“Sylvia! Sylvia, are you okay?”
I could hear the words, but I couldn’t see the person saying them. In fact, I couldn’t see anything but the blurry, faded sky, and the tops of faraway mountains on the horizon. One second, the Lexus approaching us was trying to merge into our lane. The next, cool glass from the window beside me broke into hundreds of sharp fragments, piercing skin on my small arms and legs and face. Some shards flew and hit my eyes, penetrating my irises and corneas. Leaving scars that would remain with me for the rest of my life.
“Sylvia!” Maze squeaked, gasping for air. His voice was high back then, like the shriek of tires against pavement. Was he okay? Was Mom? “Grab my hand! Mom’s calling 9-1-1!”
I turned my head restlessly, my vision blackening at the edges. “Where’s your hand? I can’t see it!”
“It’s right in front of you! What are you, blind?”
That statement was as real as you’d ever know.
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I could hear the words, but I couldn’t see the person saying them. In fact, I couldn’t see anything but the blurry, faded sky, and the tops of faraway mountains on the horizon. One second, the Lexus approaching us was trying to merge into our lane. The next, cool glass from the window beside me broke into hundreds of sharp fragments, piercing skin on my small arms and legs and face. Some shards flew and hit my eyes, penetrating my irises and corneas. Leaving scars that would remain with me for the rest of my life.
“Sylvia!” Maze squeaked, gasping for air. His voice was high back then, like the shriek of tires against pavement. Was he okay? Was Mom? “Grab my hand! Mom’s calling 9-1-1!”
I turned my head restlessly, my vision blackening at the edges. “Where’s your hand? I can’t see it!”
“It’s right in front of you! What are you, blind?”
That statement was as real as you’d ever know.
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I could recognize my brother Maze’s footsteps from a mile away. He has big feet— nearly a size fourteen in men’s sneakers— but he also walks very lightly, favoring his toes and barely brushing his heel against the ground before lifting his next foot. I’ve been able to sense Maze’s presence since I was four years old. Two years before the accident.
So it’s no surprise when Maze walks up from behind me. His footsteps are unmistakable.
“Hey, Sylvia?” Maze says, his voice trembling, cracking on the last syllable. “It’s me. Look, I wanted to—”
“How could I possibly not know it’s you?” I counter, defiantly. “Your footsteps are undeniably unique. I could feel your feet brushing against the ground as soon as you left the house. I’m blind, not stupid. And, for goodness’ sake,” I huff, inhaling sharply, “the neighbors can probably smell you from here! When was the last time you took a shower, January?”
Maze shifts his weight from one leg to another, “Right. I just wanted to talk to you, Syl. About tomorrow.”
Rage twists inside me like a tornado. Tomorrow? Can’t he see that I’m dreading tomorrow more than anything else? Can’t he tell that the entire reason why I’m sitting out here, in the middle of our backyard, is to avoid the fact that tomorrow is coming?
“Forget it,” I reply, icily. “I don’t want you to remind me that you’re not leaving forever. I don’t want you to tell me that it’s all going to be all right. Because you’ve tried that before, and in case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t worked.”
Maze stands there for a second. I’m sure that he’s staring at me— he would always stare at me while he thought, even before the accident. Calculating, going over the potential responses in his brain, analyzing what the consequences would be, until he found the perfect thing to say. Maze is smart in those ways. He’s smart in a lot of ways, actually— which earned him a spot at Dartmouth, the college he will attend.
He’s perfect at everything— he’s a track star, a Straight-A student, and a perfect friend, too. Every word he says is extremely premeditated, meant in the best possible way to avoid offending anyone.
He rests his hand on the earth beside me as he crouches down and sits. His breaths are shaking, I can feel them as they come in sharp bursts against my arm.
Maze must think I’m a monster, if he’s this nervous to talk with me. And I am. I am an inconsiderate, blind monster, who can’t even have a conversation with her own brother without him cowering in fear. He must be thrilled to leave for Dartmouth tomorrow, to be over three thousand miles away from his monster of a little sister. He can just leave. What do I care, anyway?
“No,” Maze says, softly. He rustles the soft grass beneath him with his fingers, until he reaches my hand and squeezes it. “I’m not going to tell you it’ll be okay, because it won’t be—”
“Gee, thanks—”
“—No, Sylvia. Let me finish,” he sighs, twisting the clumps of grass beside him and pulling out several blades. “It won’t be okay for you. At least, it won’t feel that way at first.”
I scowl at him, “Not helping. Not helping at all, Maze.”
“Just listen to me,” he murmurs, running his fingers against my knuckles gently. His fingers are long and rough and slightly calloused, from rock climbing— something he pursued in the little free time he had in high school. “Nothing will feel okay for the next few days, weeks, months even. But it will. One day, it will. And while I really wish I could stay here at home with you, so I could be your eyes for the rest of your life, I also have obligations, Sylvia,” he puts his arm around me, “I need to leave for Dartmouth, so I can learn to help more people. I want to make a difference in this world, and this my perfect opportunity.”
