Page 7 of Sight Unseen

Grateful my life had been spared, my mind wandered down the “what if” path and I asked myself some tough questions. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

A noise at the door made me turn. A warm hand clasped my shoulder as Jon’s scent wrapped around my remaining senses.

Shit and balls, I thought as my pulse pounded in my temple. Is this what I have to look forward to? Able to tell who people are because of the smell, like a dog?

“Hi, honey,” Jon murmured in my ear. “Are you ready to go? All packed?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Instantly ashamed for lashing out like a petulant child, I murmured, “Sorry. I’m being a bastard. Ignore me. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jon planted a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Don’t worry, I get it. This is tough. For both of us.” His voice was hesitant, an undercurrent of something in it I couldn’t identify. But I couldn’t find fault in whatever and everything he was feeling.

I reached out, searching for his arm. “Has anyone from my family called?”

No matter what they’d done to me in the past, I still clung to the desperate hope that one day they’d come to their senses and accept me for who and what I was, especially after an accident that could have killed me. I was the gay man who’d chosen not to follow in his father’s footsteps. A son who’d disappointed his family with his choices.

Jon cleared his throat. “No,” he said softly. “After I called to tell them about the accident they haven’t called back. My folks called though. They sent flowers.” Jon’s parents doted on him, and had always thought he deserved better than me. Sending flowers had been more for Jon than me; I’d met them only twice, such was their disregard.

“Oh.” The desolation in my tone must have been obvious because Jon squeezed my arm.

What did you expect? That the people who’d tossed you aside would get into a plane and fly across an ocean to see you because you’d had an accident? Yeah. Stupid idea. I need to come to grips with the fact I am never seeing them again.

“Forget your idiot family. Come on, let’s get you ready to leave this place.”

I nodded, heart heavy as Jon moved away. I already resented the pity in his voice.

Who was I now? A sculptor without his art, which would surely make me a miserable bastard. No doubt. The ache of loss at probably no longer being able to live my passion flooded my chest as I tried to hold back the lump that rose in my throat.

Jon moved away, probably to pick up my bags. I stood, feeling a swell of panic as I did. I’d fallen down a lot in therapy, where they tried to teach me how to get my bearings. I’d learned to hate the words “orientation” and “mobility” and being told to use my remaining senses to get about. The fact I’d need an orientation and mobility specialist as part of aftercare treatment when I got home to help me overcome day-to-day living pissed me off and scared the shit out of me.

My rehab therapist at the hospital, Marty, was a no-nonsense guy who’d helped many returning soldiers face their impairments. Marty took no prisoners, and, in fact, had been my rock. I’d miss everything about him, most importantly, how he didn’t pity me. He’d told me time and again how he couldn’t wait to see my new works.

“Hey, man.” Speak of the devil. I smiled at hearing Marty’s voice. “A little bird told me you were going home today. I thought I’d swing by, say good-bye and good luck.”

He enfolded me in strong arms that smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke, familiar scents that grounded me. “Hey, Marty. Yeah, Jon’s here to take me home so I can start my journey into the land of the blind.”

A fist punched my arm and I yowled.

“Stop being such a damn douche, man,” Marty growled. “What did I tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.’ I remember the quote.”

Helen Keller had a lot to answer for. That had been Marty’s mantra each time I’d broken down or decided to get pissed with him.

“Too right, my man. You keep that in mind when you’re out there in the wide world and remember Big Marty has eyes on you. I’ll know when you get that look that says you’re giving up and I’ll be there to kick your ass.” Marty squeezed my shoulder.

All I could do was smile and nod.

“We’re ready to go, Nate.” Jon moved up and placed a hand on my arm. “Hang on to me and I’ll guide you out to the car. It’s not far from the exit.” The strain in his voice was my undoing.

Shit, this is so damn embarrassing.

“Jon, I’m sorry that you have to do this. It’s not fair to put you in this situation,” I choked out, and to my horror tears pricked my useless eyes.

At least my tears ducts still work.

Marty’s deep voice sounded in my ear. “Nate, nothing about this is fair to either of you. It wasn’t your fault, bud. I’m sure Jon knows that.” The slight edge in his tone surprised me as I held on to his firm bicep. Beside me Jon sighed heavily and muttered something I couldn’t catch.

Marty’s warm hand covered mine with comfort and reassurance. “Once you’re home among familiar surroundings, even if you can’t see them, things will be better. You’ll adapt because you have no choice but to adapt. You’re strong. You’ll get there. It will take time, that’s all. You need to be patient.” He slapped my back. “And remember, I’ve given you all the contacts and links for that blind artists’ network. I want to see you sculpting again, and if anyone can help you get there, they will. I’ve seen your stuff, and you’re talented. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.”