chapter three

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

"Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."  Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost.

 

 

 

            I was forced to move in with my mother after I lost my sight. I tried to live independently despite my disadvantage but it was no use. I had had a job- one that I had actually enjoyed- at a used book store by the name of Interpret.

 

            Interpret was a quaint, independently owned bookstore that sold, traded and bought used and new books. Every day we would get at least a handful of people coming in to donate boxes of old, worn out novels that had been loved dearly at one time. Book recycling, that’s what we used to call it. The act of taking old books and making them new again in the eyes of new owners.

 

Whenever business was slow, I would close my eyes and run my finger tips over each broken in spine and stop at any given time. Whatever book my hand rested on, I would sit down and read. I had to have gone through the whole stock at least twice by the time I lost my sight. Books were so gripping, captivating and enthralling, now I found no comfort or solace within the worn pages of well used literature. I had worked there for three years; since I was sixteen.

 

I gave up on everything after the accident. Quit my job without notice, disconnected my phone, dropped out of university. I lived like a hermit, spending most of my time curled up in a ball on my bed, a knot of blankets suffocating me.

 

People would drop by, but I would never answer my door. My mailbox would overflow with unpaid bills, threatening disconnection letters and collection fees, I ignored those too.

 

When my mother visited using her own key to get inside, I would lay motionless like a zombie while she lay beside me, hugging me close to her, I would listen to the of gentle thrumming of her heart, the swishing of air circulating her lungs. I felt like I was consistently lost in a bland daydream, unable to shake the foggy haze from my mind. I’m pretty sure the only reason my mom continued to come over after the first few weeks was to make sure I was still alive.

 

 I never spoke, I never ate, I only got up to use the bathroom, which was a battle itself. My mouth was always dry and foul tasting, my lips cracked and bleeding and my body dehydrated and malnourished. I guess I was never fully asleep, but never fully awake either, I was lost somewhere in between, my mind numb.

 

Eventually, people stopped trying, stopped coming by, stopped caring. Could I blame them? I was dead to the world, nonexistent. A rotting corpse. All I wanted was to become invisible, to fade away and disappear into nothingness and that’s what I had been close to accomplishing. I prayed for death to a God who I no longer had no faith in. Who I wished was real just so I could have someone to blame, something to direct my depression and hatred onto.

 

Eventually, after an unknown number of months living in such a useless manner, my mother came by with two movers and a dozen empty boxes; she packed all my stuff around me, while I continued to lay in a blank, groggy zone. The banging and thumping the three of them made sounded distance, as if I was encased in a glass box, in a separate world then them. Their voices were nothing but faint muffles in my unwilling ears as they worked diligently, emptying my abandoned apartment.

 

They shipped my belongings off to my mother’s house and she came back for me last. Her voice was unintelligible murmurs, meaningless, a wasteful effort as she tried to coax me out of bed. Admitting defeat, she had scooped my frail body against hers and carried me like a small child to her car. She loaded me in, strapped me under a seatbelt and climbed in after.

 

I don’t remember much of that night, or day, whatever time it was when I was carted off to my mother’s house. I remember I slept. For a long time. I had woken disappointed, disappointed that I had not died in my sleep, that my heart hadn’t given up, my nutrition deprived organs hadn’t failed me. Air rushed in my lungs and I wept. I hated that sound from that moment on. That sound meant breathing, breathing meant living, and living meant more pain.

 

I could handle any kind of physical pain, but emotionally I was a porcelain dish, already cracked down the middle and waiting for the pressure to finally snap me in two. The deep misery I could feel in my heart, the aching hollowness, the sinking feeling were all components working to apply that final pressure. Tears would spring with no possibility of smothering them, they would pour from my eyes, my face hot and flushed but I never wiped them away.

 

The compassionless knife of sorrow jabbed my insides with a serrated blade making me want to curl in a ball and hug my knees close. My chest would curl into a tight knot, squeezing the oxygen out and my breath would speed up until I was struggling to gasp air into my pained lungs to keep my broken heart beating. Although I could really care less if it stopped at this point; my instincts to stay alive forced me to gasp, to choke, slicing through my sobs, my breath managing to enter my lips with a waver.

 

I would start to shake, to shiver with the misery, shiver as my heart metaphorically died and turned cold, clotting my blood in my veins. I again prayed for death- a common occurrence- all rational thoughts dissipating, until I would finally pass out from the emotional exhaustion.

 

Waking once again, after how many more hours of day wasted, with even more disappointment. With tears staining my pink cheeks, I had always wanted nothing more than to sleep forever, sleep where I could forget. But my wish would never come. This was the routine I would go through every day, the same process over and over without fail.

