Blindness

by Ginger Scott

  Being alone has me missing my father even more. It’s been months since I’ve talked to him in my head, so I make plans to start a new conversation with him tonight. I’m behind on calculus homework, so I pack my bag with my books and a few snacks, and grab the blanket and a pillow from our bed. I step outside, but head to the far side of the house so I’m out of the view of the garage. I’ve been forcing myself to stay away, not even allowing myself to check at night to see if Cody’s light is on. It’s better to make a clean break. I’m pretty sure I was forming a bit of an obsession—almost like a teenage crush.

  After two hours of studying, I’m making great progress, and am down to one final calculus problem when the sunlight finally runs out. My blanket is littered with snack wrappers and empty juice boxes—it seems when Trevor’s gone, I take on the eating habits of a fourth grader.

  Feeling pretty satisfied with my studies, I close up my books and lay back with my arms tucked under my head. The sky is a deep orange, and the color is fading fast, blues and grays filling in where the warmth was only seconds before. I can still see a few of the brightest stars through the clouds, but I know they’ll be covered soon, too, and it makes my chest heavy.

  This was our thing—Mac and I would lie on the hood of his car and wait for shooting stars. It was a nightly tradition we started the summer right before he died. He had heard about a big meteor shower one night and thought we might be able to see a few from our driveway. We didn’t see a single shooting star that night, but we ended up talking until the sun came up.

  Mac told me stories about his family, about my grandparents whom I never met. And he talked about Caroline with great affection. He worried over his sister—constantly. And lying there, listening to his stories, made me realize for the first time exactly how big his heart was.

  His big heart was how he met mom. She had been struggling with drugs. Dad was new to the force, and he met her at a bar one night after a long shift; she was pretty strung out. He said there was something about her that made him feel like he had to fix her, so he begged her to get help. And she did. Mom got sober for almost six months, and in that time, they started dating.

  Dad never used the L word when talking about his time with my mom. It wasn’t a word he used a lot, actually, minus the few times he said it to me. I think part of him loved her, but she was so gone—so twisted—by the end of their relationship; it was hard to imagine anyone loving that. Sabrina got pregnant—with me. And she started using again. I put the facts together on my own, never really needing Mac to come right out and say it. Mom wasn’t really the kind of woman who wanted kids—clearly not the right material. And my existence? Well, that drove her over the edge.

  Sabrina ran off soon after she found out she was pregnant, never telling Mac about me until she dropped me off seven years later. It was a miracle I came out without any deformities, too, because I’m sure she got high the second the pregnancy test came back.

  When we looked at the stars, Mac asked a lot about my time with mom. I know he was feeling guilty that I had to grow up there, but I assured him that I wasn’t emotionally wounded or scarred. I know he always felt responsible anyhow, though. He took in everyone else’s failures and made them his responsibility to correct. He didn’t know any other way to be.

  God, I missed him. I was usually really good at pushing down my hunger to hug him once more, to hear his raspy chuckle, and smell his smoking pipe. But every now and then it snuck up on me—like a beast I just needed to feed for a while so I could function. When it happens, I look to the stars. I don’t have to talk out loud, though sometimes I do. I know he hears me either way. And tonight I just need the clouds to stay away—just long enough.

  I choke a little when the first drop runs down my face. It’s the same thing every time I feel the threat of tears. I breathe deeply and will them away. I feel another drop, and then another, and I realize that my skin is feeling the sky open up. There won’t be any talking tonight—the stars are gone, the darkness of the clouds all that’s left, illuminated by the full moon.

  The downpour comes on fast, and I’m scrambling to wrap my homework, pillow, sweater, and shoes in the blanket. Suddenly I feel the weight of the comforter lifted from me.

  “I’ve got this, you run inside—fast!” Cody says.

  I do what he says, only because the wind is kicking up, and the heavy drops are starting to sting my face. I rush to the front door and hold it open from the force of the wind as he follows me inside. I shut it behind him and follow him to the den down the hall. He drops my blanket filled with my books and wrappers on the floor, and then stops for just a second to look at me before he turns his attention back to his feet, passing by me closely with his head down.

