Once In October

October 3rd:

“How many fingers am I holding up?” I asked him, waving my hand over his face. Even though there was a thick layer of gauze over his eyes, I knew he was glaring at me.

“Enough for me to want to break your hand? On second thought, fan me. I’m hot!” he said irritated.

“Yes, you are. You are smokin’,” I told him as I grabbed a nearby magazine and fanned him. He let out a breath of relief as the cool air hit him. I could imagine him closing his eyes. “So, did they actually take out your eyes or are they still in there, all cut up in pieces?”

“They’re still inside my head and whole. They just got scratched up a bit.”

“A bit?”

“The doctors say there’s a possibility that I could get them fixed but it will be a while before they’re sure. So, for now, I’m getting homeschooled and learning how to read brail,” he explained.

“Don’t forget the awesome stick,” I added dryly. He grimaced before nodding slightly. He pressed the button by his bed. A nurse entered a few minutes later, asking him if he needed something.

“Can you kick her out my room?” he said, pointing at me. I leaned to the side so he was pointing to the window before shrugging at the nurse. She gave me a “well sorry to do this to you” look.

“He does need his rest, miss,” she said. My eyes widened.

“Wait, he wasn’t serious.” I told her.

“Of course not,” she said. “Let’s go.” She gently put her hand on my arm and led me out the room. I looked at him in shock.

“Wait, no, it’s…are you serious? You’re kicking me out? But I love you. WILLLLLLSOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!!!!” I yelled dramatically. I saw him smirk.

“I love you, Lucy!” he yelled back.

October 10th:

He starts learning brail and I offer to help him study.

“This looks like Morse Code,” I commented while looking over the alphabet chart the doctors gave him a few days ago.

“I wouldn’t know and could you please give it back? I would like to at least read my name by the end of the day,” he said.

“You don’t even read on a regular basis,” I pointed out as I pushed the paper over to him.

“I read material for class and articles on Facebook. It’s close enough. Aw, great. I just thought of another thing I can’t do. No social media…you know this might not be bad after all,” he mused.

“No YouTube either.”

“…Never mind. Thank you for ruining everything. Again,” he said with a sigh.

I glared at him before smirking mischievously. I watched and waited as he studied the chart thoroughly. Then, when he fumbled for his bag for a pen, I made my move. No, I didn’t take or ruin the sheet. I simply turned it upside down.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I saw his eyebrow scrunch up. I saw him mouth “what the fuck?” about four times before he noticed that the line was crooked. He looked up (does it still count as looking?), fuming.

“You…you—” He reached out to grab me, but I swerved out of the way just in time and started running away.

“No fair!” he yelled after me as I heard his cane clicking the floor a couple seconds later.

October 12th:

We went for a walk.

“Okay, go right,” I instructed as we walked around the neighborhood arm-in-arm. I was on the inside of the sidewalk while he was closer to the street. It seemed like a good idea until we approached a turn and he took a step to the right like I directed and almost got hit by a car.

“No, left. I mean left. Left!” I yelled, pulling him back. He huffed in annoyance.

“Seriously? It should not be this hard!” he exclaimed understandably.

“I get confused!” I defended as we walked down the street and approached another corner.

“The girl with the eyes?” he snapped, pulling away from me. I glared at him, but he was too busy shaking his head. “I can’t believe this shit,” he mumbled. “Which way now?” he asked. I looked in both directions.

“Right?”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” I said confidently, smiling at the street. I jumped when I heard a car beeped, turning to him and see he almost stepped onto the road. “Why did you go left?!”

“I thought you still going opposite!”

“I was right that time!”

“Someone help me. She’s trying to kill me!”

October 17th:

It took two weeks for me to see him cry.

I was looking for a pen in his room when—BOOM! I rushed towards the sound, which led me to the bathroom downstairs. I could hear him cursing as he tried to pick up the items off the ground but they kept falling out of his hand. He only stopped when a razor cut him.

He’s mentioned a few times that my steps were quiet so I’m guessing he didn’t hear that I came down the stairs, which was why my normally composed friend broke down right in front of me.

He hated crying because it was ugly. Snot ran down his face as he sobbed, him banging his fist on the ground; the cries were desperate and tortured. I pressed my back against the wall outside the bathroom, flinching at the sound. I didn’t say a word as I stared at the wall in front of me. He couldn’t see me but it felt wrong to watch him. It felt worse not saying anything.