 

“Honey?” My mother’s voice broke through my blotchy memories drawing me back to the present day. Her voice sounded just as it had the day she brought me here. Like an unintelligible whisper gurgling under water, distorted by the thick current. I turned my head in the direction that sound came.

 

“How did it go today? With Doctor Visk?” I could hear her footsteps padding across the soft carpet until she flopped on the bed beside me.

 

I shook my head, “I don’t understand why I have to go.” My voice was quiet; it cracked as if I had just woken up. My eyes were sore, dry. I must not have been blinking. It took so much energy to remember the little things; blinking, breathing, thinking.

 

She smoothed my hair with her gentle hand, “This is a good thing; he’s going to help you feel better.”

I reflexively pulled away from her touch, “I do feel better.” I said monotone, not even putting in the effort to make my words sound believable. Or even human.

She grabbed my hand and I flinched so she let it go. “You don’t speak to me anymore. I really wish you would.”

 

She was right, I didn’t speak to her, I didn’t speak to anyone anymore. There wasn’t anything to say. What could I say? That I want to die? That I don’t care anymore? That I can’t be around them because it makes everything worse? Hearing the pity in their voices, the concern in their touch. They could see and I could not. Plain and simple.

 

She sighed, “I understand that you’re going through a tough time, I really do-“

I shook my head, trying to make sense of her words. “You understand? You understand what? How could you possibly understand?” I got to my feet; the plush carpet was like moss under my socked soles.

 

She gasped, startled at my reaction as she clutched clumsily at my arm.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Her voice was apologetic, regretful. “I just miss you is all. I’m concerned; I want my little girl back.”

I snorted, “You’re little girl left with her eyesight.” I tore my arm away from her and she rose to her feet in front of me.

 

“Honey, Quinn. I love you, all I’m asking is for you to remember that you can come to me, you can talk to me.” Her voice was soft, but still nervous.

“Oh, please. Don’t even start with that sentimental bull s**t.”

 

She exhaled quickly through her nose, a burst of hot air coming out in an angry huff, “It’s not bullshit Quinn.” Her words were crisp, sharp. Each syllable spoken clear and precise. I rolled my eyes and she continued on, “just try. Give me at least that. I am your mother, is it so unfair for me to want you to talk to me?”

“Ugh! I can’t talk to you.” I confessed. I had been trying to spare at least a small strand of her feeling but that was hopeless now. I felt along the wall for my guide cane.

“Why not?” She was now frustrated. Angry, sad and unsure of what to do next.

 

I found my cane and turned toward her again, “Because it tortures me to be around you! Knowing you are seeing everything I’m not, knowing you have no idea what this is like, I just can’t do it!” I stepped around her, my cane sweeping the ground in front of me. She didn’t follow, or try to stop me. She didn’t yell or curse, there was just silence.

 

I knew I had upset her, I knew I had broken her heart, but for some reason it didn’t bother me. I didn’t feel guilty or ashamed. I felt nothing.

 

                       ***

I didn’t even know where I was headed. I just started walking and didn’t stop. I never turned or crossed a road, never strayed too far from the edge of the sidewalk, where the freshly fallen snow spanned over the grass. I didn’t know how long I had been out; I had no need for time anymore. It held no meaning for me, minutes, hours, days; they meant nothing when your days and night were flipped upside down.

 

The frigid winter air pulled at my hair and clothes as I walked, struggling to yank me this way and that. There weren’t many cars out, it must have been fairly late I reasoned. My lungs burned as the cold air flushed out my body heat.

 

There were few people travelling by foot as I was, their shaky breath rushing out of their panting lungs as they hurried, trying to keep warm. I took my time despite the chilling temperature. Keeping one gloved hand inside my jacket pocket while the other controlled my cane in front.

 

I refused to wear dark sunglasses to hide my blind eyes -like many chose to do- from gawkers; I could really care less what anyone thought. Let them stare, let them point and whisper, laugh or feel sorry for me, it didn’t matter anyway.

 

I also didn’t get any of the fancy electronic equipment that was created to improve and make everyday life for the blind more ‘normal’. As if the speaking clocks, brail label printers, voice activated everything could ease even a morsel of the abnormalcy. I wanted no part in it. I refused to give up that last bit of independence; if I really had any left at all.

 

Just try.  My mother’s words. I snorted, try? Why should I? Try to what? To be happy? To talk and laugh and act like nothing is wrong? What’s the point? It would all be a lie anyway, a mask. At the end of the day, inside I would still always be hollow, always be miserable, depressed, emotionally sore and drained. Try. I’ll show you try.

