too.” With a quick hug, I hear her walking away.
The sound of a mug landing on the table, makes me jump, then it’s followed by Brodie’s voice, “Ready, li’l sis?”
The first thing that hits me is the salty-fresh sea breeze. As soon as I fill my lungs with the all-familiar scent, my skin starts tingling all over.
Both of my hands are firmly on Brodie’s forearm as he slowly navigates me across the sand. The squishy feel of the sand, something I’m used to feeling almost every day and have taken for granted, feels amazing in-between my toes.
The smell, the gentle lick of the breeze on my skin, and the sensation of my feet being buried in the soft sand as I walk, instantly take me to childhood and teenage years spent at this very beach.
I never realised how much I missed, how much I can remember, with something so simple as feeling the sand in-between my toes.
This is the same beach where Brodie and I used to bury each other in the sand, the same beach I learned to surf, the same beach my friends and I went to hang and muck around … and the same beach that has a pathway that leads to rock formations where Atticus and I used to kiss in secret.
My fingertips instinctively touch my lips. I can still remember the feel of his lips on mine, even after years had passed.
Even after Paul.
I suck in my breath, and the same fingers now bend into a fist.
Stop it, Hannah! You shouldn’t be thinking about Atticus. Ever. What about Paul? He should be the only man in your broken-ass brain. Not Atticus or Tic or whoever he is. Ever.
Brodie must’ve sensed my anxiety because he places his hand over mine. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I lie, nodding back, “I’m alright. It just got a little overwhelming there for a minute.”
“Do you want to go home?” he asks gently.
“No. This … I’m actually enjoying this. I should’ve done it sooner.”
Brodie doesn’t answer back. Instead, he takes my hand and wraps the same arm I was clinging to, around my shoulder, giving me a comforting squeeze. I keep my arms to my sides, unable to hug my brother back.
Because I know I’ll just break down if I did.
Damn it.
“So,” I continue, “the waves are sounding pretty good.”
Small talk. That’ll take his attention off me.
“Yeah, the waves look amazing. I miss this,” he breathes out.
“You should’ve brought your board,” I muse, slightly tilting my head up at him.
He takes his arm off and replaces my hand back on his forearm so we can walk. “Next time. Right now, I just want to hang out with my Hannah Banana.”
“And this is coming from the same brother of mine who used to get me in trouble with Mum so I could get grounded and he could have the surf to himself. Since when were you this sentimental?” I ask incredulously.
“Since that day when we almost lost you,” he answers, his voice booming, but choking with emotion.
Shit.
Without a second thought, my arms wrap around Brodie’s waist, and his arms instantly circle around my shoulders. He holds me tight, I hold him tighter. And we both let the tears fall.
After several minutes, which felt more like forever, we finally let each other go, wiping our tears almost immediately.
“Fuck this,” I mutter.
“Language,” Brodie answers back, copying Mum’s tone.
I laugh and he laughs with me.
We laugh with complete abandon.
And just like that, the heaviness in my chest lifts.
Laughing is so much better than crying.
Somehow along the way, I’ve forgotten how good it feels.
After the beach, Brodie convinced me to go to our local café right next to the beach, a place I haven’t been to in months. I insisted that I wanted to go alfresco because I didn’t want to remove my sunglasses for obvious reasons. Now I’m able to keep my sunnies on without looking like a douche.
“Okay, so I got you a cinnamon-apple muffin and a cappuccino. That’s cool?”
I nod back a yes, only smiling slightly. I’m nervous. This is my first public outing since the accident, and because I have no clue how I look like on the outside, I feel … no, I know I look like shit that got shitted on. If my friends do see me, my only consolation is that at least I won’t see them and the looks of disgust and, or pity towards me.
I’m putting that down as blindness perk number six: being completely oblivious to other people’s judgemental stares.
With two hands, I carefully take a sip of the coffee. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper cuppa, and after the initial shock, I think my taste buds are thanking me profusely.
“So, I’m just curious, is it complete darkness? What you see, or what you don’t see, I mean,” Brodie asks, sounding both curious and hesitant at the same time.
