Blindness

by Ginger Scott

  I dry the last dish and take a deep breath before turning to face him, and I want to hug him instantly when I see the sincerity in his eyes. “I know it,” I smile and lean my cheek sideways into his arm. He wraps it around me softly, kissing the top of my head.

  “He might not be there, you know. He’s been working a lot at the shop in Warren,” Gabe says. I just shrug, mostly because it still hurts to think about Cody. I haven’t seen him since our fight, and I can’t bring myself to call or text. I know he’d be excited to see his dad’s shop replicated in my project, and I’ll show him when the time is right. Or I’ll let Gabe show him. Or maybe I’ll just let him find out on his own.

  I’m pathetic.

  All I have are bits and pieces, a hazy sketch into Cody’s life. I know he’s living with friends a few miles away, and he’s working at one of the commercial mechanics with Gabe, just trying to earn some cash. Gabe says he’s stopped rehabbing, and his leg is hurting all the time. But Cody won’t take anything for it; he doesn’t believe in numbing pain. Gabe says it has a lot to do with the neighborhood they grew up in—the drugs and overdoses they saw. Cody has a fear of addiction, and helping Gabe overcome his made it all too real. But I wish he’d just give in a little, listen to a doctor and ease his suffering, because I know he won’t rest.

  He’s also stopped riding his bike, and I overheard Gabe talking to a friend about Cody selling it. I don’t like him riding, because I don’t believe he knows the line between joy and recklessness. But the thought of him giving up completely seems worse somehow, and I think I’d rather risk him doing something stupid on two wheels over him disowning his passion and abandoning his craving for adventure. I don’t want him to lose himself…like I did.

  I leave Gabe and Jessie’s house with my small bag of leftovers, and I tuck them in my fridge at home to take with me for lunch the next day. I kick off my clothes and turn the heat up as high as it will go before I crawl into bed—my apartment never feels warm, because of the concrete floors and bare walls. My fingers instantly find the thin thermal shirt tucked under my pillow, and I pull it close to my body. The smell has faded, but if I breathe it in deeply enough, I can still find it. Cody lent it to me to keep warm in Louisville, and I never gave it back—like I knew I would need it somehow.

  Just like I have every night since I left the shop, I clutch it to my chest and push my face into the collar, forcing my eyes closed, compelling myself to remember his eyes, his smile—his hands on me while I sleep. Of course, my eyes immediately reopen, and I’m left with nothing but the what ifs.

  What if I told him about Jim right away? What if I never left Trevor? What if I never see him again?

  The clock passes time slowly at night, and I think it’s my penance.

  Sleep is a fantasy lately. I’m lucky to squeeze in two hours in a row on any given stretch. Somehow, though, I’ve managed to function during the hours I’ve been putting in on the project—from sunrise until seven or eight at night—and today will be no exception.

  The office is closed for New Year’s Eve and day, but I have my own key, and I plan on spending a few hours in the afternoon on some of the final touches for the council presentation. Jeff said it was a pathetic way for a 21-year-old to spend New Year’s Eve. He was laughing when he said it, and I know he meant it as a joke, but it still stung a little. Regardless, I think it’s slightly better than bringing a take-and-bake pizza up to my apartment and having a solo movie party on my cardboard-box dining table.

  I fine tune things for most of the morning, taking a short break for lunch before going at it again on the 3-D program. Everything takes me longer, because I’m still learning, but the work requires so much of my mind that it acts as a placebo, letting me forget everything that’s going wrong on the other side.

  I pack my work up neatly by about four in the afternoon, and I take the materials to Jeff’s office. I like coming in here to work when I can, mostly because of the cushy leather chairs and the smell of wood. His office is perfect—exactly what I want for myself one day. I pull my knees up in one of the seats near the window and fold my hands along the back, staring out at the garden and busy highway beyond. My eyelids are heavy, and I let myself shut them to indulge. I can feel the waves pulling me down, like a heavy, wet blanket.

