My Eyes | Teen Ink

My Eyes

February 27, 2013
By Juice1197 BRONZE, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
Juice1197 BRONZE, Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Living is not for the weak.


I sat at the kitchen table, and heard dishes clanging together and the fridge opening and closing occasionally. I knew it was my dad that was in the kitchen, for his footsteps were heavier than mom’s. I guess that wasn’t the only reason I knew it was dad. Mom wasn’t around as much anymore. Not since last week.
“Mom!” I yelled as I felt my way around the house. I kicked the small table in the living room, ran into our own front door. It was already open; I stepped into the warm summer rain. “Where are you going?” I heard her footsteps faintly, they were wondering away from me. “Mom! Don’t leave me alone!” I was terrified of being by myself. She had put up with the glaucoma until now. I guess there was too much going on.
“I can’t put up with this family anymore, Derek was enough. I can’t do it anymore.” The door to her car slammed and she drove off.
As I moved my fork around in front of me, I attempted stabbing at the precut steak. Every now and then I could feel the tines going into the wood of our small table, and I heard my dad sigh.
“There’s no way I’ll get used to this. Ever,” I said, deliberately stabbing the table in frustration. I felt the plate in front of me and my fingers began wandering, looking for the small pieces of steak or broccoli or whichever vegetable we were having. My middle finger ran into the meat first. I picked it up with my middle and forefinger. I quietly muttered a sarcastic prayer that I wouldn’t miss my mouth.
“Come on, it’s not that bad. The doctor said your other senses will improve, and help you get around,” he replied softly. Dad wasn’t taking this well either. It’s like both of them decided to go live in some fantasy world where I could still see, where Derek still knew them. Where everything was just perfect.
“And how long could that take? How would they even help?” I found a carrot, but put it back down. My greasy fingers only got me even more agitated. I started patting the table, feeling for the soft touch of a napkin or towel. No luck. I heard a door slam shut and footsteps coming towards us. The fridge opened. All was silent except for the crinkling of foil and the hum of the microwave.
When the timer went off the smell of a baked potato and leftover steak filled the entire kitchen. I felt the table shake as someone sat across from me.
“Hey kid, how you doin’?” The soft voice of my older brother mixed in with the clanging of silverware and chewing noises.
Normally I would answer with an enthusiastic “great” or a simple “alright,” but I didn’t want to talk. I could feel him staring. Who wouldn’t stare at the teenager eating with her fingers? Worse than a child, I thought. I could imagine his long tan face and sad brown eyes looking at me with pity. I didn’t want pity, though. I wanted my sight.

I heard my dad take a step towards us. He whispered, “Don’t pry, Derek, it’s been a rough day for her.”

“It’s been a rough day for all of us, Peter,” Derek replied. I could think of a few other “rough days” we had. Almost four years ago, I was turning ten years old that night.
My dad walked up to me as I held Derek’s hand. He was unconscious in the hospital bed, with bandages on his head and arm. The bruises on his face were a deep purple.
“The doctor said he hit his head pretty bad,” he said, his voice was gruff and his hands were in tight fists as he looked down at my big brother. “Derek might not remember anything.”
I was too young to understand, but I knew I couldn’t leave him. Even when my dad tried to take me home, I wouldn’t budge. When Derek woke up at 8 in the morning the following day, I was sitting next to him, making a “get well” card.
“Hey Em,” he said softly and grabbed my hand. When dad came in, Derek looked confused. “You a doctor?” He looked at dad’s scrappy pants, beer belly, and short gray-brown hair. I could tell he was confused and that’s when it sunk in that he really didn’t remember much of anything.
“No,” dad sighed. I saw a tear run down his face, “I’m your father, Peter.” We were left to tell him everything we knew. He wrecked his car, and then mom found him in a ditch and called an ambulance. He didn’t remember anything but me. The fact that I was his sister and we were best friends stayed with him.

The doctor said it was a miracle that he remembered me, that I was special. Derek barely knew anyone else. Dad, who’d taken us on countless fishing trips and created so many happy memories, was crushed. Mom was diagnosed with depression, broken; she got better after a few months, little by little. But that didn’t change the fact that still neglected us and was always on “business trips.” I was just thankful that I still had my best friend. Derek no longer understood that you should call your parents “mom” or “dad, “ or that he loved to dance and used to be the champion of wrestling at school.

“I can still hear, you know,” I said. Derek waved something in my face, the small breeze annoyed me. It was napkin for my greasy, disgusting fingers. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said as he got up and the dishes in the sink banged together. I knew he was standing, leaning against the counter as he always did. I found my fork and tried to eat like a decent human being, but I guess there wasn’t much left on my plate. I stood up and attempted to shuffle to the sink.

“Do you need any—“ Derek started and I heard him get up.

“No. I’m fine, okay? I’m sure I can put a little plate in the sink,” and just then, I found the edge of the counter, and set the plate down. Less than a second later, I heard the crash of something shattering on the floor. Tears threatened to run down my face, not in self-pity, but frustration.

Dad started, “Derek,”

“I got it.” I heard movement and then Derek lifted me with his arms awkwardly around my waist as he stepped away from the mess. “Come on, Em.”
Once he let me down I heard the glass door open and felt the breeze. It was the time of year that summer was on the brink of fall, warm and cold were a seesaw, tinkering back and forth before the weather could actually decide what it wanted.