 

I tossed my cane to the ground beside me and stood up tall. Carefully I took a tiny, half step forward; I paused then stepped a bit farther, each time I moved I allowed distance between my feet to grow, my pace to steadily quicken as my confidence builded. Of course I was still merely walking half the pace of the sparse pedestrians around me, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

 

My heart thumped hard in my chest and I realised I was holding my breath. I wasn’t holding it because I was afraid or concerned of hurting myself, running into any people or looking ridiculous; I was concentrating on counting my steps, ensuring I would know exactly how far behind I had left my cane.

 

It felt good to be rid of it, almost like a dog released from its leash. I still felt no joy or relief, the sharp pain in my stomach didn’t dissolve away with each step I took like it would if this were some inspirational movie, but I felt rebellious; felt like swimming against the current, felt something on top of the numb pain that was ever present. It was different. Not in a good way, but not in a bad way either.

 

I heard it first; the scraping of frozen fabric against another’s. My shoulder was shoved forward without warning, and with it went the rest of my body. I didn’t have time to think what to do, to react. My hands were tucked snugly inside my pockets and so I had no way of protecting myself against the hard, icy ground.

 

My face smashed off the cement sidewalk with a loud crunch. Instantly blood throbbed to my broken nose, pounding against the damaged tissues. The cold made it sting even worse and the tears that automatically sprung with the injury froze halfway down my face.

 

The pain wasn’t even that bad, a little prick compared to the larger scale I was paralyzed with every second of my new life. Or lack of.

 

I yanked my hands free from their warm cocoons and lightly touched the broken cartilage and bone, the searing, hot pain shot up to my eyes and once again, tears involuntarily spilled over the filmy, blank spheres.

 

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” The voice startled me, and my muscles twitched with the unexpected sound. I put my elbows on the ground and crunched my knees up to my stomach, holding my head in my hands.

 

“A*****e.” I swore, my voice muffled by my hands. There were a few seconds of silence as I let the blood run from my nose to the sidewalk below before I slowly got to my knees. I didn’t want to jump to my feet too quickly to avoid allowing gravity to assist the blood in rushing from my face, or to result in light headedness.

 

“I didn’t see you there.” The voice spoke again, ignoring my comment.

I snorted with his poor choice of words. I climbed to my feet and turned to face the man who had ‘failed to see me.’

 

“How ironic.” I hissed, “The one who can see runs into the one who can’t.” I shook my head and laughed bitterly.

“I’m sorry, really, I am.”

I dusted the snow from my coat, “Whatever.” I stood lost for a second, which way had I come? Which way led me back to my cane? The fall had screwed up my bearings and now I had to guess at the direction.

 

“Do you want to go to a hospital?”

 

Which way had the wind been blowing? If I could remember that, I would know where to go. It seemed to spiral in circles now.

 

“Hello?”

“Shut up!” I barked. I had to focus on the wind, the sounds. None of it helped.

He ignored my order, “I think you should go to a hospital.” His voice was un-intimidated by my anger, neutral.

“Would you please just shut up so I can get my bearings!” I turned in circles, trying to follow the flow of wind that whipped by, but its path was never the same.

“Where do you need to go? I can just tell you.”

I stopped moving and sneered, “I don’t need your help.”

 

I wanted to figure it out on my own, I needed to be able to find my way independently. Without some stranger’s help. If I couldn’t do this now, then how could I expect to ever be free from the binds of my blindness, how could I ever be; without constant assistance in one way or another?

 

“Alright, alright. Take your time.” Unluckily, his footsteps never crunched away on the ice, his breathing never became distant. He remained there near me, watching like a silent, mocking crowd. I ignored his unwanted presence, isolated myself and concentrated on where I was. What did I hear? Howling wind, occasional footsteps stomping past in heavy boots, the light traffic. Nothing with any significance.

 

There was really only one option I could choose; decide on a direction, count the appropriate steps, and feel around for my cane with my foot, if it wasn’t there then I had gone the wrong way. Trial and error, a flawless plan.

 

I took a guess at which way the wind was blowing and turned against it, slowly I took a few steps forward, counting softly out loud.

 

“One. Two. Thr-“ My ankle twisted below me as my foot sunk off the sidewalk and deep into snow, my leg buckled and I fell forward with my hands extended out to protect my already wounded face. Quickly, I felt contact across my stomach, but it wasn’t hard, it was gentle, it cradled me and stopped me from striking the ground.