  When my pocket vibrates, I startle. My arm is still tucked under my chin, but it’s asleep from the weight of my body. I actually have to twist myself to the side in the chair to get my arms to work and get the blood pumping in them again. The office is dark, only lit by the glow of a few streetlights outside. It takes three or four good rubs of my eyes to get them to focus on the clock, and I’m finally able to read the time: it’s just after ten o’clock.

  My body feels rested for the first time in days. I stretch myself tall as I push my feet back into the ballet slippers I wore into the office; they must have fallen off during my nap. I close the door behind me and leave everything just as I found it in Jeff’s office and walk back to my cube to turn out the light.

  The building is quiet, and the parking lot is empty. My breath is thick with fog as I blow it out and look for the button on my keys to open my door. I get in quickly and fire up the heater, digging through my purse for my gloves to warm my hands during the drive. I’m about to pull them on when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket again.

  I’m sure it’s Jessie; she’s probably texting me during the party—drunk, no doubt. My screen is actually frosted on my phone, and I wipe it dry using the fingers of one of my gloves. When I see the trace of the phone call, the proof left behind, I let it slide from my hands down through the crack of my seat.

  He called. Tonight.

  And I didn’t answer.

  I didn’t even hear it.

  I dig feverishly under my seat, my fingers frantic, and grasping for the phone until I bring it back to my lap.

  He called. Twice.

  No message. Probably no more than a single ring. But he called. He must be at the party. I bet Jessie told him about my project, and I bet he just wants to see it. He probably wants to know how he can lease a property, and what he has to do to be a part of it, to work at the garage.

  This isn’t about me. It’s about Jake’s—about the sign I stole, about getting back his home—the one he thinks I ripped away from him. It’s probably a lecture on how dare I use his father’s shop for my own personal gain!

  He probably wants to blame me again for not giving him a choice.

  I toss the phone into the seat next to me and slam my hands on the steering wheel over and over while I scream obscenities. How could he choose the garage? How could he not choose me? Not choose us?! Didn’t I mean anything to him at all? I told him everything, I shared Mac with him, and I let him in! I threw away EASY! I threw away PERFECT! Because I chose difficult—I chose fucking impossible! I chose him!

  My foot is heavy on the gas, and I know I’m going at least 90 down the highway. I also know I couldn’t possibly look less ready-to-party in my faded jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, and black slipper shoes. I wore the knit hat all day because the office was cold; my hair is permanently dented around my ears. When I finally hit a stoplight, I brush my hair out with my fingers and pull my cap back on when it does no good, wrapping my neck in the scarf, too. I’m cold, and damn it, I’m staying fucking bundled.

  This isn’t about looking good and making him want me. And I won’t be there long. I just have a few things to say—things I should have said long ago. Things I repeat over and over when I’m angry at night—those times in between missing him. And then I can move on, start over with my life—my new life. I’ll always thank him for inspiring my work, but that’s it. That’s all he deserves.

  I’m taking my heart back, and my soul comes with it. Reclaimed.

  Jessie and Gabe’s street is packed with cars, some parked side-by-side, and it’s a tight squeeze to get through, but I manage. My eyes are scanning both sides of the street, looking for the beat-up pickup that I just KNOW is here
. I don’t see it, but I’m sure it’s around. I find an open slot, slip my car in park, and grab my heavy coat from the back seat. I didn’t bring anything, but the party’s been going for a while, so I’m sure Jessie and Gabe will understand. Hell, I might be in and out before they even see me!

  I don’t bother to ring the doorbell and just walk right inside, my body still wrapped in my winter coat from my short walk in their neighborhood. It’s warmer in here, but taking things off would mean I’m open to staying. And I’m not. I’ll find Cody, and then I’m leaving.

  The living room is full of dozens of girls who all look like Jessie. Their hair is dyed and shaved and braided and twisted, and their bodies are all covered in piercings and ink. One girl nods at me with a smile as I walk by, but I turn away—I’m not here to make friends.

  The guys are loud in the kitchen, and I see Gabe by the sink mixing some drinks, laughing at some story one of them is telling. I see a gray and black striped beanie, and I think for a moment it might be Cody, so I walk around the counter toward Gabe to get a better look, my fists balling in my pockets to spur me on. But it’s not him. I don’t even have to get close to tell.

