Her beautiful blue eyes stare back, patiently waiting for me.
“I have prosopagnosia,” I blurt out. She tilts her head to the right as I continue. “Face blindness. I have trouble seeing different faces.”
My vision is fine, but my brain has trouble recognizing faces even when they are friends or close family members. I’ve spent alot of time memorizing pictures to help, but if someone changes their hairstyle or wears glasses, it can throw my brain off.
She slides a half foot closer to me on the bench and places her soft hand on my knee.
“Everyone looks the same to me.” I can detect certain features like eyes and mouth, but I can’t connect the dots. I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know that about you,” she whispers.
“Nobody does.” I scratch behind my shoulder. “I don’t know how this would affect my game if this got out.”
Two seasons ago, a hockey player from Bristol Bay lost his peripheral vision during a playoff run, and it killed his career. He was destined to go pro, but his vision held him back.
I don’t want the same fate, which is why I don’t tell a soul. I’m not even sure my dad knows, if I’m being honest. My mom does, as she was with me when I got diagnosed a few years ago after a head injury on the ice.
My parents divorced when I was young, and I doubt she told him since she makes it a point to speak with him as little as possible. She knows the pressure I was under, even at a young age, and she let’s me be me.
I’m able to manage fine without seeing faces for the most part, especially with people I interact with often. Their voice, gait, body features, etcetera, cue me in, but this whole Cinderella debacle is when my face blindness really sucks.
I can’t believe she was right in front of me this whole time.
I feel like such an idiot.
“Hockey?” she questions, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t see how this would be an issue.” Her voice rich and gentle.
“Who wants the guy who can’t see people on their team?” My words are honest.
“A lot of people. Plus, everyone wears helmets anyway.” Her voice is strong and firm. “You are a great player, and clearly, you don’t need to see faces in hockey to be a badass.”
I chuckle at that, and my lips tilt up at the corners without trying.
“A badass?” I quirk my brows.
“Yes. And stop fishing for compliments. You know that you’re a phenomenal hockey player!”
“Phenomenal, huh?” I flash my eyelashes at her. “What else?”
“Knock it off!” she says, as she playfully whacks me on the arm.
I grab her elbow, not letting it go. Our eyes clash together, neither of us looking away.
She sucks in a breath as I inch closer to her.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur into her ear.
“You are only saying that because you can’t see me,” she punches back.
Ouch. Does she not know how gorgeous and amazing she is?
“Even when I couldn’t recognize your face, I could always recognize your beauty. You are beautiful inside and out,” I say with all the passion I feel.
She scoots a little closer to me on the bench and leans in, brushing her shoulder to mine. I swivel my body for a better angle, inching toward her until I close the gap between us altogether. I tilt my head and press my lips to hers.
