by E. S. Maria
That was no lie.
I meant every word.
After that day, we vowed to keep in touch. They even invited me to dinner at their place when I come back home during school holidays.
We’re still gathered at the dining table when the front door opens, and I hear the rambunctious laughter of my big brother, followed by my name being called out way too loudly.
“Hannah Banana!” Suddenly, I feel myself being lifted off of my seat and into my Hulk-wannabe big brother’s arms.
“Let me go, dickwad!” I yell out to him laughingly.
“Wait, the boys wanna carry you too.” And like a freaking pass-the-parcel at a children’s birthday party, I’m being passed around and carried by Mike, Shane, and Derek.
“Let me go, you fuckers, or I’ll use my stick and shove it up your asses!”
That’s when I get dumped unceremoniously on the couch.
“Fuckers!” I yell out to them, but still laughing as I try to make my way back to the dining table.
“Mum and Dad left?” Brodie asks, sounding like his mouth is full, presumably from Mum’s amazing empanadas.
“Dad had to drag her out of here. If she stayed any longer, she would probably decide to move in. You know how she gets.”
“How did Dad take it?” Brodie stands next to me and asks quietly. He’s trying to sound casual, but he knows that I know their history too.
“Typical Dad, you know. Trying to be the rock for Mum.”
“Yeah, typical,” he answers wistfully.
I reach out to him and squeeze his arm.
“He gets it now, bro. And he’s truly sorry for being such a hard ass on you.”
“Did he say that in verbatim?” he asks sarcastically.
“I’m not quoting him word for word, but I’m not lying either. He’s proud of you for real, Brodie.”
Brodie doesn’t reply, but he wraps an arm around me and kisses the side of my temple before announcing to everyone, “Okay people, Gilroy’s in half an hour!”
The atmosphere at Gilroy’s is buzzing, and the music is pretty decent. Patty orders a shitload of food for us to share. I don’t even realise it is practically dinnertime until I ask her what time it is.
Brodie’s sitting next to me, which is good because we need to catch up on life.
I just wish I could pay more attention to what he’s saying.
The truth is, I want to ask him about the one person I know I shouldn’t ask about.
I’ve held back in the past months. I really did, because I needed to focus on myself alone. I even asked Brodie not to mention his name around me. It worked most days.
But I slipped up in between. That was when Atticus filled my thoughts.
And I’m having one of those days right now.
There is a lull between our conversation when I suddenly blurt out, “So, how’s Atticus?”
Brodie sounds like he’s clearing his throat, “Are you sure you wanna talk about him? I thought you’ve banned him from our conversations.”
Oh. Good point.
Am I sure I’m ready to find out how Atticus is doing?
Who am I kidding, anyway?
Because as much as I’ve been doing all that I can to remove him out of my life, it’s just not physically possible. He’s ingrained in my thoughts, under my skin, in my heart.
And I know he’ll stay there for as long as I’m breathing.
I try my best to sound casual, shrugging, “He’s bound to be included in our conversations now anyway, since we’ll be seeing each other more, and he’s like, one of your best friends.”
“But we don’t have to talk about Tic if you don’t want to. This is your first night here, and I don’t want to ruin it by getting you distressed.”
“Look, I just wanna know that he’s okay, that’s it,” I try to laugh it off, but I’m not sure if I’ve convinced Brodie enough. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine about a lot things if you haven’t noticed.”
“Alright. I can give you a quick update, but tell me if you want me to stop, and I’ll talk about something else, okay?”
“Okay. But first, let’s do one round of shots!”
Brodie doesn’t seem to know what happened between Atticus and me after we left Peak. What he does know is that I broke my ties with Atticus permanently, that’s it. It explains his initial hesitancy to talk about Atticus with me.
But after downing a few shots of tequila, Brodie loosens up a bit and begins to talk about Atticus.
He tells me that Atticus decided to leave Sydney after we last saw each other, making Los Angeles his home base while he prepared for the tail-end of his concert tour with Halcyon.
Well, the tour finished five months ago. Brodie and the rest of the band have been back home working on some new material since then. They’re all sharing a house over at Bondi, which is only a suburb away from where my friends and I are currently living.
But as they were making plans to go back home after the tour, according to Brodie, Atticus, on a whim, decided to stay in the U.S. for longer. I want so badly to ask Brodie why he decided to stay back. I want to know if he’s staying there for work or because he found someone worth staying for. But I can’t even open my mouth to ask him that question. I’m just too afraid that Brodie might tell me that it’s the latter, that he’s found someone else.
I don’t know how I’d feel about that.
No, I do. I’d be utterly devastated.
Because I still miss him, and I still feel an ache every single time I think about him. But I didn’t give him much of an option when I said goodbye. Maybe he’s moved on with another woman, maybe he’s sleeping around with a lot of them. Maybe he’s doing his best to forget about me. After all, he has every right to do that so he can move on.
He let go of me a couple of times before, so I’m sure that he can do it again, and maybe it would truly be the best for both our sanities.
We may have been amazing together, but we were amazingly volatile together as well.
We were too much … too soon.
