Out of Darkness

Bing and Wing first met in the waiting room of the Vision Center. They each happened to have an appointment. A great friendship began that day.

Bing heard her talking with her driver. He recognized her voice.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Wing?”

She turned to the sound. “Yes. Who are you?”

“Your voice is familiar. You read at the Poetry Jam, last month. I’d know your voice anywhere. I love your poetry.”

She paused and said, “You sound familiar too. Do I know you? Are you a singer?”

“I sing. Yes.”

She smiled. He heard it in her voice. “Will you sing for me?”

“Oh, sure…” Bing didn’t want to disturb the others awaiting their appointments. He sang a verse of his favorite song, quiet as a lullaby. When he finished, everyone applauded, even the front office people.

“Ahh, yes! You are Bing!” She reached out. “May I touch your face?”

“Of course.” He leaned in to her touch. And he gently touched her face. Exploring so intimately, they shared tears and smiles. Each felt rediscovered by a friend known long ago.

After that, they were inseparable.

They talked about everything and their lives shared many parallel themes. As if they had been on the same ride and never noticed the other sitting beside them. Bing told of his dreams, filled with sounds, smells and feelings. And Wing knew exactly what he meant.

They continued receiving therapy for their blindness. Progress was slow. The experimental procedures had no history of success. The doctor’s made no promises or predictions. But still, it held promise.

Hopeful guinea pigs, they carried on. They had no other options. Lending emotional support made it easier, regardless the outcome.

Bing joked that he ‘lacked vision’.

He said people are so dependent on their sight, they think seeing is everything. He’d thought about it his whole life.

“The other senses are discounted. People don’t listen. They don’t feel. You only have taste when seen with the right people, wearing the right clothes. Something doesn’t smell right despite how it looks. Do you trust the smell test? Or your lyin’ eyes?”

Holding one sense supreme made no sense at all. To most, sight is more important than anything.

“Of course sight has its purpose. It’s valuable. I’ll never get hired by Uber to drive people about. I don’t recommend riding with blind drivers.”

Wing laughed and promised to take that advice. She loved his voice. Even hearing him talk felt like listening to a great song.

Bing continued, “Yet sight is an illusion. It’s great for detecting surfaces, beginnings and endings. Because you saw a wave crash, you think you know the ocean?”

“People think they know all they need, by merely seeing another. This vast superficial knowledge provided by a first impression is false. Skin color, clothing, or shoes clutter their minds with data but not information. The contents of a wallet say nothing about how those contents got there.”

Bing maintained people use sight to project their biases. Sight and light mask what matters, the contents of people’s hearts.

Wing wrote a little poem about what Bing said,

“Am I too white?

Do I appear too black?

How can I

Satisfy

Your projections

Of my lack?”

Bing was a singer. His voice brought peace to all who heard him.

Wing wrote poetry. She had never seen her words. But her readers shed joyful tears.

Bing and Wing knew sound penetrates to people’s core in ways light cannot. Yes, there are beautiful sights, paintings, landscapes or people. But light reflects with no more depth than the paint on any canvas someone might gaze upon. It doesn’t touch one’s heart.

They wrote songs together. And soon began to play to crowds who loved them. They heard rumors of a recording contract coming their way.

They wondered if they would ever see their fans.

Their clinical treatments continued. Some days one or the other felt progress. A shadow. A glimmer. It never sustained for long though.

They rejected the term ‘disabled’. It put them into too small a box. One day, after playing with several alternatives, Wing settled upon ‘incred-abled’. Bing preferred ‘fabled,’ a contraction of ‘fabulous’ and ‘abled’. He believed his story would be retold far into the future.

One summer evening, they went to a concert together. They had good seats. Holding hands, they enjoyed being immersed in another’s music.

People knew them. Fans greeted them. They were happy. They felt loved.

Walking through the crowded tunnel afterward, with no warning, the lights went out. In a moment, the casual mood of the crowd evaporated. No one could see. Widespread panic spread in a flash.

Lights from phones only served to disorient the restless crowd. People began pushing. Pressed up into walls people screamed until they gasped for breath. Some fell. Got stepped on. The smell of sweat drenched fear, of getting crushed terrified. Screams echoed. Fear rose. People pushed away from the screams. But the screams came from everywhere. The pushing became panic.

Holding Wing’s hand, Bing called out. He sang. He improvised a calming melody. His clear voice soared above the crowd. Wing called out words to him and he gave them his beautiful calm voice.

“Listen people.

Hear my voice.

Do not be afraid.

I know a path to safety.

I know the way to peace.

Now follow my voice. Listen.

Hold your neighbor’s hand.

Gently touch them.

Support them in the darkness.

Guide each other out.

We’ll find our way together.

That is the only way.”

Bing sang again. Wing joined with him in the song and others sang too. The song spread and as people sang, the panic subsided. They sang and moved as one toward the mouth of the tunnel.

The crowd emerged into the night. Bing and Wing continued singing by the exit until everyone had come to safety.

Lights were out everywhere. There was no moon. No one could see. But everyone breathed the cool night air. Crickets shimmered. They smelled flowers on the breeze.

Though struggling without sight, no one was hurt. The fear ebbed. People made their way. Groans became sighs of relief. The crowd dispersed and continued singing. Some danced in the darkness. They laughed together.

It was dark but the fear had gone. No one could see but joyful sounds came from everywhere.

The lights returned. People saw again. They cheered and applauded. They embraced.

Bing and Wing squeezed each other’s hands. Tears of joy streamed down their faces. A miracle had occurred. When the lights came on, they saw each other for the first time.

But it didn’t matter. They loved each other anyway. Sight didn’t change what they knew about each other. Or themselves.

Wing was the most beautiful woman Bing had ever seen. They stayed together forever.