I knew he was trying to compliment me. There was no malice in his words…not one bit. But I nonetheless felt myself getting upset. Of course Chris was going to be curious about my appearance. I’d been delusional to try to convince myself otherwise.
It worried me because I knew that if and when his vision was repaired, Chris would see me. Not the version of me I was when I was with him, witty, sarcastic and self-assured. No, he’d see all of me: the birthmark, my vulnerability, everything.
And I knew there was no way he could possibly like what he saw. How could he, when deep down even I couldn’t stand to look at myself?
Had I ever given Chris any reason to believe I was good looking? I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d inadvertently said something misleading. I couldn’t think of anything at all. Actually, I could distinctly remember telling Chris about the ugly red birthmark on my face.
His reaction had been minimal. In fact, he’d been rather dismissive of my admission, assuring me that it didn’t matter. It was the sort of thing any polite person would lie about, but I didn’t think Chris had been lying. I think he simply hadn’t cared.
But he’d said it when he was blind. My appearance wasn’t exactly relevant to him at that time. What would he really think once he could see me?
“Michelle? You’re awfully quiet. Are you falling asleep on me?”
“Sorry, no. I’m awake.”
“It’s the middle of the night over there, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding apologetic. “Go to sleep. It’s okay. I’m happy just to listen to you breathe. Hmm, was that corny or creepy? I can’t tell. Either way, go to sleep.”
A few minutes ago I had been fighting to stay awake, but now I was no longer tired. I nonetheless laid there quietly, listening to the sound of Chris’s slow, comforting breathing. I really did love him.
Losing him was going to hurt so much.
Chapter 13
At some point during the night I managed to drift off to sleep. I woke up to a dial tone ringing in my ear. I shut off my phone and glanced at the time, and then did the mental calculation to determine the time in Norway.
Chris, I realized, was probably at his appointment at that very moment.
Despite my own reservations, I really did want a good outcome for him. He’d had a lot taken from him when he’d lost his sight. Listening to him talk about his past made that much clear. Although he seemed to harbor a lot of guilt over the selfish life he’d led, I could also detect nostalgia in his voice from time to time when he reminisced about the way things used to be.
I cared about him deeply – loved him, even – and I wanted the best for him.
I’m not a praying sort of girl. It’s not that I don’t believe in God. I do, I think. It’s just that I’ve always felt like I shouldn’t waste my prayers. You might have gotten the impression that I spend all my time wallowing in self-pity, but I honestly try not to.
Back when I was being bullied at school, I used to pray to God to make it stop, at least in the beginning. Then when I was about eight or nine, I saw one of those commercials on television asking viewers to make donations to feed starving kids in Africa. I remember it clearly because it was the first time I’d ever really seen the suffering some people have to endure through no fault of their own.
I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes from the television screen as I’d been confronted by true human misery. Tears had welled up in my eyes as I watched flies buzz around the head of an emaciated looking child who was probably close to my own age.
Right then and there, at eight or nine years old, I realized that no matter how mean the kids at school were to me, there were lots of people who had it much, much worse than I did.
After that, I stopped praying for the bullying to end. I didn’t want to waste my prayers on something so shallow when God clearly had more important matters to contend with. I finally thought it made sense that He or She had been ignoring my repeated requests for divine intervention. Clearly I wasn’t high up on the list of God’s priorities, nor should I be.
I don’t consider myself a religious person. I mean, I don’t go to church or anything. But every so often I do say a prayer for the kids in Africa. I’ve promised myself that after college when I have a decent-paying job, I’ll sponsor a child over there. It isn’t much but to that one person it could mean the world, you know?
Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not a praying sort of girl. But knowing that Chris was probably undergoing surgery at that very moment stirred something up in me. I felt sick and hopeful and doomed all at once.
After Chris had told me the names of the procedures he was having, I’d looked them up online. As with any surgery, there were risks. I hadn’t mentioned them to Chris because I hadn’t wanted to alarm him, but I was well aware of them and they scared me to death.
I shut my eyes, finding it hard to fathom that darkness or near-darkness was what he saw on a daily basis. Then I said a quiet prayer for him.
The ringing of the phone snapped me back to the present moment. I looked down at the screen. It was Chris’s number.
“Chris?” I asked, unable to hide my concern. “Why are you calling now? Shouldn’t you be –?”
“It didn’t happen,” he said flatly, cutting me off.
“What? The surgery didn’t happen?” I asked, not understanding. “Why? I thought the doctor said you were an excellent candidate…?”
Chris let out a heavy-hearted sigh and I could tell he wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self. He sounded crushed. “He did say that,” Chris agreed. “I went to his clinic today and signed all the paperwork and sat in the waiting room for a while…then the receptionist got a phone call and called me over and said the surgery couldn’t happen today. Dr. Torje was called into emergency surgery at the hospital.”
