Clarity 2 (5 page)

I imagined looking up to my big sister as she succeeded in life and accomplished
huge milestones. I imagined patterning myself off her, and using her achievements to give me direction. I imagined her guiding me with her greater years and wisdom, and helping me feel certain on my own path. I imagined so much stupid bullshit that will never happen. Sure, I somewhat expected to use her mistakes to guide me on what
not
to do, but not to this extent.

This is not a mistake. This is a tragedy.

I slowly make my way out of the library, but I only get as far as the doorframe before I have to lean against the wall for support. It’s my fault. If I had been braver, and tried to find my attacker instead of simply running away... I could have prevented this. I knew some information about him—although I’m not sure if it was accurate. I knew that he was an engineer and a football player. Those could have been lies, but I could have provided a general description of his physical build. I knew where he was, and at what time—there could have been security footage on the campus to show who was in the vicinity. 

I was selfish and self-absorbed. I thought it was just about me, and my drama. I thought that if no one else had to hear my story and deal with the event, that they would all be safe.
I thought that pretending it never happened could make it go away.

I thought it only happened to me because of my disability. I thought that by being blind, I
was somehow asking for it. I thought that by crying in a stairwell, I had made myself vulnerable and an easy target; I announced myself as a victim, and it was almost entirely my fault. I thought that other women—normal women—would be able to look at a man and instantly see all the evil and cruelty inside him written on his face. Shouldn’t those things be glaringly obvious?

It’s my fault. It’s
all my fault. I could have protected her. I believed I was protecting her from the harshness of the truth, but really, I was concealing knowledge from her and exposing her to the harshness of reality. Now, she’s pregnant.
He
made her pregnant. Probably without her consent or any planning. I failed her. I failed my sister.

She’s not even thirty years old, but her life is over.

I hear the music quiet down and the minister begin to commence the ceremony. Each word is more grating to my ears than nails on a chalkboard. I can’t stay in the house and listen to this anymore. I hate myself for what I’ve done. For letting this happen. How could I have been so stupid?

I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor of the foyer. Footsteps moving toward me.

“Helen?” says a worried male voice. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in the ceremony?”

My mouth opens for me to speak, but I find that my lips are trembling. My eyebrows crease
as I fight back tears of failure and self-hatred. “I shouldn’t have come here, Liam.” I take a moment to compose myself, trying to detach myself from the doorframe and stand up properly. My knee quivers slightly under me, threatening to cave. I did not walk around very much during the years that I spent confined to my little cabin, and I suppose I am kind of skinny and weak. My emotional state does not help. In this moment, I wish more than anything that I could be back home in my cabin. This place is not my home any longer.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks me.

“No. Just...” I shut my eyes tightly to restrain my tears. “Please go away. Do your experiments on someone else. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be able to see.”

“But Helen, we made a deal...”

“I don’t even know why you bothered,” I tell him. I am suddenly filled with rage, and I step forward to glare at the spot where I believe his face is. “Why do you even care? What the hell is your problem? Searching me out, and digging me out of my comfort zone. Dragging me back here, and trying to change everything about me? Trying to improve my life? What is your deal? Maybe you should mind your own business, Dr. Larson.”

“Helen, this study really could change your life.
Your vision is important. I don’t know what upset you, but it has nothing to do with...”

“Fuck you!” I snap at him cruelly. “
Vision is nothing. Vision is worthless. I am more than just a pair of broken eyes!”

“I never felt that way! I just wanted to help. I never meant to imply that...”

“No. I am not some pitiful disabled patient you can jerk around as you please, to suit your purposes. I
liked
my life in New Hampshire. I liked my shitty food, and I liked my shitty job, and I liked being alone. I
like
not being able to see, because I know there’s a whole lot of ugly shit in the world. Isn’t it bad enough that I have to
hear
it, and
feel
it? Did you ever think that being able to see it would cause my brain to explode in a sensory overload? You know I was on anti-depressants. Did you ever think it might be too much, and I might end up in a mental institution for the rest of my life because I was forced to see things too clearly? See all these terrible things?”

“There are wonderful things too,” Liam tells me. “Please, Helen. Just trust me. I wanted to show you so many
beautiful things. Of course, it will be a huge adjustment when you first gain your vision, but it will make life so much easier in the long run. Trust me; it will be worth it. For every horrible thing you will see in the world, there will be a thousand amazing sights that far outshine the negative ones.”

His voice is pleading and kind, and it cuts right down to my soul. I really do want to trust him and be
lieve in the good things. I want to embrace the good that life has to offer, but how can I after this wedding? In the background of our conversation, wedding vows are being spoken as my sister signs away her soul to the devil.

“I, Carmen, take you, Grayson, to be my lawfully wedded husband from this day forward. In the presence of God, our family and friends...”

A tear that has been gathering in the corner of my eye finally breaks free. I feel helpless and overwhelmed. I feel even worse for being mean to Liam when I know that he has only been good to me in the short time we’ve been acquainted. I breathe deeply and exhale. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say through a constricted throat. “This is the worst day I’ve had in years. Possibly the worst day of my life. I just... I need to go.”

