Feeling in the Dark

It was early autumn. The air was fresh and crisp, and the light breeze carried the vibrant fall leaves. A cold breeze playfully tossed the fall leaves, sending whirlwinds of color down our street. I lay on my bed, though the sun had been up for hours. I chose a different spot to zone out every day: my beanbag, the couch, my bed. It never made a difference. Every night, I still cried myself to sleep, soaking my pillow, which was stiff with tears. I didn’t bother to turn it over onto the fresh side. Every day the sun rose, but even its radiance and warmth couldn’t light my world. Not now, that my mother was gone. 

I stared at the ceiling. When I was little, mom and I would lie on our backs, tracing shapes in the ceiling plaster. I named them now - the spaceship flying out to the stars, the sleek otter swimming with the cool brook, a ewe lamb, away from its pasture. They don’t mean anything anymore, though. They’re just splotches of plaster.

Everything in the house radiated off her, the kitchen, paintings on the wall, the unmoving pictures that still, somehow, held some movement of joy. The bench, the piano, was mom’s, and only hers. Often she held out her hand, asking me to join in the symphonies of the music, but she, only, ever played the pieces, now stuck in my head, in a familiar pace. 

The cool draft pressed my lungs, choking me, as the memories drowned me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, the shapes on the ceiling, the pictures of her smiling face, the bench, the pieces stuck in my head, the horrible, muffled silence of the house, the hours passed unnoticed. I ran downstairs, out the door, listening to the cicadas chirp through the sleepy silence. I pause at the mailbox, watching a mail truck turn the corner at the end of the street. I opened the mailbox, not expecting to find anything, but I needed to do something new. 

Back in the house, I flipped through the mail. A lump formed in my throat when I see that several of the letters were addressed to Hazelle Johnson. Most of the letters are for my dad, but one of the letters is addressed to me. A smile almost crept on my face after seeing the stamp had the queen's profile on it. It was from Will, my brother, who attended college in England. I tore open the envelope, and read:

Dear Bree,

I couldn’t believe it when I heard that mom had been killed in a car crash. I miss you and dad like crazy. Tell Dad that I’m coming on the twenty-first. Hang in there, Bree. See you soon.

Love,

Will

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

I got up the next day, realizing that it was seven days since it happened. Since the day she left. Since the day mom was, irrevocably, gone.

I’m surprised I lasted this long.

After eating breakfast with my father, who barely acknowledged my presence before shutting himself in his office, I decided to talk a stroll through the town. 

The sun hadn’t come out to warm the streets down, so it was cool outside. I slipped on the soft blue jacket that mom bought me before hurrying outside. 

Thirty minutes later, I walked further than I had ever before - the part of town I had only ever seen through a car window. 

The road sloped downwards, and as I began to walk downhill, I saw the red door of a black house open, and a girl and a dog walked out. The girl firmly gripped the harness of the dog, walking cautiously uphill towards me. She seemed to be blind. 

I was so fascinated that I almost didn’t hear the whir of a bike tire.

Almost.

When I looked up, I saw a man on a bike riding swiftly towards the girl and her dog. I expected him to steer clear from her, but he was listening to music, not paying attention to what was ahead of him. 

“Watch out!” I screamed.

The girl looked up, confused. Her dog barked and tried to pull her out of the way. The biker looked up, but it was too late for him to change course. He was going to crash!

Without thinking, I leaped into the bike’s path. I felt it collide with my body, knocking me down on the cold, hard asphalt. My head slammed against the ground and I blacked out. 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the music. It was the piano, and at first, I thought it was my mom playing. But I had never heard this song before. All the songs mom used to play were worn in my head. A never-ending cycle of tunes and rhythms. 

I opened my eyes. I was lying on a tan, leather couch, and it was the blind girl playing the piano, not mom. 

I tried to raise myself on my elbows, but my head was throbbing. I fell back on the couch with a groan.

The girl stopped playing abruptly. “Mom! She’s awake!” she called and hurried over to kneel by the sofa. She moved with such ease through the room that I wondered if she was really blind. 

Then, a short woman with short, blond hair and blue eyes came into view, holding an ice pack. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes knit with worry.

“Lousy,” I mumbled, my body throbbing.

The woman gently placed the ice pack on my head and said. “I’m Julia Belmont, and this is my daughter, Selene.”

I looked at Selene. She was tall, with a willowy figure, just like her mother. Her hair was a wavy, dirty-blonde sheet, and her eyes were gray as the stormy clouds, wide and clear, filled with light. 

“What happened?” I asked, pausing with uncertainty. “All I remember was jumping in front of the bike and then…” I paused, with a loss of words. 

Julia smiled gently. “Yes, that’s what the biker said. He was quite worked up. He didn’t even say sorry. Seemed to think it was your fault you got hit.” She sighed. “At least he helped me carry you here.”

“I had to jump ahead. Otherwise, he would have hit her,” I said, gesturing to Selene. 

“Are you always this noble? The biker wouldn’t have hurt me any worse than he hurt you,” she said, with a smile playing across her lips.

I giggled. “I suppose you’re right. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen, though.” I added, “It wouldn’t have been fair.”

She laughed. It was a musical one, like the ringing of bells. The kind that made everyone smile and joins in. I couldn’t suppress it anymore. I joined in and Julia looked between us, chuckling. 

I realized it was the first time I had laughed since she left. It felt so good to be free.

When we stopped laughing, Selene asked, “What’s your name, Ms. Nobleness?”

“Bree.”

“Should I call your parents?” Julia asked, worry reflecting in her eyes. “They might be worried…”

I cut in quickly, “No, I’m sure they’re not.”

`“Alright,” Julia said, clearly worried. “If you’re sure.”

Just then, I noticed the dog, a black Labrador Retriever, which had been next to the sofa the whole time. 