“Oh.” I thought for a moment and then cautiously asked, “So it’s still going to happen?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. Then after a brief pause, he added, “I know I’m being melodramatic. It’s not the end of the world if I have to wait an extra day for the surgery. It’s just that I’d psyched myself up and…it’s kind of a letdown, you know?”
“I get it. You’re allowed to be upset.” I tried my best to be supportive knowing that it must suck to be in Chris’s shoes at the moment. “I wish I could do something to help.”
“Phone sex?”
“Nice try, buddy.” I’ll admit the thought did intrigue me. The mere suggestion of it made me tingle in places that were missing Chris pretty badly…places the electric toothbrush just couldn’t seem to satisfy anymore now that I’d been with a real man. But I was far too shy and reserved for phone sex. How anybody managed to say dirty things without being fall-down-drunk was beyond me!
“Ah well, it was worth a shot. What do you have going on today?” he asked.
“Oh nothing much…I’m candy striping at the hospital until eight and then I’ll probably just come home and watch a movie or something. How about you? It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself, but you’re not allowed to sit around alone in your hotel room all day,” I informed him as sternly as I could.
“I won’t,” Chris promised. “My mom’s actually having a good day today, so she wants to go out and see the city. I guess I’ll tag along and uh...hope for delicious-smelling food and buskers who have talent? Hopefully I’ll be able to see the city for myself before we leave Norway.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“It still won’t be able to compare to seeing you,” Chris said, his tone light and flirtatious.
Usually when he flirted with me, it gave me butterflies. That was totally a normal reaction – after all, he was my boyfriend and he was incredibly handsome and smart and funny. But this time there were no butterflies. It felt like there was a slab of lead in the pit of my stomach weighing me down.
“I’d better go,” I said. “Enjoy your day.”
“I’ll try my best. Enjoy your candy striping!”
I wouldn’t say I was
enjoying the candy striping, exactly. Tolerating was probably a more accurate description. I can tell you one thing: I could never be a nurse. I think they have one of the most important jobs there is, but I couldn’t do it day in and day out. It’s just too overwhelming to constantly be around the sick and injured.
I know what you’re probably thinking, but Chris was different. Technically I guess he was injured, but I’d never seen him that way. And even when he’d been in the hospital, he hadn’t acted like someone who was, well, in the hospital. I would never use the word “disabled” to describe him. To me, he was just a regular guy who unfortunately, couldn’t see.
Now that my community service was about to wrap up, I was counting down the days. Pretty soon I’d be free of my awful starchy white candy striper uniform and would no longer have to spend my days breathing in the awful chemical smell of cleaner that I associated with vomit and overall grossness.
I arrived home from my shift that night to find a car in the driveway. That was odd because my mom was working at the clothing store she managed – and it wasn’t her car. When I got closer, I recognized it…and the person sitting inside. Eric.
He got out as I approached, leaning against the side of the vehicle with his arms loosely folded.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We were talking about music the other night. I came across this and thought of you,” he said, handing me a CD. “You should give it a listen – I think you’ll like them.”
I took the compact disc from him and looked down at it. “A CD…?” I replied, raising an eyebrow. Did people even still listen to CDs? “You didn’t have to but, um, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Eric squatted down to re-tie his shoelace and I stood there feeling out of my element. I wasn’t quite sure what to do or say – or why he was even at my place. I looked at him contemplatively and then finally said, “Do you want to come in? I make a mean chocolate sundae, if you want one.”
It was my way of telling him I was willing to forgive him for everything he’d done to me in a past without having to actually say the words. Well, maybe “forgive” is too strong of a word. But I was willing to look past it and stop holding a grudge.
Eric followed me inside and sat at the kitchen counter while I got out the vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup and sprinkles. I notice him gazing around at his surroundings. He wasn’t doing it in a snoopy way – he was just interested, I guess.
The house where I’d been raised was small but cozy. My mom and I had never had fancy things, but we’d always been comfortable enough. There was a time when I might have been afraid of Eric or other Eric types judging me. But oddly enough, I was okay with him looking around.
He didn’t seem quite so threatening anymore.
It’s funny, the effect that bullying can have on a person. The unlucky kid who’s the target is dehumanized. What starts out as a simple jab or two quickly snowballs into something more, I think because of group mentality. At some point, the bullies forget you’re a person. They forget you have feelings. Maybe sometimes they even forget you can hear their cruel words. To them, all a bullied kid is a target, a source of entertainment.
But that’s not the only thing that happens. I think the victimized kid forgets that the bullies are just other children. In my experience, bullies are often the loudest in the pack and the other kids rally around them, either because they’re jerks or they’re scared. When you’re up against that, it’s easy to start thinking of the bullies as some sort of invincible super villains. Without even realizing it, I guess that’s what I started to do at some point.
But talking to Eric one-on-one had reminded me that he was just a guy. Yeah, so he was exceptionally good looking. He was popular. He was athletic and successful and hadn’t had to work hard for much in his life. But he was still just a guy, not a super villain and certainly not invincible.
He wasn’t that scary after all.
