Life After Light

by E. S. Maria

  “Sit with me by the window,” Brodie calls out.

  As soon as I’m seated, he places the bowl of my favourite ice cream on my waiting hands. Brodie introduced me to this particular flavour a few years back. He said it reminded him of me. I smacked him on the side of his head when he said it, thinking he was trying to poke fun at my expense. I mean, hello?

  Chunky = fat and monkey = poop throwing primate.

  But then he pointed at the flavour breakdown of the ice cream while he was trying to nurse his head.

  I gave him a big hug as soon as I realised the connection.

  And as soon as the ice cream touched the tip of my tongue, I knew I found my new favourite.

  So this has become our ritual every time Brodie and I are catching up―we do it over a bowl of chunky monkey.

  Speaking of bowls, I smile a little as soon as I feel mine. Is it what I think it is? I think Brodie may have given me my favourite bowl too … the same dinosaur-shaped bowl that we used to fight over when we were little kids.

  He must have seen me feeling the shape of the bowl with a smile on my face. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it. I’m barely here to use it now, anyway.”

  Blindness perk number two: finally winning the dino bowl.

  “No backsies?” I lift my head towards him.

  “No backsies,” he chuckles back.

  I’m still giggling a little as I carefully manoeuvre the spoonful of ice cream to my mouth, holding the bowl right under my chin in case of dripping.

  It took a lot of practice, a lot of messy, frustrating repeats before I was able to manage eating on my own. It felt like I was a baby learning to eat again, relearning how to use the cutlery and making sure I didn’t make an ass out of myself. Holding the food helped, but I was determined to use the cutlery and not to eat like I was two years old.

  We start eating the ice cream quietly at first, just enjoying each other’s company, while I silently thank both Ben and Jerry for this amazing flavour invention.

  But the quiet doesn’t last long.

  “Hey, sorry about Tic. He insisted on going, and if I’m not mistaken, you guys were pretty civil last year.”

  “We were, until we weren’t,” I mumble.

  “But you were with Paul then,” he adds. “What happened last year?”

  Paul.

  In an instant, my appetite for ice cream is gone. I ignore his question as I set my bowl to the side.

  “Do you miss him, Han? Paul, I mean?” Brodie’s voice is gentle, sympathetic.

  I hate it. I hate the sympathy.

  I don’t deserve it.

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Mum said you’ve not visited him even once, and—”

  “Mum has a big mouth.”

  “Hey, don’t blame the woman. I was the one who pushed for information. You never answered or called me back when I called you, you never responded to my e-mails or texts. And Mum said she got you that text-to-voice app for your phone.”

  I remain quiet, my hands gripping the edge of the window seat.

  “How come you’ve never visited Paul?”

  Just like that, whatever restraint I had is now gone.

  “Because I can’t, alright? I just can’t! I can’t …” I cry out, my voice shaking, with my body following soon after, tears now freely flowing down my face. “I shouldn’t.”

  Brodie’s arms wrap around me, but his gesture only makes me feel worse. I push his arms away, leaning my back against the wall. Then I raise my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them tightly. It’s a lame attempt at shielding myself from the pain.

  “I hate seeing you like this.”

  “At least you can see me,” I answer bitterly.

  “Don’t do this to yourself. What happened was an accident, and it was nobody’s fault. You came out of it alive, Hannah. Don’t you forget that. And now, you’re wasting your time locked up in this room, in this house, doing nothing. You have so much more —”

  “Oh, stop it with your speech, Brodie!” I spit out. “I heard it all before. Don’t you think Mum and Dad didn’t preach about how this is my second chance and all that shit?”

  “You need to talk to somebody about what you’re going through. An expert or something. I’ll even pay for it.”

  “What? To talk to a shrink? I tried it once before and I hated it, so I refuse to do it again. I’m not changing my mind about it. How can anyone understand what I’m going through?” my voice breaks again, and my eyes moisten with ready tears.