 

“Let go of me.” I hissed, violently pushing the man’s arms away. He silently obeyed and I backed up two steps back onto the sidewalk making a quarter turn. Two directions down, two to go. I took in a deep breath before beginning my count again.

 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” I stopped walking and felt for the edge of the sidewalk with my foot, making sure I was still walking in a straight path before continuing. I counted seven more steps when I stopped again. This time I stretched out my leg and swept the ground around me, scanning for my cane. I inched forward after every long sweep until I finally kicked something and sent it skidding across the ice and into the snow.

 

“S**t.” I swore crouching near the snow and patting my frozen hands over the surface. I searched for a few minutes; I even buried my hands beneath the first few layers before I felt the object I had kicked. I wrapped my gloved fingers around its cylindrical shape and felt my way along its rough, uneven figure.

 

“A stick? Damnit!” I got to my feet again and angrily whipped the stick far in front of me. The man snickered from his place a few feet back.

 

I spun to face him, “What? You think this is funny?” I stomped forward in his direction, flustered and disappointed in my failed attempts. The man remained silent.

 

“Why don’t you just go? Why do you have to watch me struggle? Do you enjoy this you a*****e?” I spat as the words shot out like venom soaked knives. I stomped past him and felt around for my cane once again. I swung my foot lighter this time to avoid kicking it too hard. Finally the toe of my foot tapped something lightly and I bent down to pick it up. It was smooth, cylindrical and even. My guide.

 

“Now will you go to the hospital?” The stranger who had knocked me down spoke so casually, as if I was not the crippled, pathetic creature I was.

 

“Go away.” I continued walking in the same direction, the direction that would eventually lead back to my house. How far away was it from here? I couldn’t remember how long it had taken me to get here and the cold was beginning to seep into my bones. Maybe I would catch hypothermia. Sure it probably wouldn’t be the most enjoyable way to die, but I would get the outcome I desired nonetheless.

 

“At least let me see if your nose is okay.” God. He was so persistent.

“You’re getting on my nerves.” I said robotically.

He chuckled to himself light heartedly, “It’s still bleeding you know. The dry air won’t help it stop either.” He jogged to catch up to me, then slowed to match my pace.

 

I shrugged, still walking, “That’s fine by me.” He was silent for a moment as I tried to walk faster, to leave him behind.

“You know, you really should be more careful.”

I stopped walking and sucked in a breath through my teeth, “I should be more careful? You’re the one who walked into me, remember?”

“You shouldn’t have left your little pole.”

I shook my head and began moving again, “you are a real a*****e.”

 

He continued to follow me, and I pretended I didn’t notice. This guy was really beginning to irritate me with his personal invite to my life; He was so cool about everything, he knocked down a blind girl, breaking her nose and then mocked her with not only his crude choice of words, but with his amused laughter and superior presence. Was he missing the part of his brain that triggered social cues? That warned him about insensitivities and blatantness?

 

Irritation was something I hadn’t felt for a while. Actually I hadn’t felt anything for a while, not a shred of emotion. It was strange, but for some reason I welcomed the change, welcomed the feeling to my surprise, no matter if it was a negative emotion or not.

 

Of course he could have really been some creeper of the night, stalking his prey until the exact right moment to attack with his long, blood stained knife. Either way, it was a win-win situation for me.

 

“You keep calling me an a*****e,” He began, breaking my silent reverie. “I guess that makes you a hypocrite.” He said this new found information very matter-of-factly.

I snorted, “A hypocrite? Please, do enlighten me with your wisdom oh wise one.” My words seethed with angry sarcasm.

 

He took no notice of my tone and explained, “Well. Sure, I may have broken your nose and all, but technically that is your fault. Second, I didn’t have to stick around to make sure you were okay; I could have just left you there wandering in circles with blood oozing out of your face. But you, every word that comes out of your mouth is against me, attacking me in a way I guess you could say. So. Really, you’re the a*****e.” I could almost feel his cool grin crawl under my skin, it was sickening.

 

“Oh, so this is my fault?” I pointed to my damaged nose, still bleeding with old, dried blood caked below it.

“Mhm. If you had just been a good girl and kept your walking stick thing, then your hands wouldn’t have been in your pockets now would they? Then you would have scraped up your palms, bruised your arms at most.”

 

God, how I just wanted to scream at his incompetence, how I wanted to break his nose in return, see what kind of deep insight he had about that one.

 

“Whatever.” I barked, blowing hot air into the glove on my free hand to get some blood circulating through it. “Why are you following me? Don’t you have some place to be?” I hoped he would take the hint; I had changed my mind about welcoming the annoyance. I’d much rather stick with my emptiness thank you very much.