  I’m instantly irritated, and I let him know it while I follow him into the kitchen. “What the hell?” I say, catching the swinging door that he doesn’t hold for me as I enter the kitchen behind him.

  He’s not talking to me, instead just moving to the fridge and pulling out a packet of sandwich meat before moving on to the pantry to look for bread. He’s making a sandwich—unbelievable! I haven’t seen him in days, and then he shows up, just in time to save me from what I’m sure he’ll say is the storm of the century, and all he can do now is slap some ham on wheat?

  I’m livid.

  “Uh, hello?” I say, waving my hand in his line of sight. I’m being a child, but I don’t care. He stops what he’s doing and looks me in the eyes because of it, and I feel satisfied.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, then turns his attention back to his food.

  I stand there next to him, my mouth open, and my fingers digging into the counter to prevent me from shoving him off balance. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to shake him. And I hate that he feels vindicated, like I needed his help in any way. I’m about to scream from the pressure building inside me when Shelly slides into the kitchen—just in time to halt what I’m sure was going to be a string of choice words.

  “Codes, honey, come here. Give mommy a hug,” she says, her words barely coherent. She’s hammered—and it’s not the kind of drunk I’ve seen at the bars near Western, or the kind of drunk Trevor gets after a night out celebrating. It’s not even the kind of drunk I hear some nights on the phone with Aunt Caroline.

  I know I’m staring at her, and I’m sure my face is full of pity. She’s wobbling on her feet as she teeters to the fridge, opening it up and leaning her full body inside, like she’s looking for something in the back of a closet. I look back to Cody, waiting for him to do something, but he’s just eating his sandwich. What is it with people in this house pretending everything’s okay?

  No longer able to take it, I decide to try to get Shelly to open up, thinking maybe if Cody hears the state his mother is in, he’ll feel compelled to do something about it. “Hey, Shelly? When’s Jim coming back?” I ask, hoping she understood me.

  It takes her four attempts to set the bottle of wine flat along the counter, each time leaning it crooked and watching it slide sideways. I’m about to ask her again, when Cody interrupts.

  “You know he’s up there fucking her, don’t you?” he says, and I’m immediately speechless, trying to replay his words again to be sure I heard them right. Cody doesn’t say anything more, just continues to eat his sandwich while his mother purses her lips, her eyes bloodshot, but wide.

  “Don’t you dare speak about your father that way!” she yells, this time her words perfectly clear. She slaps Cody as she says it, and the popping sound reverberates throughout the empty house. His cheek is red, and she’s looking at it, almost like she’s proud of her work—a half-smirk on her face, but her eyes still void of emotion.

  Cody drops his sandwich from his hands, and pushes the plate forward until it falls into the sink. He doesn’t even acknowledge her standing there, her body shaking, as he leaves. “He’s not my father, and you’re pathetic,” he says, his voice flat.

  The door slams to a close behind hi
m, and I’m left alone with Shelly. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I expect her to begin sobbing, but she doesn’t. Instead, she clutches the bottle in her hands and turns her body away from me, muttering incoherently under her breath as she goes back to her room. I’m invisible.

  I move to the window and can see Cody climbing the stairs up to the carriage house—the harsh rain pelting him. I don’t even stop to think before I grab the sweater I have hanging near the back door and run after him. I catch him just as he’s closing his door, and I push my way inside behind him.

  Cody’s place is small. There’s a tight living room with an old sofa, some TV trays, and a galley kitchen to the side. I notice Cody’s laundry is piled on the floor next to the stacked washer and dryer tucked in a pantry closet. A door on the far side leads to what I presume is his bedroom, and that’s where he goes, once again attempting to shut the door on me as I follow. I catch it in my hand and wait in the doorway while he falls forward on his bed, sliding his body up until his face is planted in his pillow.