I turn my head away from him. How could I possibly be so ungrateful? This is my brother! He’s been my eyes every day since I lost my vision. Should I want him to be pursuing his life goals and dreams? Shouldn’t I be selfless, hoping for the best for him?
“Now, I know you must think that I’m a selfish jerk—”
“You?!” I cry, bolting forward from my laying position, my tears flying away. “I’m the one who’s being selfish. I’m busy moping around about myself all day, while tomorrow you’re going off to college. Your dream school. This is big for you, and all I’m doing is being ungrateful, Maze.”
He doesn’t respond right away. He’s processing again, or at least, so I think. I can hear the distant humming of the breeze, and how the grass surrounds my toes like a sponge. Somehow Maze’s silences aren’t as heavy as other silences. When most people are silent to me, it means they disapprove of me, disapprove of something I’ve done. But when Maze is silent, it means he’s thinking of me, thinking of ways to make me happy.
Maze sighs, reaching for my hand playfully. “You know I didn’t want you to feel that way, right? I didn’t,” his voice trembles, “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
His words resonate in the air for what seems like an eternity. A breath catches in his throat and he lets out a sob. A genuine, pain-laced sob. Maze never cries. His emotions are always so bottled up, so hidden from the world. Yet he’s letting him all out in front of me. I wonder what Maze looks like when he cries. All I can picture is his typical stony face, covered in tears.
“Hey,” I whisper, scooting closer to him so I can feel his warmth. He wraps his bony arm around me, squeezing me tight to his chest. A tear rolls down from his cheek onto mine, then another and another. Soon my eyes behind to water and tears roll down my cheek, too, and I can’t tell which tears are mine and which tears are his anymore.
Wind whips in my ear. Goosebumps materialize on my arm and I instinctively bundle up to gain warmth.
“I’ll be home soon,” Maze whispers, “before you know it, it’ll be Thanksgiving break, and I’ll be home again.”
Thanksgiving is three months from now. It seems so far away. In November, the days are colder. It won’t be the same as now. The days will be shorter; the sun will set earlier…
“The sunset,” I whisper. “The sunset. . . Maze, what does the sunset look like tonight?” “Oh Sylvia… It’s—”
“I need to know, Maze. I haven’t seen a sunset for years. I don’t remember what they look like, but I know they’re beautiful,” I mutter. “Be my eyes again. One last time before you leave.”
Maze pauses for a second, computing. I can feel his breaths against my ear, and the corners of his lips perked up in a smile. He sits up against the tall pine tree, holding me up against him.
“The sun,” he whispers, “is an orb. An orb of consistency among the chaos. Because, no matter what changes, the clouds, the earth, the air, it will remain.
“But the clouds tonight. Tonight the clouds are beautiful. Purple and orange smear against the horizon like it’s a canvas. But the sun, that diaphanous sun, is protected by the branches of our pine trees. They safeguard the sun until the clouds finally infiltrate, and the sunset remains no more.”
Each design that Maze tells me paints itself in my mind. The diaphanous sun, being protected by the pine leaves, only to be infiltrated and conquered by the dark clouds. For once, I have truly seen. I have an image in my mind, just as clear, if not clearer, as an image that a non-blind person could see. And it’s all thanks to Maze.
So it’s no surprise when Maze walks up from behind me. His footsteps are unmistakable.
“Hey, Sylvia?” Maze says, his voice trembling, cracking on the last syllable. “It’s me. Look, I wanted to—”
“How could I possibly not know it’s you?” I counter, defiantly. “Your footsteps are undeniably unique. I could feel your feet brushing against the ground as soon as you left the house. I’m blind, not stupid. And, for goodness’ sake,” I huff, inhaling sharply, “the neighbors can probably smell you from here! When was the last time you took a shower, January?”
Maze shifts his weight from one leg to another, “Right. I just wanted to talk to you, Syl. About tomorrow.”
Rage twists inside me like a tornado. Tomorrow? Can’t he see that I’m dreading tomorrow more than anything else? Can’t he tell that the entire reason why I’m sitting out here, in the middle of our backyard, is to avoid the fact that tomorrow is coming?
“Forget it,” I reply, icily. “I don’t want you to remind me that you’re not leaving forever. I don’t want you to tell me that it’s all going to be all right. Because you’ve tried that before, and in case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t worked.”
Maze stands there for a second. I’m sure that he’s staring at me— he would always stare at me while he thought, even before the accident. Calculating, going over the potential responses in his brain, analyzing what the consequences would be, until he found the perfect thing to say. Maze is smart in those ways. He’s smart in a lot of ways, actually— which earned him a spot at Dartmouth, the college he will attend.