“Helen, I...”

“No. Thank you for everything, Liam. Please excuse me.” I turn and run through the house as quickly as I can. I need to get out of this place.

I head toward the back of the house. My high-heeled shoes pound the ground as I run across the dining room, carefully stepping around chairs and other decorative pieces of furniture. I skirt around the kitchen counter as I head for the large glass doors that open out onto our patio. There is a small wooded area behind our house. It’s not the perfect time of year to be going outside without a jacket, but I can’t pause to properly prepare. I need to get out
now
. I am filled with rage, desperation, and guilt. I cannot seem to breathe, and I need fresh air.

Stepping through the door to the backyard, I slam it shut behind me. The cold air immediately pierces directly through
my flimsy bridesmaid dress, and begins to stab at my skin like a blanket of tiny needles. Oddly enough, the first place it strikes me is my chest. I am not wearing bra, and my nipples begin to ache before any other part of my body. It feels like they have been dipped in liquid nitrogen, and scalded so badly that they might fall off at any moment. I ignore this and continue to run across our backyard in my pumps, ignoring that the snow is seeping through the open toes of the shoes, and snapping around my ankles like bear traps made of ice. As I move down the patio steps and into the grass, the snow gets deeper, and begins to freeze my calves. Nevertheless, I move forward. I run through the snow until my skin is searing and blistering from the cold.

A couple times, I stumble, but I
just manage to keep my balance and prevent myself from entirely falling. Finally, my heel catches on a dense snowdrift, and I do fall completely. My hands plunge forward into the snow to steady myself. It feels like icy fists have gripped my wrists as I struggle to pick myself off the ground. I realize that I’m not going to get anywhere in these shoes, and I reach down to rip them off my feet and angrily toss them across the backyard. Fuck this wedding, and fuck those shoes. Fuck this whole fucking day. I trudge through the snow barefoot, and get a kind of sick pleasure from the pain running up my legs, stabbing me like lightning bolts made of ice. I imagine getting serious frostbite and having to cut my feet off. It makes me move even faster.

Finally, knowing that I am nearing my destination, I begin to stretch my arms outward. I move around frantically, feeling for the impact of a familiar structure.
It takes a few minutes, and I begin to panic as I am lost and disoriented and standing knee-deep in bone-chilling snow. What if the structure I’m searching for has been moved or replaced in my absence? I sigh thankfully when my arms connect with the wooden walls of the garden shed. The cold surface feels sticky under my hands due to being coated with a thin layer of ice. Dragging my hands across the exterior of the shed, my fingers glide over the frosty glass windows. I slide my hands lower as I wildly search for the doorknob. It takes me a few seconds to locate the frigid metal knob, and I grasp it and turn violently, yanking the door open.

Stepping into the old garden shed, I hastily close the door behind me. Only then do I exhale in relief. When I breathe in,
my nostrils are filled with the scent of old wood and rusty metal gardening tools. There is also the lingering aroma of potted soil and dead plants. These decaying herbs used to be alive and flourishing when my mother tended the garden, and taken inside annually to be protected from the winter. Now, they are neglected and crumbling into dust. I begin moving through the garden shed to the other end, and my knee knocks over what must be a shovel. It clatters loudly to the ground, startling me. I always get really clumsy when I’m upset. I simply stop caring about the fact that I’m blind, and pretend that I’m invincible and magically know where everything is all around me. I boldly take another two steps, as though defying all inanimate objects and daring them to collide with me. On my third step, my heel jams down on the hard spikes of a rake. I curse and reflexively rip my foot away from the painful metal implement. My bare feet are already very sensitive and sore from the cold, so the agony caused by the impact is amplified at least tenfold. I clutch my sore foot with a wounded expression on my face as I glare down at my attacker.

There is a burst of fire in my gut as I
reach forward and grasp the handle of the offensive rake. My arms move without my permission, swinging the rake madly and smashing it into the wall of the cabin, as though everything is its fault. I let out a scream as I slam the rake into the cabin’s window, and the sound of shattering glass is heard. I let it fall down around me like lethal rain. It is extremely cathartic. For a moment, I feel strong and powerful. I feel like I could do anything.

Then it’s gone.
I am powerless. I remember everything.

I can’t bear the crushing weight of these vile
memories, and I need to escape them somehow. Running away to the ends of the earth won’t help, and neither will smashing everything in sight. I need to disappear into my own mind.

Feeling
guilty for my violent outburst, I try to carefully step around the stray shards of glass as I move toward the corner of the little shed. I put my back toward the wall and slide down to the ground, and my bottom lands against the floor with a small thud. The cold ground sends icy shockwaves up through my dress, and I seriously regret wearing Carmen’s thong. It is not offering much in the way of protection from the weather. This entire ensemble is worthless, and I might as well be naked. She even forced me to shave my legs! What I wouldn’t give for even that extra protective layer of tiny hairs right now. Rubbing my hands up and down my clammy, cold legs, I try to get warm. I try to no avail. Blowing some hot air over my legs, I slap my toes to make sure I can feel them. They are so cold that it’s excruciating. I press my hands against my chest, trying to soothe my stinging nipples. The coldness is no longer jabbing me with needles, but with dagger-like intensity.