Derek led me onto the swing on our porch where we used to sit together and look at the stars. When I was younger, I’d sit on his lap and ask him about what it’s like to be a “big kid.” But that was years ago and now, there were no stars for me to look up to. Derek put his arm around the back of the bench and sighed.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “that even though this really sucks, it has to get better eventually.”

“Eventually,” I muttered and began swaying the bench back and forth.

“Emily please, you’re thirteen, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” I could imagine him looking up at the sky and putting his hands behind his head as he added, “it could be worse.”

It could have been worse. I looked through all of the possibilities. I could be blind and deaf, maybe even just deaf. I couldn’t live without music. I could have been diagnosed with cancer.
“We can get you some sort of glasses, maybe an operation.” Dad said as he handed me some sort of cane “they can do some weird laser stuff with your eyes.”
“You know we don’t have the money for that,” I said, “I can do this for now.” I tapped what I thought was my dad with whatever can thing was in my hand.
I stood up from the cold bench in the doctor’s office. I never realized how cramped this place could be. It was such a small room, and although I couldn’t see it, I could feel how close the walls were. I deliberately slid my feet across the floor because the cane was just a nuisance to me. It hadn’t quite sunken in yet, and I was in denial. I didn’t want to face the fact that I was blind.
“Glaucoma sucks, but we’ll help you out,” Derek led me through the office with one hand on my elbow and the other across my lower back. He was trying, unlike dad. “Don’t give up so easily, alright?” Our family was officially shattered.
It took me a moment, but I knew what Derek was getting at.

“You mean I could forget who I am?” I asked.

“That’s something, yeah,” he replied quietly, maybe even regretting what he said. “It’s not like I want some pity party, but wrestling? Seriously? And dancing? I think baseball is where it’s at.”

I laughed at his baseball comment. In any situation, we could always make each other laugh. Mom and dad thought it was a problem that we were so dependent on each other, but we still didn’t care. Of course I had other friends, but they were nothing compared to my relationship with Derek.

“Derek we’re just trying to help you!” yelled mom. It was coming from the living room. I looked at my clock that read 3:16 AM. Another fight.

“Maybe I just don’t want your help alright?” He yelled back. I got out of bed and grabbed my teddy bear to head downstairs. Peeking through the stairs to the living room, I saw mom, dad, and Derek yelling at each other. I saw mom with her fists balled up, dad’s arms crossed in front of his chest, and Derek with his backpack. He had just gotten home, and they were already fighting.

“I’m okay just like this! I don’t need to remember any of you! You don’t understand the fact that nothing you do will bring it back, alright?” I winced at Derek’s cold words. I didn’t want to see anymore. It had been going on for weeks; everyone was always on edge with Derek. I headed up the stairs to my room.

I sat on my bed with my teddy bear. I sat, and did nothing else. I tried not to think of anything. After a while the yelling stopped and I heard footsteps in the hallway. Derek quietly opened my door. As light poured into my room, he sighed.

“I’m sorry we woke you up,” he said as he sat down beside me.

“They’re just trying to help, Derek,” I looked up at him. When he folded his hands and had his elbows on his knees, I knew he was in deep thought.

“Yeah. That’s the problem, Em,” I don’t need them to help. I have everything figured out.”

“No,” I protested, “you have some things figured out. You don’t remember anything but me. We both don’t know why that is, but you and mom and dad need to work this all out so we can be happy again.

“We’re working on it. You don’t understand, but this is a little hard to cope with. I don’t know who I am. I need to know what I liked to do and who my friends are and my favorite food and people I should hang out with. It’s a little difficult.”

“Maybe you don’t have to have people tell you who you are,” I started, “you always told me that it’s okay to be different, be yourself, right? I don’t see why you don’t just be yourself now. Be oroginal.” I said.

He laughed and corrected me, “it’s original, oroginal isn’t a word, goofball.”

“Then be original.”

I continued swinging on the bench and realized Derek had been through so much more than me; he was emotionally damaged, but he was still supporting me while mom and dad neglected us and they were off in their own worlds.

“But I really don’t see how this will ever get better,” I said. I felt Derek’s head move upward. He was looking at the stars.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” he started, “and just to be fair, mine are closed, too.”

“Okay.”

“Now think about every night we were ever out here, even the times I don’t remember. Think about the stars. What do they look like?”

“A bunch of darkness,” I said.

“No really, think of how they shined. Especially in the summer. They glittered all over the place.” Where was he taking this? We were going nowhere with this conversation. But I did start to feel a little better; there was always something about when we looked at the stars that calmed me down. I could picture them in my mind.

“What do they look like tonight?” I asked.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he didn’t hold back his opinion, was he trying to make fun of me now?

“What’s the point of this?” I was getting annoyed. This whole thing was pointless if he was just going to make fun of me.

“You helped me out once. I think it’s my turn, and since you can’t see anything,” he started, “I can try to be your eyes. Just for a little while. Because I will help you through all this, just like you helped me.” He started humming his favorite song, ‘My wayward Son’ by Kansas. “Let me be your eyes.”


The author's comments:
I have had a disability for more than two years now, and I had a really rough time coping with it. Other people also get frustrated with dealing with a disability and I hoped this would brighten someone's day. To know there is a bright side, or someone to lean on is the biggest comfort to me. I want to show the reader that they're not alone. Even if you don't have a disability, it's nice to know that there is someone willing to help you and there will be a light at the end of a dark tunnel.

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