  “Just leave. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he says, working his feet until his shoes fall to the floor. He grabs a fistful of his pillow and lifts it over his head until it covers it, like he’s trying to hide.

  I know the safe thing to do would be to leave. But I can’t seem to get my body to follow through with my mind’s orders. I’m wavering at the door, watching his back rise and fall with the heavy breaths he’s taking. Eventually, I close the door all the way and slip my own shoes off, kicking them to the corner. I pull my sweater off, too, since the rain nearly soaked through it when I ran outside. I wait at the foot of the bed, unsure of my next move. I know he can sense I’m still here. I see his hands grip at the sheets and squeeze, like he’s holding everything in just for my benefit.

  “What did you mean?” I ask, not really knowing where to begin with him. He pushes his pillow from his eyes slowly and squints at me. “Before? What you just said to your mom. About Jim?”

  I can’t seem to get myself to repeat it. His words were so harsh, so ugly. And as desperate as I am to understand why he’d lash out at his mother, part of me knows deep down that he was probably telling her the truth. I sit down on the bed and slide myself up to the headboard, closing the distance between us, hoping it will help him open up and slow down his breathing.

  We sit there, looking at each other for a full minute before he answers. “Jim’s having an affair…some woman in Chicago. My mom knows all about it; she just lets him get away with it. Says she’s the one who gets the house and all this,” Cody says, rolling to his side and waving his hand in the air.

  My heart sinks even more—every new fact I learn about the Appletons drives my opinion of them lower. I’m struggling with Trevor, trying not to paint him with the same disappointment I have for Jim and Shelly. I know it isn’t fair, and I know he doesn’t have the full story. He would be ashamed of his father if he knew everything.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else I can say. Cody shrugs and pulls his pillow from above him, stuffing it behind his neck now so he can roll onto his back. I’m unable to avoid the glimpse I get of his bare stomach as his shirt raises up just enough to show the line of his boxers peering out from the top of his jeans. I’m flushed suddenly and start to chew on my fingernails as a distraction. I keep reminding myself I’m here because somewhere along the way I became Cody’s friend—or at least, I’m trying to.

  “You and your mom…you seem kind of…distant?” I say, feeling him out.

  Cody sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead and staring at his ceiling. His lips open with a breath, the words on the tip of his tongue in several false starts before he finally lets me in.

  “My mom didn’t go to my father’s funeral,” he says, his words punching me in the gut. “Before he died, she was more interested in how she could move up in her social circle, and how she could drown her own fucking disappointment in herself with alcohol.”

  I don’t know what to say to him. I want to make it better, to suddenly give his mom a cure—to make her be a mother. But I know, probably better than most, that there isn’t a magic pill for this. It’s something people have to decide to be on their own—and some never do.

  “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay?” Cody says, his eyes drifting off into a blank stare again. I just nod, focusing on the feeling of my teeth along my fingertips and the inside of my cheek—anything to keep the rising panic and thumping of my heart from overwhelming me.

  “So, why were you having a picnic for one out in the first winter storm of the season?” Cody asks, turning all of his attention to me.

  I’m no longer able to stop the whishing sounds of blood rushing across my ears. I don’t talk about Mac—ever. I won’t even talk about him with Caroline. And Trevor has learned not to ask. But there’s something about Cody’s directness, the way he peels away my layers, unafraid. I somehow sense that talking about Mac with him will maybe make it hurt less.

  “I was visiting my dad,” I say, my voice weak. I can’t believe the sound of the words when I say them—they seem ridiculous, like the fantasies of a little girl. My palms are sweating, and I’m overwhelmed with the same feeling I get when I have to speak in front of a crowd. I slide down the bed, so I’m lying on my back now, too, and I pull the spare pillow to my front, clutching it like a teddy bear. I can feel Cody’s eyes on me. And I can tell he’s waiting for me to become comfortable with the broken parts of me I’m starting to share. It’s the same kind of patience he showed when he took care of my burned arm. It’s disarming.