Two precarious beings are better off apart.
Then how come my heart still aches for him?
That’s the thing about meeting your greatest love too early in your life. Once you lose your great love, you just feel lost because a gigantic piece of yourself is gone.
“So he’s not coming back, huh?” I ask Brodie.
“No, at least not for a while. But that’s what you wanted for him, right? To follow his dream so you can follow yours? This is a good thing. Having him around might just hurt you again. Now’s your chance to enjoy your life, and who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone special again, right?”
“Yeah … we’ll see,” I answer back wistfully before taking another, much-needed shot of tequila.
I’m back home, in bed, headphones over my ears, listening to a new playlist I created to hopefully help me to sleep.
But it’s not working, and I’m sure it’s because my thoughts keep returning to what Brodie said to me earlier.
I’m still young. I still have this new life ahead of me.
And I’m proving how being blind isn’t holding me back.
Sure, we all have our demons, we’ve all been wounded and scarred in one way or another. But we try to get past it, we try to learn from it, and we try to better ourselves so it doesn’t happen again. And if it does, we learn to get back up and try again.
I’m determined to win despite this blindness, despite the scars, both inside and out.
And I know that in time, I will win over this pining over Atticus.
Yes, it’s easier said than done.
But it’s doable.
It’s. Doable.
And maybe if I say it enough times, there will come a time when I’ll actually believe it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Blindness perk number nine: Winning at independent living as a blind person is equivalent to not only winning the lottery, but also winning in life.
I’m feeling particularly cocky today, waking up with a smile on my face.
It’s the last day before our two-week school holiday. I’ve spent three months at university, working harder than most in my class, just to prove to my peers and my music teachers that my blindness should not be treated as a hindrance, but an actual advantage. I went to and from my university on my own, catching the bus, even catching the train once in a while if the need arises. Admittedly, it wasn’t smooth sailing most days, and I’ve had my share of mishaps, but I always seem to have a random person who’s able to help me. I’ve survived my commute, and I know that it’s also because of the kindness of strangers.
I’ve also made a few new friends in my class. There’s actually one guy in particular, Joshua, who’s been particularly nice. He’s a multi-instrumentalist, but he plays the piano like a genius possessed. With the kind of passion he has, you’d think he’d be highly competitive, but he’s far from it. In fact, he has been quite accommodating when I’ve shown interest in learning how to play the piano. He’d patiently teach me each step, since I’m only able to learn by feel. A week before the end of term, he asked me out to an outdoor jazz concert at the university grounds. I said yes, but it had been close to two years since I last went on a proper date, and that was technically with Paul. So I could be forgiven for being a nervous wreck. But Joshua was a gentleman through the whole night, and he made me feel comfortable and safe. He kind of reminded me of Paul with his demeanor, but according to Patty and Brook, although Joshua has the same height and lean physique like Paul, he has dark copper-coloured hair and pale skin. They did, however, confirm that he’s quite good-looking, like a slightly geeky version of Michael Fassbender. They didn’t have to convince me further.
Why? Because Michael Fassbender, that’s why.
No further explanation needed.
After our date, he took me straight home, and he kissed me. Our first kiss was pleasant, gentle. He did ask me if we could see each other again after the break. I just smiled and said ‘Maybe.’ I wasn’t trying to be coy. Because even though I had a wonderful time with Joshua, I felt like I needed the break to think things through.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I think I know why.
Atticus is still in my thoughts, no matter how hard I try to occupy myself with my studies and being social. Also, once in a while, at the most random of times, I would get this warm, tingly feeling coursing through me, and it was the type of feeling I’d always associate with Atticus. Sometimes I welcomed it and thought of the happier times we shared, because we did have so many. But most of the time, I dismissed it because at the opposite end of the spectrum, dwelling over him also meant bringing back memories of the times he broke my heart, not once, but twice.
It’s just not healthy, this borderline obsession I’m still harboring over Atticus.
Tomorrow, the girls and I are taking the country train home. Mum and Dad were supposed to pick me up, but I called them and told them of the change in plans. They’re picking us up from the train station instead and will take the girls home since we all live close by.
I am so looking forward to this break. And seeing as the weather has been warmer than usual for autumn, I’ve decided that I’ll try my hand at surfing again when I get back home. It’s one of the things that I missed doing since losing my eyesight. Unfortunately, a busy schedule from my music degree meant using up most of my weekends studying and practising.
But I think I’m ready to surf the waves again. I think that I’m ready to tackle that bull by the horns and ride those waves like I was born to do it.
The thought scares me and exhilarates me at the same time.
My bags are packed, and I’m just zipping it up when I hear a knock on my bedroom door.
“Babe!” It’s Patty. “Let’s have a girls’ night out tonight. There’s this new club I wanna check out. You’re coming, okay?”
“We’re catching the train tomorrow morning. We might not make it if we’re hung over.”
“Come on, loosen up! It’s gonna be fun. And we won’t have to catch our train home until ten in the morning. That’s plenty of fucking time! You’ve packed already, haven’t you?”
Sighing, I answer back, “Yes … okay fine. So what time are we going?”