I peeked into the bathroom again when he quieted down. He was still crying but his hands hid his face as I crept back upstairs to his room. I waited fifteen minutes before I went back downstairs, walking as loudly as I could and clutching the pen like my life depended on it. I found him on the couch in the living room.

“Hey,” I called. “I heard a crash. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…dropped some stuff in the bathroom,” he said tiredly as I sat down next to him.

“Okay. Well, do you want to study some more or…”

“Let’s just take a break for now,” he mumbled. 

“Okay. I’ll see what’s on TV,” I said breezily. The words felt insensitive but he didn’t seem to care. He just nodded as he rested his head on my shoulder. I didn’t look at him until he was asleep, his head drifting from my shoulder to the crook of my neck. I bit my lip as I wrapped my arm around him, holding him tight to me. I made sure to be as quiet as I could as I felt the tears fall out of my eyes.

That was the day I stopped lying to myself. I couldn’t pretend any longer that everything was alright, and I didn’t know what that meant anymore.

October 20th:

“Do you want an orange? My mom didn’t go shopping and that’s all that left in the fridge,” he told me.

“You know she doesn’t go shopping unless it’s empty and that I hate oranges,” I reminded him.

“You say you hate oranges but, in reality, you actually don’t mind them,” he said as he tossed the fruit to me. I caught it and scowled.

“This a tangerine.”

“You are so ungrateful and insensitive,” he said sarcastically. I laughed because he expected me to. He sat down beside me and reached out to me. I met him halfway. He grabbed my wrist and moved it towards my face. “Now, eat. You’re less grumpy that way.” He seemed to squint at me. “What’s wrong with you anyway?”

“Projects suck,” I told him. I looked down at my laptop. Information on eye injuries filled the web browser but I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him that I was afraid he wouldn’t be okay.

October 27th:

I sat on the bench on the edge of the park near his house. He only had to walk three blocks, so he wouldn’t need my help today. If nothing else, the shrieks of kids would lead him here somehow someway. He was getting better at going places by himself, which should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. The idea of him getting used to his injury was complicated. Yes, practically it made sense, but it also meant the end of a lot of things for him and it made my heart hurt.

It was a grey, fall day. The leaves brown and golden, half on the ground, enough to pile up and jump in, while the rest clung to the trees. These were my favorite days of fall. I also wore my favorite jacket and boots along with my favorite scarf. Yet, I sighed as I rested my chin on my hand. It was my favorite type of day but too many things weighed on my mind for me to enjoy it.

“I hope it’s the right person because it would be really awkward if I was talking to a complete stranger,” he said as he sat down beside me, taking off his shades.

“It’s me,” I said blandly. He raised an eyebrow.

“You seemed to have misplaced your morbid sense of humor,” he said as he sat back.

“For once, I’m kind of glad I did,” I said. He turned to me expectantly. “I’ve been joking this whole time from the very beginning but the harsh truth is that I could’ve lost you. And I would rather crack a cruel joke before admitting that or even thinking about admitting it. God, why am I such a jerk?”

He stayed silent for a long time before reached out towards me. His hand landed on my shoulder and he reached up, making sure my face was my face, before patting it quickly. It wasn’t hard but I could tell it was a proverbial slap to the face.

“You are too sentimental for your own good,” he said. “I’m glad you of all people reacted the way you did. Because I’ll take a cruel, sick but normal joke over tears, like my mom, or awkward silences, like my dad. Or obvious questions, like everybody else. I know you, okay? So, when you sit at my house all afternoon and make me suffer through Mean Girls even when I’m blind, I get it. You care.” He gave me a knowing smile. “You watched the Fault In Our Stars again, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t help it. It was just sitting on my shelf asking to be watched. ‘Pain demands to be felt!’”

“Please for the love of God stop quoting the book.”

“’Dying sucks.’”

“True, but everybody already knows that,” he said as he placed an arm around my shoulders. “Either way, can we please go get a burger at that place where you get your disgusting cinnamon shake before I decide to go back home? I have very good news.”

“The correct word is ‘anyway’ and you made this a tradition, not me. You order that disgusting pumpkin cider,” I argued. “And what’s the good news?”

“I’m not telling you until I get my cider. Just because you’re too foolish to enjoy it does not make it any less delicious. Now follow me, peasant. We shall seek the promise land!” he exclaimed, placing his hands on his hips for emphasis. I rolled my eyes while laughing. I stood up and we started walking and talking about things we would forget about later. Just like old times.

October 31st:

“The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.”

— Eeyore, Winnie The Pooh