  Deep breath. I can’t believe I’m doing this—saying this—out loud, to someone I hardly know.

  “I miss him. Sometimes it feels like I just let someone punch me in the stomach for an hour, it hurts so much. And I just need to talk to him,” I say, sharing more than I have now with anyone…ever. “Looking at the stars was kind of our thing. So when the pain gets to be too much, I look at them. I pretend that he’s looking at them, too. And just the possibility that we’re both seeing the same stars makes me feel like we’re connected, and like maybe he can hear me.”

  I suck in air and feel my voice quiver; I’m fighting so hard to hold it in, my eyes burning and my throat closing up. I squeeze the pillow tightly to me. I can’t believe I just told Cody all of this. I’m partly worried that he thinks I’m crazy, and I’m also worried that I’m going to crack, break into a million pieces right here in his room.

  My biggest fear is about to be realized when he gets up from the bed. I brace myself for him to open his door and ask me to leave, tell me that he just doesn’t have time in his life for my kind of crazy. I’m actually counting the seconds until he kicks me out, but instead of words, I hear him pull open a drawer and riffle through some papers.

  I’m holding my breath, watching him as he pulls out a safety pin and starts to push holes in a piece of paper. He spends maybe five minutes looking at the paper closely, biting on his bottom lip while he concentrates, only letting his eyes drift to me for brief seconds before going back to work.

  I’m squeezing the pillow tighter now, my body rigid with anxiety. Cody flips on a switch for a small lamp on his night table, and then turns off the main light in his room. The bulb is bright, and looking at it is making me squint my eyes, trying to get them to adjust. I pull the pillow up to block the light a little and listen as I hear Cody rip a few pieces of tape and crinkle the paper while he fastens it to the top of his lampshade. The room is suddenly much darker, and when I pull the pillow back from my face, I realize what he’s done.

  Cody has given me my stars. They aren’t perfect. There’s no Big Dipper, and the dots on his ceiling are misshapen and not quite the right size. But the feeling is there. I’m staring up at them, my smile unavoidable and so big it’s actually starting to hurt my cheeks. I feel the bed move from Cody’s weight. He’s lying next to me again, this time, we’re so close our arms are touching, and between the stars above my head and the he
at to the right of my body, I’m no longer sure of anything in my life—but I also don’t feel alone.

  “Go ahead,” Cody says. “Talk to him.”

  I can’t seem to look at his face, even though I know it’s only inches from mine. I can’t do it, because I’m so damn afraid of what I’ll feel if I do. I want to be Cody’s friend. No, I think I need to be Cody’s friend. But when I look at him, my heart squeezes, and I know it’s because I also want him to touch me, kiss me, and, Oh God, I don’t dare let myself indulge in any more.

  I take in a deep breath and hold it for a second or two before letting it out slowly, like I’m throwing sandbags over the edge of a hot air balloon so I can get it to lift. I shut my eyes tightly, imagining the real stars in my head before I open them back up and see Cody’s beautiful sky.

  “Hi, Daddy. It’s me…Charlie,” I say my name, the only one Mac ever called me, and the instant I do I feel Cody’s fingertips stretch for mine. I give in and wrap my fingers together with his tightly. I don’t have to explain; I know I just gave him a key to look inside me, to see my secrets—the good ones and the ugly ones—with that one small sentence. And I also know it’s more than I’ve ever given anyone. And I think he knows it, too.

  I decide to keep talking to Mac out loud. The feeling of letting it all out for someone else to hear is doing for me what months of therapy couldn’t.

  “Daddy, I miss you. It’s almost Halloween, and I bought candy corn when I was at school the other day. Those were your favorites.”

  I have to pause. I work so hard keeping these memories away from the surface, that when I let them out they overwhelm me. I catch my breath and feel Cody squeeze my hand tighter. He’s giving me courage.

  “I’m worried about Caroline. She hasn’t been answering my calls. I know I should go see her, but I haven’t been in the house since the day I left. I just can’t…”