“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked, stroking its silky, black fur. 

“Luz,” Selene replied. “It means ‘light’ in Spanish.”

“Why’d you name her that?” I asked, curious.

“I guess,” she began, thoughtful. “I guess it’s because she’s kind of my light - she’s invisible to me, but I can’t see without her.”

“Are you girls hungry?” Julia called from the other room. “Do you want some food?”

“Sure! Thanks, Mom,” Selene called back.

A few minutes later, Maria came in, carrying a tray of crackers and cheese. Selene and I devoured it, and Selene fed Luz a few bits of cheese. When they were finished, Julia came in, holding a phone.

“Do you want to stay and to rest a few hours?” she asked me. “If you do, I need you to call your parents and let them know you’re OK. Otherwise, I can drive you home or you can have them come pick you up.”

I sat up, but it made me feel dizzy. “Can I stay here for a while?” I asked.

“Of course. Just let them know you’re okay,” she said.

She handed me the phone, and I whispered to myself, “829-291-0932,” as I dialed our number. As I had expected, no one picked up. I left a message saying that I would be home in a few hours. I didn’t need to worry dad about anything. It’s not like he’d notice I was gone anyway. 

He only remembered mom anyway.

I laid back down the soft, brown pillows. I ached all over. Selene went back to the piano, a beautiful symphony of notes. Luz snuffed comfortingly in my ears. I relaxed my stiffened muscles and eventually drifted off to sleep. 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

When I opened my eyes again, I felt less sore. Selene was still at the piano, but the light had changed, and I felt like I had been asleep for at least an hour. 

Julia poked her head into the room. “Want some lunch?”

“Sure,” I replied, suddenly feeling hungrier than I had in ages. 

“Are grilled cheese sandwiches OK?”

I nodded and sat up. I still was soaked with aches and sore, and there were scratches and bruises on her arms and legs, but I felt a little better.

“Do you play the piano?” Selene asked.

“I took a few lessons a while back,” I replied.

“I know some easy duets we could play,” she said hopefully. “I have the music, in case that makes it easier?”

“OK,” I replied, though I was unsure. The bench, the piano, was mom’s spot. Not mine. 

I played with Selene until Julia called us for lunch. The duets were simple and easy to play, but they had harmonies that sound cool together. I enjoyed the duets as much as the sandwiches that followed. 

“Can Bree stay a while longer?” Selene asked her mom. She caught my eye, and added, “Only if you want to.”

“Sure. If that’s OK with you guys.” I replied, hoping Julia would allow it. 

“It’s fine by me, as long as you’re sure your parents won’t mind,” Julia said.

I doubted my father would even notice I was gone. We spent the afternoon hours playing. Selene pulled out a solo piece since we were out of duets. This one looked familiar, though. 

“My mom used to play this,” I said softly. My voice dropped to a whisper. “She died in a car crash a week ago.”

“Oh my god!” cried Selene. “You must be so sad.”

I nodded. “My dad just wanders around the house or shuts himself in his office. And my brother, Will, who’s in England, sent me a letter. He’s coming home in a few weeks.”

Selene took my hand and squeezed it. A warm sensation spread through my body. “Well, at least you have that to look forward to. You have to remember to look for the good things in life. If we dwell on the bad things, we’ll never enjoy life.” She paused, then added, “I wasn’t always blind, you know. I got very sick one day when I was little, and now I can’t see. At first, I cried so much. I missed light and colors. I missed seeing the little I took for granted. But then, my parents got me Luz, and I learned to play the piano. I can feel the light that can’t see, through music. I can feel the colors, even if I can’t see them, through the music.”

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Later, Julia drove me home. As they pulled up to the house, its shuttered, dark windows stared back at me. It was a ghost house, cold and unfeeling, quiet as a graveyard. Not the welcoming house it had once been. 

It just wasn’t right.

“Are you sure your parents are home?” Julia asked, staring at my bleak house. 

I nodded, my throat tight.

Julia turned around to look at me. “It was very sweet of you to jump in front of that bike. And Selene loved having someone to play with. If you want to come over sometime, you can have your parents call me.”

I nodded and got out of the car. “Thanks for everything.” I managed to say.

I climbed up the stairs to the front door and pushed it open. It was unlocked, just as I’d left it. I watched from the window as Julia’s night blue car drove away. I was sick of the dark, dreary silence.

I went up to my bedroom. It was hot, and stiflingly stuffy inside, so I opened my window, as wide as it would go. I grabbed my weathered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and ran outside. I sat in the tire swing hanging from the willow tree and read for the rest of the afternoon. When I got back inside, I almost felt good. 

At dinner (pizza, again) I told dad what happened at Selene’s house. He seemed shaken.

“I’m sorry, Bree,” he said. “I’ve been so grieved from losing Hazelle that I haven’t paid any attention to you.” 

“It’s OK, Dad,” I said quickly.

“No, it’s not. Hazelle is gone. There’s nothing I can do about it. We need to move on.”

“I was wondering,” I said. “Could you help me find some of Mom’s piano pieces? I want to try to play some.”

“Sure,” dad said, almost smiling.

“And, one more thing, could you call Selene’s mom and see when I can come over?” 

“Of course.”

When they finished eating, dad showed me where mom’s music was kept, then left to call Julia leaving me to play. The bench. It was mom’s spot, and it radiated of her. The memories of her didn’t drown me, for once. I stumbled through the first few pieces but gradually relaxed into it and played with more confidence. I could feel her presence, in the music, underneath my fingers.

A few minutes later, dad came back into the room. He waited for me to finish the song she was playing, then he said, “Want to start taking piano lessons again?”

I smiled, watching the sun sink behind the rooftops across the street. Even when it was gone, it wasn’t really dark. Just twilight.

“That would be great,” I said.