Blindsided

Chapter 1: Hope

        One might consider it an endless void with no way in or out, but for me, it's different. Then again, I guess it all depends on your view of a void. A void without light is what I see. I see nothingness and an endless space beyond one's reach. The famous question depicting to the meaning of life is always a troubling question and of course that answer is lost in the void. Maybe one day that answer will come to me, but for now, it is a beckoning question.  

                "Hope, come eat." I perk up at the sound of my mother calling from the kitchen.

                Her voice is always soft and clear. Even at the age of seventeen I find her soothing voice comforting. I can hear plates shuffling and shifting in piles when I enter the kitchen. I know I'm in the tiled room because the smell of food is more pungent here and the sizzling bacon sounds from across the table on the stove. I make my way off of memory for the wooden table and take my seat in my accustomed cushioned chair. I hear her place the plate quietly in front of me along with a fork and a cup of orange juice. They all sit in the same place, same order, and same spot every day.

                "How did you sleep?" Mom asks in an upbeat tone while walking across the tiled floor. Each step she takes causes her heels to click on the floor and allow me to count her steps.

                "Okay, I guess." I mumble.

                "What are you planning to do today?"

                "I'm not sure."

                "Well, today is Saturday, so you have the day to yourself. I can drive you to the library." She offers.

                I know she is only trying to be helpful, but I hate feeling so dependent on her. There are days when I wish I was capable of using all five senses, but unfortunately some things happen for a reason. Sometimes Gog can't change your mother or father's genes. I understand this, but I hate living with it.

                "It's not far," I say softly, "I can walk there myself."

                "Are you sure?"

                "Yes." I say while finishing my breakfast.              

                I can hear her scuffling from behind my chair. I can practically see her sympathetic ice blue eyes, it's sickening. I hate when people feel bad for me like 'Hey there's that blind kid' or 'Somebody help that poor kid because he can't see what we see.' It's annoying.

                I push out the chair and stand up. I can hear her gathering my plate and glass and I walk to my room off of memory. The carpet under my feet tells me that I am in the bedroom. I can hear the sink in the kitchen shut off and hear her clicking heels on the linoleum.  

                "Are you going to wear your glasses?" Her voice is closer now and I assume her to be outside my door.

                I hate wearing the darkening shades because they only made it more obvious. Then again, a long cane doesn't help much, so I sigh loudly while reaching for the case on my nightstand. I fiddle with the smooth case until I find the opening and manage to remove the glasses. I can feel her examining me while I put them on and grab my cane before walking to the door. I find a pair of my skater shoes and slip them on. My mother must be hesitant to hand me back my cane because I can still feel her grasp tightening around the staff.

                "I'll be fine." I say.

                "Do you remember how to get there and back?"