  He sighs deeply, and again, his arms are around me. But I’m stuck between him and the wall behind me so I have no place else to go.

  So I let him hug me.

  Because I know it will comfort him, but only him alone.

  “No one will understand what you’re going through, no matter how much we try,” he whispers, “but maybe if you try again to talk to an expert or maybe try to join a support group, they can help you channel this … this grief. Please, Han. Promise me that you’ll at least try. I’ll even look for one you prefer and drive you if I have to.”

  “Aren’t you going overseas in a couple of months?” I croak out.

  “Then I’ll drive you in those couple of months.”

  I close my eyes and let out a deep exhale. “I don’t know if I can even get inside a car.”

  “Mum said you’ve been inside a car, and she said it helped when you pretend that you’re still inside your room.”

  “A moving room? Sounds credible. Not. But at least I can’t see anything that’ll freak me out while in the car, right? Yet another blindness perk for me,” I attempt a joke, chuckling shakily. “Sorry, that was me being—”

  “Awesome. That’s you being awesome, Hannah Banana,” he laughs with me while hugging me even tighter.

  “Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe,” I laughingly pretend to choke. He’s hugging me with my knees still up to my chest, and it bloody hurts.

  He chuckles as he lets me go, “So, is that a deal? You’ll go and see a therapist or at least try to sit in a support group?”

  I nod back, wiping my tears and tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Yes, you asswipe! I’ll do it. But I can’t promise that I’ll stay if I don’t feel comfortable about it.”

  “I’m just glad you’re giving it a shot. I’ll start googling after we finish our ice cream.”

  “Mine’s probably all melted now.”

  “Melted, huh? Oh yeah. Well, I know that Mum’s got a stash of butterscotch schnapps hidden in the pantry. Want to make this ice cream interesting?”

  I giggle back, “Ew! It sounds gross … okay, let’s do it. Schnapps me!”

  I end up being proven wrong. The combination of the melted banana and choc fudge ice cream with Mum’s butterscotch schnapps tastes amazing. Maybe it’s because I have more schnapps than ice cream, who knows? But I’m more relaxed now, and in my current situation, that’s a good thing.

  By dinner, I’m giggling more at Brodie’s jokes. Even Dad seems more at ease. And Mum, well, I can hear the happiness in her voice.

  We’re all here, at the table, eating dinner together, just like old times. The last time we ate together as a family was before the accident. That felt like forever ago.

  Life was great forever ago.

  I remember our dinners right when I just finished my HSC, and I knew I kicked ass. I was so confident I was going to get the results I deserved that Sydney Uni and their law degree should just be handed to me in a silver platter. Paul was as confident as I was, and we started making plans to go to uni together in the big city during those dinners … even before we received our HSC results.

  Paul made it easy for me to get excited about the prospect of going to the university together. That’s just part of his endearing quality though. He’s the type of guy that can sell ice to an eskimo.

  My chest tightens everytime I think of him.

  I met Paul at his birthday party because one of my friends was dating
one of his buddies back then. Our circles kind of intermingled, but we never had a chance to be personally introduced. He pursued me, and because I needed to get over Atticus, I gave Paul a chance, thinking that if there’d be anyone who’d help me to get over Atticus, it must be somebody completely his opposite. What I never expected was to fall for Paul as well. But looking back, it was just inescapable. With his sun-lightened hair from years of surfing, his tanned, amazingly athletic body, his near-genius brain, his incredibly kind heart, and the fact that he made me a better version of myself … it was difficult not to fall for him. He made it easy for me to love him when I thought it was impossible for me to do so, because his love imposed no conditions … and no questions.

  Paul was brought up that way.

  My perfect boyfriend.

  My perfect Paul.

  “Hannah, sweetie? Would you like a cuppa? I’m using our fancy pod thingy that your dad bought,” Mum’s offer for after-dinner coffee takes me out of my reverie.

  “Yes, please. Thanks,” I answer back, with a half-smile.

