Like Seeing Stars

6.

The weight of it in his hand sends him spiraling. He can't help but question his existence. For at least the thousandth time this week, nothing feels real. In fact, every time he thinks he's finally got a hold of himself, someone rips a hole in the fabric of reality. Yesterday, for the better part of the morning, Jesse walked around the park with a stranger, blindfold on, cane in hand, while his parents took turns guiding him through various obstacles. He shakes his head.

Part of him wants to laugh at the absurdity and the other half wants to cry.

A red and white bundle of aluminum is what has him feeling this way. That plus meeting his orientation and mobility instructor, Benji, who is slated to be his new best friend for the summer. Benji. Something about his unabashed instruction and candid statements about blindness almost put Jesse at ease. Almost. What kept him tightly wound was the way his parents guided him as though he was made of glass, set to shatter at the slightest misstep or collision.

A little voice bloomed inside of his head with every sharp intake of breath, with every time they would snatch his arm, or ask Benji what they could do better, how could they keep him safer:

Will it be like this forever?

To keep from taking his frustrations out on his parents, Jesse focused on every detail Benji offered: from simple techniques with the cane to practicing safe sighted guide positions, by the end of the day he felt admittedly better about the new path set out before him.

Now he sits on the back deck, restless.

More than anything he wants to run but since he's already gone for a run twice today, mowed the grass at home, and played a game of basketball with a couple of his wrestling friends, he's physically too tired to do much else. The post-game talk lingers in his mind; watching the looks on Devon and Sawyer's faces when he told them the news, was devastating. Each of them exhausted from the game, an embarrassing amount of sweat dripping off of them, Sawyer didn't care, he threw an arm across Jesse's shoulders and squeezed tight.

"If anyone is going to get through this, dude, it's you," he said, his usual mischievous smile replaced with a look of sincerity that Jesse didn't know him to be capable of, "we don't call you Superman for nothing, my friend."

All Jesse could do at the time was nod and clear his throat. At first, he thought that the more he told those close to him about this life altering event, the easier it would get. He was wrong.

Devon, captain of the wrestling team, took a different approach, for which Jesse was grateful. After a moment of recovery, the guy looked him square in the face and laid out his plans for the upcoming wrestling season and how there was no way he was letting Jesse go.

"You just let me know when you're up to it, bro," Devon said, "we'll start practicing together to figure out what we need to change. Sound good?"

Still unable to speak at the time, Jesse shook on it and the guys decided to play one more match. Their kindness was more than he expected and something he will never forget.

For a few moments, Jesse closes his eyes and listens. A breeze rustles the leaves above him, birds sing, one of their neighbors is doing yard work, he thinks with a leaf-blower, dogs bark, wind-chimes somewhere, the sun is warm on his freshly washed face, his black hair almost too hot to touch. It smells like someone could be grilling somewhere and otherwise like fresh grass.

The idea that in two days these things will make up his perception of the world is startling.

The back door opens, the screen door screeching in protest. He opens his eyes, flooded with visual input but he doesn't turn around. Beneath his seat on the steps, the deck shakes beneath the weight of whoever's come to find him.