Blind Light

I yawned, my eyes fluttering open. I reached for the coffee I knew had been placed on the desk sitting above me. The sheets I remembered to be a glistening white were frail and thin, barely shielding me from the unforgiving air-conditioning.

I reached a shaking hand to feel my eyes. The eyelids were soft to the touch. I heard a loud crash and my door banged open.

“Mama! You idiot!” It was my son, Adam. I could imagine his scruffy, brown hair bobbing as he rushed in.

I could imagine my eyes now his, and his eyes now mine.

“You shouldn’t have,” he whispered. I felt a dampness on my chest as he cried quietly. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. “I was alright with being blind. You didn’t need to do this!”

My crooked teeth formed my signature smile. “I know. I’m old anyway. I’ve seen all the things I needed to. It’s your turn now.”

I took a long sip of my coffee while he retracted his head in silence. Of course, it was painful to never be able to see again, but the warmth that filled my old heart was not my sight, but my son being able to see for the first time.

The surgery was painful on both of our behalf. But it was worth it.

He could finally see. The truth of the world at his youthful fingertips. The truth, for him at least, had finally come to light.

My smile became less pure as my mind fell further into the rabbit hole of despair. Then, it was forced.

A rattle of a trolley startled me back into reality. It was like my eyes were closed; blank and unseeing.

I glanced in the direction of the clock, then at Adam.

“It’s too early. You’ll freak,” he said jokingly.

“I’m blind. I would check it myself if I could,” I replied, dead-serious.

I heard him swallow loudly – almost gulp – and he told me the time. 4am.

“Okay,” I said coolly.

If I knew my son, he would’ve blinked in surprise.

“Drink this, you’ll feel better,” the nurse murmured.

She knew I was still in pain. The back of my eyes were pounding in waves of pain. I’d pushed it down for Adam’s sake. I drank the gross, bubbly liquid greedily.

My eyes scanned the hospital room as though they were trying to find safety in the light. Unfortunately, the blackness was permanently obscuring my vision.

“Let’s go for a walk,” my son said.

A gentle but larger hand held mine and he helped me up.

I slid on some shoes and we were off. I wasn’t discharged so I got an hour away. There was a small ringing in my eye socket that would hurt every once in a while, but I was alright.

“You knew those surgeries had a 20% chance of working,” he said as we started along a gravelly footpath.

I was suddenly hit with a pang of longing. Longing for my eyes – my vision – back. I physically stumbled in grief, but Adam quickly pulled me back up.

“I’m aware,” I responded, a bit shaky.

“I love you, Mama,” he whispered, kissing my cheek tenderly.

We decided to go to a smoothie bar beside the hospital. I’d ordered a mango smoothie with a bit of passionfruit, while he ordered his green shake.

“Mama, Papa hasn’t visited once,” Adam said carefully. He knew he was walking onto dangerous territory.

I pursed my lips. “I am aware.” I seemed to be saying that a lot. I may as well get it tattooed on my forehead.

“So? What happened?” he asked, guiding me to a chair.

I sat down. It creaked as I sat, and I felt the polished wood under my thighs.

The dark truth about my husband was yet another truth that needed to come to light.

“He… he didn’t like the idea of me not being able to see,” I told him tightly.

I was determined to leave it at that, so I tried asking about his university. He knew me way too well.

“He had an affair, didn’t he? Just before your surgery because he wanted someone who could see his… you know.” Adam’s eyes met mine. At least, I think they did.

I could sense the tension, and I was desperate to release it. I gave in on my restricting words.

“Yes.” I was supposed to say more, but if I did, I feared everything I had concealed would come pouring out, like I was some kind of weak child.

Adam softened, relaxing his hands on the table. I imagined his face twisted in a deflated expression.

“You were hoping you were wrong?” I queried, voice soothing.

There was a pause in which I assumed he had nodded. He then remembered I was blind.

“A son can dream…” We drifted into silence for a while.

Our drinks arrived and I was sipping mine when he finally spoke.

“Who?”  

“I’m sorry?”

“Who did he have it with?”

My jaw tightened. My throat felt dry, so I gulped down more of the cold drink. Realisation flickered in his movements as he took his hands off the table.

“It wasn’t…” He could barely speak.

Honestly, I was the same. “It was.”

My best friend. His godmother. Emily.

“No,” he breathed. “She’s your best friend! Forty years, Mama!”

A tight smile spread across my old, chapped lips. “That was correct.”

Key word: was.

He exhaled loudly and clasped his hands together with a faint ‘clap’.

Tears formed in my unseeing eyes, and judging by my son’s quiet sniffles, he was crying, too.

“And to top it all off, you have no vision,” he said through his tears.

I laughed humourlessly. My humour and happiness was a hollow space in my heart that wouldn’t be fulfilled in a long time.

“But you do. You can finally see your girlfriend,” I responded, faking excitement.

There was a pause. It was too long. That’s when I figured it out.

“Oh.” Yet another awful truth I hadn’t been aware of.

“It’s alright, Mama, I’ll be able to see the new cute girls!” Adam said jokingly. I knew my son, and he loved that girl. He had my talents when it came to hiding emotions.

With a grunt, I heaved myself up, leaving the smoothie I had just finished on the table. Was I really this old? My years appeared to be catching up to me.

With a resigned sigh, I held my son’s guiding hand and we exited the smoothie bar.

My future may be dark, but Adam’s was brighter than ever, and that’s all I care for.