  “Charlie! Hey, you made it!” Gabe says, coming over to give me a drunken hug. I smile politely, but before he even gets near, I hammer away with questions.

  “Where is he?” I ask, pulling the gloves from my fingers and stuffing them in the pockets of my puffy coat.

  “Wha? Whoooooo?” he asks back, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  “I’m not in the mood, Gabe. Stop playing. Where is he? I know he’s here. He called me,” I say back. Gabe only furrows his brow, twisting his lips.

  “Cody?” he says, rubbing the side of his face, like he’s trying to wake himself from a nap.

  “Gabe, stop it! Yes, Cody,” I say, still scanning the small house and trying to make out figures standing outside in the back yard.

  “Charlie…he’s not here. I haven’t seen him all day. He said he wasn’t coming,” he starts, but I push past him and make my way to the back yard.

  He has to be here. I know he is—I can feel it. There’s a fire roaring in a giant pit outside, and I study the faces around it. They all look like people I’ve seen in pictures with Cody, and I almost feel like I recognize some. But he’s not with them. I walk the parameter of the yard, looking at the small pockets of people, expecting him to recognize me and call out my name. But he never does.

  Back inside, I turn down the small hallway to Gabe and Jessie’s bedroom, and the door is closed. I can hear muffled sounds of people laughing, so I push the door open. It’s dark, and there are four or five girls snuggled on the bed watching television—it looks like they’re watching a Christmas movie.

  “Charlie!” I hear Jessie call out, her voice slurring my name. My eyes finally adjust when I see her figure stand up from the back of the bed. “You made it! Come on in and join us, we’re watching The Muppets! Fuckin’ hilarious!”

  She’s hugging me and leaning on me for support a second later. Her breath is downright flammable—I can smell that she’s been hitting the hard stuff. I hug her back awkwardly and bite my tongue, almost stopping myself from asking her about Cody, but I know if anyone knows where he is, she does.

  “Is he still here?” I ask, starting to believe that Cody left long before I arrived.

  She just shrugs at me and sits back down on the bed, patting the edge for me to join her. “Here? Hell, that boy never showed up. Gabe told you—he ain’t comin’.”

  She starts laughing at something on the screen again and takes a drink from a bottle being passed around. I leave her there, and I don’t even think she notices. I make another pass through the house, this time my heart beating more slowly and my eyes careful to notice anything out of place. But nothing is new—nothing has changed from the moment I walked in that door.

  He isn’t here.

  He isn’t here, and I’m sick about it. I don’t want to yell anymore; I don’t want to show him how strong I am, or how little he means to me. Lies—those would all be lies. I just want to see his face one more time, to know he’s okay. That’s why I came. But now it doesn’t matter.

  I walk back by Gabe in the kitchen, and he hands me a red cup and squeezes my shoulder, looking into my eyes. I take it, find a sliver of sofa in the back corner of their main room, and slide down—stuffed in my coat and clinging to my cup of beer in front of me between my two cold hands.

  The party almost suffocates me, the crowd has grown so thick, and, at least three times, one of Gabe’s friends has come to try to talk to me. He’s cute, and maybe another day—a day long from this one—I would consider smiling at him, maybe even flirting. But he’s not Cody, and that’s the only thing that keeps replaying in my mind as he talks to me. I watch his mouth move, waiting for it to smile, waiting for it to look like Cody’s. When he does smile, it isn’t even close.

  There’s a couple next to me, and they’re making out. It’s funny, because I bet in their minds this moment is full of heat and passion. But from the outside, it’s comical. I can’t help but smirk at the slurping sounds and moans the girl is making, and she keeps trying to slide her leg up on top of the guy’s lap, grinding on his knee—I’m sure thinking her moves are sexy as hell. It’s like poor-man’s porn, and it’s almost gross, except that it’s so damned funny.

  My beer is empty, and if I’m going to stay any longer I’m going to need a refill. I can’t drive at this point, so I stand from my safe corner and make my way back to Gabe in the kitchen. He’s still mixing drinks for people, still laughing and playing host. The air is thick with smoke, and it chokes me a little at first.