“Girl, it’s six now, so let’s be ready in an hour for dinner out, then go to Ruby Red’s. All good?”
I’ve heard of Ruby Red’s. They play dance music on one floor but have a live band perform a set at the basement and bar. The bands are usually up and comers, so I’m looking forward to listening to some fresh music.
I wonder if they’d let someone like me perform in a place like that. Not that I’d have the guts to perform in front of these big city folks. That one night at Peak was nerve-wracking enough, and over there, I was playing in front of people who mostly knew who I was. That was supposed to make it easier for me.
“I’ll be ready!” I yell back, shaking my head and smiling at the same time.
“Tell me what it looks like, girls.” I’m arm in arm with Brook, with Patty walking next to me. I’m not using a stick tonight, but I do have it in my purse just in case. I made them promise on their favourite pair of stilettos that they’ll never leave me all alone. We usually go to bars or clubs in a bigger group so there will always be someone around to assist me, just in case. Tonight, it’s just us three, so I can be forgiven for being a little clingy.
Patty answers, “Well, the sign is bright red of course, and it looks like a handwritten signature. There’s an old-school pinup girl right next to it, really sexy, long hair, slim legs and a bubble butt, kinda has a striking resemblance of you.”
“Shut up!” I elbow Patty playfully, “I totally blame my mother for my big Latina ass.”
“Please, no offence, okay? We know that you won’t see it anymore when men stare at your hotness, but Brook and I still have working eyes, and girl, we see these men looking. And hey, you’re single. Embrace it! Take it as a compliment!” I hear Brook agreeing wholeheartedly, and I shake my head at them. I know I should feel offended at being objectified, but for some reason, the thought of other men noticing other parts of my body and not my eyes or my scar is surprisingly doing wonders to my ego.
“Have a good night, ladies,” I hear a deep voice telling us before I feel the air swoosh in front of us, which I assume is coming from a heavy door opening.
“See! That bouncer was checking you out!” Patty nudges me while Brook ushers me inside. “And he’s cute, in that rugby player sort of way, you know, tattoos, all muscles …”
“As if a rugby player lookalike would be interested in me. It’s dark, he probably didn’t see my scar. And you know that I won’t be able to tell if you’re telling me the truth, right?” I scoff. As much as I’m feeling secretly flattered, I couldn’t help but feel like my friends are just fibbing to make me feel a little better about myself.
Brook answers, “You know we’re not gonna lie to you about those things, babe. We seriously want you to have fun. But don’t you worry. We got your back, right? And if you do wanna hook up with a guy, we’ll make sure you’re hooking up with a hottie. But, we’ll Facebook stalk him first in case he’s married or a serial killer in the making,” Brook giggles, and we giggle with her.
“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not going to hook up with anyone, just so we’re clear. I plan on focusing on only two things: music and dancing. That’s it.”
“Plus it’s pretty obvious that you’re still not over Atticus. Not by a long shot.”
Patty totally pulled the rug under me on that one.
How totally random!
It may be a true statement, but it’s still random and uncalled for.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel about Atticus anymore, Patty. He’s gone from my life, remember?”
A moment passes before she answers, “Of course … of course. Sorry.”
The odd tone of her voice leaves me puzzled. But whatever and whomeve
r I’ve been thinking about is quickly pushed out of my head by the blare of the dance music.
“Swear to me you won’t leave me alone, okay?” I hook my arm on Patty as well, suddenly feeling a lack of confidence as the music gets louder, and I’m finding it harder to distinguish certain noises.
“Hannah, trust me when I tell you that you will never be left alone, okay?” Brook tells me reassuringly, “Just trust me and dance!”
I hear Patty whoop it up, and I give in to the thump of the beats. The pulsating rhythm sears through my body and in a little while, I’m dancing, raising my arms up and just … feeling … free.
Free.
Free from fear, guilt, anguish, and Atticus.
Wow, thinking it aloud somehow still doesn’t give me comfort whatsoever.
But I’m still dancing, and I’m loving every single second of it.
After the third song, we all agree that our heels are beginning to murder our feet one toe at a time. Well, my shoes are practically flat, and the tiny elevation is just a wedge, but my throbbing feet tell me they’ve had enough too.
They guide me to what they say is a small booth. Patty continues to describe the interiors of the club, which I am now picturing as something out of a comic book from the fifties.
Brook tells us that she’s buying us super-girly cocktails. I eagerly agree, ignoring the fact that I’ll probably regret it tomorrow morning when we try to make it to our train home.
But I did work hard and overcame a lot of my personal obstacles, so I’m taking my friends’ advice, and I’ll loosen the fuck up.
I don’t even know how we’ve made it back to the dance floor, but after downing our sweet, alcoholic concoctions, we’re busting a move again like we’re all that.
We dance to one more song, then we agree to check out the basement to watch the bands play.
All of a sudden, I feel a hand grip me on my hip, followed by a rough-sounding male voice slurring against my ear.
“Hey, beautiful! How about a dance?”
Too stunned to respond, he tries to spin me around, still gripping me tightly. The stink of beer on his breath is making me want to retch.