However, I am glad for the pain. It distracts me from the memories that are playing across the inside of m
y mind—the memories that I can’t seem to shake away. So many parts of my body are screaming at me for attention that I don’t even know where to begin. I reach forward I wrap my fingers around my frozen toes to try to massage the sensation back into them, but before long, my hands start feeling too cold to assist my toes. I stick my fingers under my armpits to help them defrost, but I am soon distracted by the throbbing ache in my ears. I lift my hands to cup my tender ears for a moment. As I close my eyes, I hear Grayson’s voice echoing in my mind. I am frustrated to find that even though I have left the house, and even though I have my hands clamped over my ears, the man is too deep inside my head for me to find sanctuary. It’s completely futile to fight against both the cold and the past.

The strength
and fire within me quickly dissipate. I slump weakly against the side of the wall. I stop caring about my painful ears and toes, and just wrap my arms around my legs. I hug my knees tightly against my chest and curl up into a little ball. I rock slightly back and forth in an attempt to soothe and warm myself. I can’t think. I want to comfort myself with reassuring thoughts about my own strength and resilience, but I just can’t think.

I sit there by myself for several minutes, enjoying the solitude.

My mind floats away, and I am at peace again.

I remain in this state until a loud noise causes me to jump in fright.
I realize that someone is opening the door of the garden shed. I gasp and freeze in panic, as my heart rate instantly doubles. Is the wedding over? Is it Grayson? Has he come looking for me? I want to move forward to grab the metal rake for protection, or maybe a sliver of broken glass from the window I smashed, but I can’t seem to make my body move. Is it him? Is he here to torture me again?

I hear the man’s breathing, and my cold fingers are suddenly reenergized. I reach forward, fumbling for the rake. I grasp the handle
firmly, ready to swing it again—this time, directly into that bastard’s skull.

“
What is it with you and little wooden shacks?” says Liam’s teasing voice. “I bet you were the kind of kid who played with a cardboard box even when you were given really expensive, fancy toys.”

I open my fingers and let the rake clatter to the ground. I am so thankful to hear Liam’s voice.
I am so relieved that it’s him. I feel a rush of emotion pouring through the floodgates. I can’t restrain this onslaught of gladness mixed in with anguish. It shakes me to my very core. I place my face in my hands.

“Helen?” he says softly. “My god, you’re shaking like a leaf. What happened?”

A few tears tumble into my hands, and my shoulders shudder slightly. I take a deep breath, and find my resolve. “I’m just cold,” I say in a small and halting voice. It is the best explanation I could muster, and quite obviously a blatant lie.

“Of course you’re cold!” he says angrily. “You’re running through the snow half-naked like a madwoman. Do you want
to get hypothermia? Jesus, Helen! I said I could fix your eyes. I can’t get you a new pair of legs, too.”

In spite of myself, a smile tugs at my lips
. My moment of mirth is interrupted by a violent shiver, and I hug my knees closer to my chest. I have never felt such severe, almost unbearable pain in my nipples before. I did not know how much they could hurt. “Why didn’t you just go home?” I ask him.

“I thought about it
,” he says, entering the cabin and closing the door behind him. “I got in my car and turned on the engine. But then I looked down and saw that paperback you signed for me. With that personalized inscription. ‘Please leave me alone.’ I suppose it’s the rebel in me, but I simply couldn’t let you have the satisfaction.”

“Thanks,” I tell him quietly. “Sorry I was such a bitch earlier. I’m actually... glad you’re here.”

Liam moves over to my corner of the shed, stepping over the shovels and rakes. When he’s standing directly above me, I hear the rustling of fabric as he removes his coat. In the next moment, he is laying the thick garment over my bare legs and arms.

I stare down at the coat in surprise. Of course, I see nothing, but the kindness in
his gesture has caused me to feel as though he has placed a glowing cloak of magical diamonds at my feet. I am overwhelmed with emotion; I value this so much. I know that it’s a tiny, basic thing that any person should do, but not every person
does
. Grayson wouldn’t. When faced with someone sad and down on her luck, he wouldn’t help. He would take advantage of the situation. I am so thankful that Liam is not like him.

The truth is that
I am already so frozen that his coat does very little for my temperature. Still, I treasure the thoughtfulness of the act. I probably needed a bit of sensitivity and caring far more than I needed to be warm. I carefully extend my fingers to touch Liam’s coat. It’s difficult to move my hands, because my fingers are so stiff. I run my fingers over the lining of the fabric, just to convince myself that this is real—the coat is a symbol that there is at least one good person in the world. I can barely feel the coarse fibers under what is surely the beginning of frostbitten digits, but it is reassuring to know that they are there. Liam’s compassion causes a tiny spark that begins to thaw the cold and dead parts of me that matter far more than my skin.

“
It’s dangerous to be out here like this,” he tells me, crouching down to my level. “Jesus, Helen. Your lips are turning blue. We should go back inside.”

“
I’m not going back into that house,” I say adamantly. “I’d rather die here.”

“But Helen...”