  “What are you doing while you’re in town, son?” Dad asks my brother.

  “Dunno yet. Maybe catch up with friends, chill, maybe do some impromptu pub gigs, hang out with my baby sis,” I feel my brother’s hand squeeze my shoulder, and I’m thankful that he leaves out the part where he wants to take me to the shrink.

  “I heard Atticus came around as well. How is that scoundrel?” my dad asks, chuckling.

  “Still a dick,” I mutter under my breath just as Brodie continues to have a conversation with Dad.

  “Honey, that’s not very nice,” I practically jump out of my seat at Mum’s voice whispering against my ear, “and I don’t think the boy deserves that. What did he ever do to you that made you so angry?”

  Before I can answer, Brodie suddenly snorts aloud, “I hardly think you can call Atticus a boy anymore, Mum.”

  “Well, he’s like a second son to me,” Mum huffs back, “and you two are practically brothers,” I hear her voice moving away from me, and I inwardly thank my brother for diverting Mum’s attention away from me, and her opinions about Atticus.

  Dad clears his throat, “Is Atticus staying at his house?”

  “Pfft! No way. He’s renting a shack by the beach. I don’t even think his dad knows that he’s here.”

  “Right, well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Mum breathes out. She always has a soft spot for Atticus, and has been quite protective of him, especially after learning about his asshole of a father.

  That’s because Mum doesn’t know about Atticus and I and what he did to me.

  And if she ever found out, I wonder if her opinion of him will change.

  “You right?” Brodie nudges my shoulder.

  I raise my head towards him, half-smiling, “I’m just tired. I think I might just go to bed. Excuse me.” I push the chair back to stand up, carefully walking in the direction of my bedroom.

  “Let me help,” my brother pipes up.

  “I know the way to my own bedroom, big bro. I’m cool,” I let out a sigh, smiling sheepishly. “Thanks, anyway. ‘Night Mum and Dad ... Brodie.”

  Mum gathers me in her arms. “I guess that’s a no on the coffee. Goodnight, mija. Rest up.”

  I hug Mum back and give her a kiss on the cheek. I know she’s only giving me a slight reprieve before she hounds me with questions about my mood tomorrow.

  Whatever. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

  As soon as I’m inside my bedroom, I start taking my clothes off so I can take a shower. Today has been a roller coaster emotionally, something I don’t really need, especially with what I’ve been going through these past months.

  Damn it, I can still smell Atticus’s scent on me.

  Why did he have to smell so good … so familiar … so heartbreaking?

  These are the times when I truly wish I could see something, anything … that is, anything but him.

  When Atticus invades my dreams, the first thing I’d envision is his tall, lean-muscled physique, his unruly dark blonde hair, and his tattooed arms … just as I last saw him last year. But then, just as I would try to approach him, he would raise his aviators to hide those green eyes of his. Then he would turn around and walk away from me.

  Away from us.

  Without saying a single goodbye … without any explanation.

  It broke my heart over and over again as that vision of him played out on auto-repeat. It felt so real because it was.

  I didn’t expect for that pain to cut so deeply. But it did, and it’s all on him.

  And it hurt so damn much.

  And no matter how much I wished Paul could take all the hurt away, it kept reemerging in the worst possible moments.

  Now I’m paying for it. And I’ll never stop paying for it.

  Hannah, inhale through your nose, exhale from your mouth.

  Breathe, think happy thoughts, breathe.

  And repeat.

  After a couple of minutes, my fingertips are skimming along the wall right next to the door. When I finally locate the button, I press it down firmly and music instantly envelops the bathroom—loud, angry music that seems to seep inside my skin and take over the remains of my senses. It does what it is supposed to do: push off the negative thoughts in my head.

  My dad knew how much the music helps, so he got someone to install a waterproof sound system in here. They also installed a phone inside, in case I needed help while I’m in here.

  Blindness perk number four: getting utterly spoiled by my parents.