Chapter 14
Eric didn’t stay long. We finished our sundaes and listened to the CD he’d brought me – the music was actually pretty good. Then I sent him on his way so I could get some sleep before it was time to call Chris. I set two alarms to make sure I’d wake up in time to talk to him before his eye surgery.
“Are you scared?” I asked a bit later once I had Chris on the phone.
He always insisted on calling me back if we anticipated taking for more than a minute or two. He said he’d rather incur the cost of long distance calling than me. I felt a bit guilty because I knew how expensive it was, but to be honest I was also relieved.
I didn’t have extra money to spend on anything. As it was, I’d barely be able to scrape enough together to cover my upcoming college tuition costs. Not being able to hold down full-time summer work due to the community service order had nearly crushed (or at least postponed) my dream of going to college. Thankfully, being extremely frugal and a little creative had come in handy and just barely saved the day.
As I spoke to Chris, I could hear the tension in his voice. I knew he was completely freaked out by what was ahead and how his life may or may not be changed. I didn’t blame him. I would have been too had our situations been reversed.
“The procedure itself doesn’t sound so bad,” he said. “It irritates the eye some, but we’re not talking about a medieval torture chamber or anything. It’s afterwards that scares me. What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then you’ll find something else that does,” I said sensibly. “Science is advancing all the time. Technology is always improving. Something will come along.”
He sighed. “You’re right. At least I hope you are, and I hope it won’t take twenty years for the right technology to come along. Anyway, I need to get my mind off things. Tell me about your day?”
“I saw a guy projectile vomit at the hospital,” I informed him rather proudly. “It looked like something out of a horror movie. It was kind of cool, actually, until some high strung woman in stilettos came strutting past, slipped in it and started screaming. Then it was just downright hilarious.”
He snickered. “Only you would find that funny. Well actually, I would have had a hard time not laughing, too. Those are the kinds of things I hope to be able to see…my life would be so much richer if only I could watch people projectile vomit,” he lamented. Then he added, “I love your twisted sense of humor, you weirdo.”
“I love your cheesy sense of humor, you lame-o.”
“So what else is new?”
“Well, I officially have three days of candy striping left. After that, my community service will be done, I won’t have a criminal record and I’ll be able to put this whole awful mess of a year behind me.”
“Was the year really so awful?”
“No,” I replied immediately without even having to think about it. “It started out awful but then I met you. So all in all, I guess the year was actually pretty amazing.”
I don’t know why I didn’t tell him about Eric. It wasn’t deliberate. At least, I don’t think it was. I guess it just didn’t strike me as important. I was more focused on distracting Chris to keep his mind off of things than informing him about every little detail of my day. Besides, once you’ve opened with a projectile vomit story it can be a tough act to follow.
I’m pretty sure I did manage to calm Chris down some. By the time we hung up, he was actually sounding rather cheerful, all things considered. When I heard nothing but the dial tone ringing in my ear, I was suddenly aware of just how much I missed him.
He’d be home the following Saturday if everything went well. I’d see him then – and if everything went according to plan, he’d see me too. Everything would change then…that much I knew. What I wasn’t sure of was to what extent things would change. I was both eagerly anticipating and intensely dreading Chris’s return.
I sat by the phone for most of the day. At least, it felt like most of the day. I tried to watch TV or read to pass the time, but I couldn’t concentrate. All
I could think about was Chris. I was dying to know how he was doing and how things had gone. Then, finally, the phone rang.
“Chris?” I demanded breathlessly as I fumbled for the phone.
“Michelle,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It worked.”
I couldn’t breathe. “You can see?” I asked.
“Yeah, I can! As soon as I sat up after the laser surgery I could tell that things looked different…clearer. The surgeon said everything went smoothly and he’s expecting a lot more improvement as I recover over the next few days and weeks. I – I’m numb. I can’t even think straight, it’s so surreal.”
I was numb, too.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Chris told me. “…Literally! By the time I fly home my vision should be pretty decent, I think. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I can’t wait to see you. I’ll actually get to see you! Oh God, Dr. Torje is a miracle worker.”
“Chris…”
“Are you crying?” he asked.
I smiled through my tears. “I’m just happy for you,” I told him, somehow managing to get the words out past the lump in my throat.
Chapter 15
I was a wreck. Ever since Chris’s big news, I’d been an absolute mess. And today he was coming home. I’d been a bundle of nerves all day long, unable to eat or concentrate or even string together a coherent sentence. My mind was racing a mile a minute and so was my pulse.
Do you ever wish your life had a pause button? I did. I wished time could just stand still for a while. Things with Chris had been so good before he’d left. Our relationship had been everything I ever could have wanted. Now, in an instant, it was all about to change.
I hated the unknown. I hated the terror I felt inside. Even though I felt like I’d gotten to know him and his character pretty well, the bullied little girl inside of me couldn’t help but wonder if he’d laugh or recoil in disgust once he got a good look at my face.
Love Is Blind Page 9