I shrug back, “Usually it is, but sometimes I see some light coming through. Then I can work out some shadows and shapes. I can differentiate if it’s daytime or nighttime by the kind of light coming through as well.”
“Have you thought about getting one of those walking sticks? They might come in handy too.”
“I do have one. I just prefer not to use it since I can make my way around the house anyway.”
“What about if you want to go out?”
“You know that other than my trips to the specialist, I’ve never really been out. A walking stick just makes it too real for me. It’s like, yes, I’m blind, and I have this walking stick to prove it.” I screw my face in a wince, picturing people who know me, as they’re pointing their fingers at me, whispering to each other … pitying me, maybe even laughing at me.
I know I sound vain. But the truth is, I never cared about my appearance before until the ability to look at myself in front of the mirror was taken away from me.
“But you’ve always been so independent, Hannah,” my head tilts towards Brodie at the sound of my name. “Don’t you wanna gain that back? Everyone else’s opinion can just go to hell.”
I start fiddling with my coffee cup, shrugging back at him.
He’s not wrong. I used to value my independence. In fact, I took pride in it.
Past tense.
How can someone like me be independent now?
“Hannah?” I hear a high-pitched, almost childlike female voice call my name.
“Yes, that’s me. Who’s that?” I answer, scrunching my brows together as I lean my head towards her direction. This feels like I’m talking on the phone, since I can’t connect the voice to a face.
“It’s … it’s Nicki. Nicki Colt. We went to high school together.”
Fuck. I’m shit with names.
I used to be great at remembering faces.
Blindness disadvantage number twenty: Virtually everyone I have ever met are back to being strangers to me.
“I’m sorry. Nicki, is it? It’s kind of hard for me to place a name with a face now, and I’m super bad with names,” I explain regretfully.
“That’s okay. Uh, we used to be in Legal Studies together? I just wanted to say I’m sorry, you know, fo
r the accident.”
That’s when a vision of a black-haired, tiny girl with pale skin and glasses appears in my head. She was the quiet one and very studious. But her voice when she did talk made her sound like, well, a mouse. Unfortunately, this made her a target by Vivian, someone whom I can probably call a former friend since she never made an effort to come over, nor did she ever call me after the accident.
She christened her Nicki Mouse … as in like Mickey Mouse.
It’s lame-ass. But the intention to hurt was there.
I always disagreed with the name-calling, and I called Vivian out about it. A couple of my closest friends, Patricia and Brooklyn, disagreed with the whole ‘mean girl’ mentality as well. But because we were part of the popular circle, anyone outside of it thought we were all the same.
And now one of Vivian’s victims is talking to me.
And she doesn’t sound angry. She sounded sad. And she wants to say sorry to me.
Whether it’s genuine is beyond me.
She must be laughing on the inside, seeing me like this.
“Hannah?” Nicki’s tiny voice calls me tentatively.
“Yes … I-I remember you now. Thank you,” I answer distractedly, hoping she’ll move on soon without me pushing her away.
“You look great though. I mean—”
“You don’t have to tell me shit like that,” I interrupt, cutting her off. “I know I look awful.”
“Hannah …” Brodie warns. “Nicki, Why don’t you join us?”
I turn my head at my brother’s direction. What the hell is he doing?
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m only here to buy takeaway coffee. Thank you. But … but I wasn’t lying, Hannah. You do look great. And I understand what you’re going through. I can relate. I know this may sound presumptuous, with us not really friends and all, but I just want you to know that if you need to talk, I’m here for you.”
My brows furrow in a scowl. “How can you relate? Have you lost someone so suddenly? You didn’t lose your eyesight, obviously.”
Wow, I’m a bitch.
“Yes, but I …” I hear her let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, our community’s pretty small, and I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve heard that you didn’t go to uni, and a friend of mine who knew one of your friends, told me that you weren’t even accepting visitors for months. I know what you’ve been through was rough, and I’m sure you think you’re better off pushing people away. But I went through something very similar too. I thought no one would understand, but I was forced to go to a support group. Now I think it’s one of the best things I’ve done. Who knows, maybe you—”