  Even though my dad doesn’t know what to do around me, he still makes sure that I have a bathroom that caters to my special needs. But sometimes I think he goes a little overboard. My bathroom has heated nonslip floor tiles that have different textures for me to identify which part of the bathroom I’m in. The shower is open, with no curtains or sliding doors, just a tiled half-wall that serves as division between the toilet and the shower. The taps, switches, and power points, like in my bedroom, have been labelled with a series of dots to help me identify what they are.

  Blindness perk number five: learning Braille.

  And that’s me being sarcastic. Learning Braille took a lot to get used to. And sometimes it would frustrate me when not a single dot would make bloody sense.

  But I knew that if I want to be more independent, I needed to learn this new skill, and learn it damn well.

  A large sink is set on a benchtop that goes along the length of the wall. This serves a dual purpose: it helps me figure out where I am in the bathroom, and the bench space means I can place my stuff on it without the risk of the said stuff falling off on the floor or in the toilet. Dad made sure there are as few corners as possible to avoid the risk of me getting injured. And Mum comes in regularly to make sure my things are placed on the same spots so that I know where to find them.

  I have nothing kept in this bathroom to keep me hair-free. Mum has the unenviable task of shaving my legs. I know. Ew. But she said she wanted to make sure I’m confident enough with using sharp objects like shavers before she’ll let me anywhere near them.

  But I have a feeling Mum thinks I might be borderline suicidal.

  I’m not. Really, I’m not.

  Yes, I’m bitter, moody and I cry way too much. I also refuse to go out of the house which makes the whole thing about Mum shaving my legs, completely pointless.

  These past months I refused to see my friends. When they came over to see me, when they tried to call me, I told my Mum to tell them that I wasn’t ready yet. It never felt that it was right for me to move on. I knew it was the right thing to do. My poor mother had to give them the same excuse every single time.

  And what would I talk about with them, anyway? Our conversations would probably be about them feeling sorry for me, or worse, they might even blame me for the accident.

  I didn’t need them for that. I could do a decent job blaming myself.

  As the months progressed, my friends
’ visits and calls became progressively scant. They had all moved on to study in their respective schools, and start their lives as university students. So the visits stopped altogether, and the calls are now practically nonexistent.

  And as much as I’m relieved that they stopped trying to make contact with me, I’m also saddened that they’ve given up on me.

  Years of friendship down the drain, and all because I was afraid to answer their questions, and was too proud to have my blindness turn out into a crutch.

  The haunting voice of Marilyn Manson fills up my ears, and I have to laugh as I’m brushing my teeth.

  Beautiful People. I was one of them.

  One of the beautiful people.

  Queen fucking bee.

  At least that was what everyone told me.

  And that included my now non-existent friends.

  I spit out the minty remnants in the sink, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and grazing the scar on my jaw.

  Who in the hell will think you’re beautiful now, Hannah?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What in the hell?

  “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Brodie’s voice is way too loud right against my ear, and my bed is bouncing up and down so much that I’m close to being tossed off my own bed.

  “Stop it! Did I not lock that damn door?” I groan, taking the pillow underneath my head and placing it over my ear, hoping to block my idiot brother out.

  “Good morning to you too. Wake up, sunshine. I’m fixing breakfast, and then I’m taking you out.”

  “You must be out of your mind. Get out!” I cry out, sounding like a whining baby.

  But I don’t care. He needs to leave me the fuck alone.

  “We’re going to the beach. You need to get some vitamin D, breathe in fresh air. We’ll walk. C’mon!” Brodie takes my arm and drags my limp body off the bed. “It’s either you cooperate or I’m dumping you in the shower and switching on the cold water. Up to you, Hannah Banana.”

  “Fuck. Off!”

  “Okay, your call.” He lifts me up like a sack of potatoes, and knowing my brother, he’ll follow through with his threat.

  With gritted teeth I cry out, “Let me down! Fine, I’ll go. I’ll hate it, but I’ll go.”