  “Hey, lovely,” Gabe says, and I just shake my empty cup in the air and reach over a few people sitting at the counter to hand it to him. “You want a refill? Or something new?”

  “Something…kinda weak?” I say, knowing that at some point I’m going to have to drive home.

  “Okay, let me work something up for ya,” he winks, and then turns to the fridge to pour a few juices in my cup. I glance at my spot on the sofa and am relieved it’s still open. I start tapping my fingers nervously on the counter as Gabe mixes my drink. I see him put only a tiny splash of vodka in the mix, and I smile at him.

  “I’ll take care of you. You can count on it,” he smiles back, but his eyes aren’t looking at me—they’re looking over me. And my heart kicks up, the pounding so rapid, I think it might just fail at any moment.

  I swear I can smell him. This house is filled to the point of fire code violation, and the air is dripping with cigars, cigarettes, and pot. But all I smell is him. I turn slowly, and my eyes meet his neck. As tall as I am, he’s always taller. I peer up slowly, wishing somehow I could pull my hat lower over my entire face and skirt away. His face is tired, and his beard is thick, at least two weeks worth of growth. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt and a black hat, dressed just as plainly as I am. This party was an afterthought for him, too.

  Words are pointless, so I don’t even bother trying to form them. Cody and I are just staring at one another, the rest of the world quickly fading away. We’re exact mirrors, our expressions blank, lifeless—exhausted.

  “Hey, man. You came after all,” Gabe says over my shoulder, and Cody pulls his eyes from me to talk with his friend.

  “Yeah, I ended up getting done a little early. Thought I’d come…” he says, looking back at me again. Swallowing. “Just in case.”

  “That’s awesome, man. It’s not a party if you’re not here,” Gabe says, handing Cody a drink. In that split second , I take my moment to slip away, back to my corner. My right eye is twitching from stress, and my body suddenly feels hot and flushed. I strip my arms from my coat and unwind the scarf that now feels like it’s strangling me. I take a giant gulp from my cup, downing the entire drink in four more sips. Thank god Gabe made it weak, because I’d be done if he hadn’t.

  I’m having a panic attack. I know it, and recognize what�
�s coming next. My lungs won’t get full, and every time I try to take a deep breath, it gets worse. I’m not breathing. I’m not breathing!

  The music is muffled around me. I know it’s loud, but I can’t make out any of the words, only the whooshing sound over my eardrums. I push my head between my knees, and force myself to count slowly while I inhale through my nose, holding the air in my lungs for a few seconds before letting it slip away. I do it again, and again, until I can finally hear voices.

  Fullness—finally, I feel fullness.

  Everyone is filing into the living room now, turning on the main television to watch the ball drop. But I stay in my seat, safely sandwiched between strangers and behind happy couples. My eyes are wide, and they’re searching desperately for him, until I see his legs walk across the room, and he sits in a dining chair directly across from me. He doesn’t see me at first, because of the dozens of drunk people laughing and shouting in the space that’s between us, but eventually our eyes meet.

  We’re caught, completely stuck here—forced to watch one another, feel all of our cruel words, and suffer amid our regrets while new loves spark around us. Neither of us is breathing, only staring, as the room starts to count down.

  “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

  It’s like a bomb, and Cody and I are just waiting for it to destroy us, knowing there’s nothing we can do to escape. When the room hits one, everyone cheers loudly, and lips find other lips as men wrap their arms around women and lean them over, kissing them hard and long to welcome in a new year. One girl, who looks a lot like me, leaps into a pair of tattooed arms, and the man spins her around in front of us, kissing her like I want to be kissed—by Cody—and I can’t stop the tears it elicits.

  Cody’s eyes never leave mine, and every time I try to turn away, I find myself looking at him again. He never smiles, he never blinks—but there’s depth in his eyes, and I can see the longing. Old Lang Syne is playing on repeat from the television, and the blasts of toy horns are filling the living room, but for us, everything is silent. We’re locked here, together—so close, but so very far away. He reaches up his hand at one point and rubs the back of it along the side of his face, trying to hide his emotion. A second later, he’s on his feet, and I lose him in the crowd.