Brilliant Truth

Secrets are powerful things. They can offer hope, or destroy everything that someone has meticulously built. Everyone has secrets, and we are all fighting to protect this dark private corner of our soul. Hidden details affect every part of our existence, guiding our actions so that we can conceal that which lies in the shadows waiting to condemn.

The problem is: what do you do when your secret is revealed? 

Does it defer its power to the person who now holds knowledge of your unspoken past? 

Does its power fizzle away, and you experience a sense of freedom in knowing that your burden is now being shared by another? 

Or do you act out in a rage of carnal violence, intending to destroy the evidence before it destroys you?

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I have hidden my share of secrets, and I have seen the secrets of those around me. It’s the beautiful irony of my life, me, a blind woman who can see secrets. I can’t see anything physical, but I can see into the depths of the soul.

I lost my sight in a car accident at the age of 16, coming home from the county fair. On that cruel day, both my parents and my sight were taken from me. Now you are most likely not going to believe this next part, but please just hear me out, okay? 

I awoke in the hospital, staring into an inky abyss. I could hear the beeping of the machines, and the sound of people milling in the hallways, but my eyes would not allow me to perceive what my ears were hearing. Black. Just black. Nothing.

Beginning to panic, I called out, and began searching with my hands; hoping in some way to orient myself through the sense of touch. My hand collided with that of my best friend Maddie. She was trying to comfort me, but her words were only a muffled noise. 

The instant our skin collided my field of vision illuminated; my sight had been restored! 

But something was off, Maddie was not her teenage-self, but only a child of seven or eight. She cowers in the corner as the silhouette of a large man blocks out the yellow beams radiating from the hallway sconce. I felt her fear and panic, as his hand raised above his head. I felt the blow as it resonated on her shoulder blade.

Then it was gone. I was plunged back into darkness, and I heard Maddie’s voice as she tried to tell me that I was blind. I feel the moisture of tears flowing from my unseeing eyes. Agony and self-pity over the loss of something I had considered owed to me since birth, snatched away in an instant without regard for my emotions or petty desires.

We sat in silence for quite some time as I processed my new reality, but there was a bigger question to be answered. If I’m blind, then what just happened? Moreover, I wanted to know if what I had just seen was true, or if it was just the pain meds. 

I turned my head towards the direction I assumed she was sitting and explained what I had just seen. Maddie stammered. She had never told anyone about her childhood abuse, so there was no other logical way that I could have known this about her. And until now, Maddie is the only other person who knew about my “talent.”

At first, seeing secrets was fun, being 16 and all, secrets were the breath in my lungs. I longed to know people’s dirty laundry and watch it unfold like an episode of cheap reality TV.  My touch had become a seeing-stone of sorts, showing me glimpses of people’s true identities.  I can tell you all about the people who have committed petty crimes, those who are cheating on their spouses, and even all the kids who snuck a cookie before dinner. All I had to do was brush my hand against theirs, and their secrets would replay on a live feed in my mind.

It’s been 10 years since the accident, and my ability no longer entertains me as much as it exhausts me. I wear gloves everywhere I go. Seeing is actually my disability. It’s emotionally draining living in the secret shadows of others’ lives. As we age, our secrets develop this deep darkness that can swallow you whole if you allow it. Even though I’m still young, most of the time I just stay home and work in my greenhouse. Plants don’t hold secrets, they are pure light from nature itself. Calm reality unjaded by shame and guilt.

Anyways, last week Maddie convinced me that I needed to get out of the house and experience the real world. She chided me, threatening the impending fate of becoming a crazy cat lady if I didn’t get out of my house and have some fun. So, in a moment of pridefulness I donned my gloves, and got out of the house to prove to Maddie that I was still young and alive.

The state fair is an odd mixture of smells. There’s the sweetness of fresh funnel cakes, blended with the sharp vinegar of large dill pickles, topped off with the buttery saltiness of popcorn. The music and general rumble of the crowd is overwhelming to my now sensitive hearing. But I throw caution to the wind and allow Maddie to guide me through the obtrusion to my remaining senses, all in the name of good, clean fun.

From the sound of the crowd, I can tell that tonight the fair is packed. Maddie guides me to a bench and tells me to have a seat while she purchases us some snacks from the vendor. As I sat waiting for her return, my gloved hand got caught on something sticky on the rail of the bench. I gently removed my gloves and began to try and peel away what I’m pretty sure was gum, from the palm of my right glove. At that moment, a man who reeked of beer stumbled back and his hand collided with mine, and I saw.

I saw a woman with blonde hair and green eyes lying on the floor, I saw the fear in her eyes as she pleaded for her life. I saw a man’s right hand plunging a knife into her writhing body, and I saw the jagged scar on his right thumb. I heard him angrily pleading with her “Elizabeth, why did you make me do this?! Why?” I saw him dump her body in the lake, and I felt his present fear that someone would find him out.

And just as soon as it had started, I was bombarded again with the sounds of fair, haunted by the violence that I had just witnessed. Maddie saw the man bump into me, and she rushed to my side. But before I could explain what I had seen, the murderer had slipped into the crowd, unaware that he had just committed a crime in my presence.

Which is what brings me to you today officer, I feel like I am obligated to share what I have seen with someone. Elizabeth deserves justice, and I am going to do whatever small part I can to help her killer be caught. Maybe she’s a missing person? I can give you her physical description, and I can describe the location at the lake where he dumped her body. I could recognize his voice if I heard it again, and Maddie may be able to provide a basic description of the man.

“Yes, this is all very interesting, we definitely can check into what you say you have ‘seen’, and if we have any leads we can follow up with you. I’m unsure of how we can bring forward a blind, eye-witness in court, but we’ll deal with that later. Until then, thank you for your statement, and we will let you know if we find anything. Officer Martinez will escort you out.”

I could hear the smile in his voice, he was trying to conceal a chuckle. He thinks I’m insane. No need to worry about being a crazy cat lady, now I’ll just spend the rest of my life in the psych ward. I take off my glove, thinking if I could reach out, touch him, and tell him his own secrets then he might believe me. I’m not going down without a fight.

Before I can get up to touch him, I feel another man’s presence beside me. I raise my hand trying to wave him away so I can illuminate his colleague’s mind. Officer Martinez must have mistaken my gesture as a request for assistance, and he reaches down and clasps my hand to help me out of the chair.

I recognize his voice as he says, “Let me assist you ma’am,” and as my thumb brushes the jagged scar on his, my vision is ignited by brilliant truth.