He’s perfect at everything— he’s a track star, a Straight-A student, and a perfect friend, too. Every word he says is extremely premeditated, meant in the best possible way to avoid offending anyone.
He rests his hand on the earth beside me as he crouches down and sits. His breaths are shaking, I can feel them as they come in sharp bursts against my arm.
Maze must think I’m a monster, if he’s this nervous to talk with me. And I am. I am an inconsiderate, blind monster, who can’t even have a conversation with her own brother without him cowering in fear. He must be thrilled to leave for Dartmouth tomorrow, to be over three thousand miles away from his monster of a little sister. He can just leave. What do I care, anyway?
“No,” Maze says, softly. He rustles the soft grass beneath him with his fingers, until he reaches my hand and squeezes it. “I’m not going to tell you it’ll be okay, because it won’t be—”
“Gee, thanks—”
“—No, Sylvia. Let me finish,” he sighs, twisting the clumps of grass beside him and pulling out several blades. “It won’t be okay for you. At least, it won’t feel that way at first.”
I scowl at him, “Not helping. Not helping at all, Maze.”
“Just listen to me,” he murmurs, running his fingers against my knuckles gently. His fingers are long and rough and slightly calloused, from rock climbing— something he pursued in the little free time he had in high school. “Nothing will feel okay for the next few days, weeks, months even. But it will. One day, it will. And while I really wish I could stay here at home with you, so I could be your eyes for the rest of your life, I also have obligations, Sylvia,” he puts his arm around me, “I need to leave for Dartmouth, so I can learn to help more people. I want to make a difference in this world, and this my perfect opportunity.”
I turn my head away from him. How could I possibly be so ungrateful? This is my brother! He’s been my eyes every day since I lost my vision. Should I want him to be pursuing his life goals and dreams? Shouldn’t I be selfless, hoping for the best for him?
“Now, I know you must think that I’m a selfish jerk—”
“You?!” I cry, bolting forward from my laying position, my tears flying away. “I’m the one who’s being selfish. I’m busy moping around about myself all day, while tomorrow you’re going off to college. Your dream school. This is big for you, and all I’m doing is being ungrateful, Maze.”
He doesn’t respond right away. He’s processing again, or at least, so I think. I can hear the distant humming of the breeze, and how the grass surrounds my toes like a sponge. Somehow Maze’s silences aren’t as heavy as other silences. When most people are silent to me, it means they disapprove of me, disapprove of something I’ve done. But when Maze is silent, it means he’s thinking of me, thinking of ways to make me happy.
Maze sighs, reaching for my hand playfully. “You know I didn’t want you to feel that way, right? I didn’t,” his voice trembles, “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
His words resonate in the air for what seems like an eternity. A breath catches in his throat and he lets out a sob. A genuine, pain-laced sob. Maze never cries. His emotions are always so bottled up, so hidden from the world. Yet he’s letting him all out in front of me. I wonder what Maze looks like when he cries. All I can picture is his typical stony face, covered in tears.
“Hey,” I whisper, scooting closer to him so I can feel his warmth. He wraps his bony arm around me, squeezing me tight to his chest. A tear rolls down from his cheek onto mine, then another and another. Soon my eyes behind to water and tears roll down my cheek, too, and I can’t tell which tears are mine and which tears are his anymore.
Wind whips in my ear. Goosebumps materialize on my arm and I instinctively bundle up to gain warmth.
“I’ll be home soon,” Maze whispers, “before you know it, it’ll be Thanksgiving break, and I’ll be home again.”
Thanksgiving is three months from now. It seems so far away. In November, the days are colder. It won’t be the same as now. The days will be shorter; the sun will set earlier…
“The sunset,” I whisper. “The sunset. . . Maze, what does the sunset look like tonight?” “Oh Sylvia… It’s—”
“I need to know, Maze. I haven’t seen a sunset for years. I don’t remember what they look like, but I know they’re beautiful,” I mutter. “Be my eyes again. One last time before you leave.”
Maze pauses for a second, computing. I can feel his breaths against my ear, and the corners of his lips perked up in a smile. He sits up against the tall pine tree, holding me up against him.
“The sun,” he whispers, “is an orb. An orb of consistency among the chaos. Because, no matter what changes, the clouds, the earth, the air, it will remain.
“But the clouds tonight. Tonight the clouds are beautiful. Purple and orange smear against the horizon like it’s a canvas. But the sun, that diaphanous sun, is protected by the branches of our pine trees. They safeguard the sun until the clouds finally infiltrate, and the sunset remains no more.”
Each design that Maze tells me paints itself in my mind. The diaphanous sun, being protected by the pine leaves, only to be infiltrated and conquered by the dark clouds. For once, I have truly seen. I have an image in my mind, just as clear, if not clearer, as an image that a non-blind person could see. And it’s all thanks to Maze.