 

He was unfazed, “Well I’m not going to just let you bleed to death. At least when you pass out I can call an ambulance. What kind of person would I be if I just let you go off and potentially die of blood loss?” He thought this was funny, he thought it was some sort of joke.

“Actually I would prefer that to you following me.” He didn’t know how literally I really meant that.

 

He stopped walking, but only for a second before he stepped in line with me once again. “Ohh, burn. Ouch.” I didn’t comment, just continued walking as if I was alone. Wishing I was walking alone.

 

“What’s your name?” He paused, “I mean, I’ll need to know when the paramedics ask me.” I rolled my eyes and ignored him. Was he serious? Did he honestly believe I would go for it? What an a*****e.

“Alright, fine. I’ll just call you...  Sisi.”

I stopped and glared, “Sisi?

“Yeah C.C. Captain Crazy.” He laughed as I frowned and started walking again.

“Then I’ll call you A*****e.”

 

He laughed again. I wasn’t kidding. “I think I like Jayce better, Jay for short.” I didn’t answer so he spoke again, “How come you don’t get a seeing eye dog?”

I laughed at his ridiculous suggestion, “I don’t need one.”

“Why not? It’s got to be better than relying on a stick of hollow plastic to get around.”

I narrowed my dead eyes, “Do you have any idea how much one of those would cost? On top of food, toys, and whatever else it would need.”

 

The truth was, I had thought about getting a seeing-eye dog before, maybe the non-judgmental, comforting creature would be able to dull the sharp, jagged pain just a little, maybe help to thaw out the numbness.

 

I guess that could be part of the reason why in movies people tend to get more upset when an animal dies then when a human does. Animals don’t judge or scrutinize, they don’t care about money or appearances, all they ask is for you to love them. They are innocent; clueless to the destructive things that happen around us, oblivious to the vile natured side of mankind.

 

All humans have skeletons in their closets, so you don’t feel as bad for them as you do for an animal. I guess they’re the same as a child; unaware. Yeah, it would be nice to have a dog around, only not for the purpose of which Jayce referred to.

 

“Don’t you think it would be worth it though? Then you can have more freedom don’t you think?”

 

I shook my head, “you need money for that, and to get money, you need a job.” I sighed, “Now if you don’t mind, Jayce I think I can get home from here without bleeding to death.”

 

I was close to my house; I could smell the familiar Winter Blossoms in the wind. They had such a unique scent, not floral like one would expect, but almost like the unmistakeable odour unscented products all acquired for some reason.

 

They are such small flowers, their roots dug shallowly into the frozen soil, but strong enough to survive the bitter winter season. I wondered; if they were able to feel and think, would they rather die for those few months of cold just like its flower counterparts? Just so they wouldn’t have to endure the frost bite and high wind torture? Anything else no doubt would.

 

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone Sisi. Nice talking to ya.” He paused, “Sorry about your nose. Even though it was your fault.” His laughter echo grew distant, fainter as the distance between us grew.

 

I grunted, and willed my frozen feet to carry me the few feet farther to the warmth of my house. I swept the ground in front searching for my driveway; my mother had put a small circle of flat stones at the end, only an inch thick so I could tell which one was ours. The first few turned out not to belong to me, I wondered what Jayce would have had to say as I searched each driveway-if he had stayed to watch me fumble around uselessly that is. What an a*****e.

 

Reviews

[-Jaime-]

Yep, definitely my favorite chapter so far. there were a few awkward sentences:

"I also didn't get any of the fancy electronic equipment that was created to improve and make everyday life for the blind more 'normal'."
" I didn't want to jump to my feet too quickly to avoid allowing gravity to assist the blood in rushing from my face, or to result in light headedness."
"The compassionless knife of sorrow jabbed my insides with a serrated blade making me want to curl in a ball and hug my knees close.

And maybe just tightening up a little bit in the word count, sometimes it's a little wordy; but nothing too bad.

Aside from that it was really good. I stopped hating her in this chapter. I get to see what makes her mad. I hear her describing how she feels and what is going on; instead of just blatantly complaining and bitching. It is so much better when you show me what's going on than what you tell me.

Also I can't help but love Jayce as a character; he reminds me of me too much....
I'll keep reading

[Luna Northstar]

I don't know, I kind of like Jay. I think he could be good for Quinn. I wonder what ever happened to Austin...? Anyways, I can't wait to read more.

[Jessie Sianodel]

Wow. Jayce sucks.
lol I loved this chapter because Quinn's emotions seemed so real, like for a second she wasn't depressed because she was so happy she could walk, that she could live without her cane. That is, until Jayce walks into her.....