Quoth nodded. He understood that better than anyone. Nothing in Quoth’s life had been defined. While Morrie and Heathcliff at least had memories from their book lives to turn to, Quoth had nothing but trochaic octameter, which was the least useful of all the poetic meters.
Quoth’s hand gripped mine as we made our way to the ophthalmologist’s clinic. A chirpy nurse behind the desk gave me a form to fill out and told me to take a seat. I scribbled some nonsense of the form and flipped through a fashion magazine while we waited for my name to be called. Marcus Ribald’s latest collection splashed across the cover. Seeing it felt weird, like another lifetime.
I tugged at the hem of the oversized Misfits shirt I’d made into a bodycon dress. After meeting the guys and learning about the book trade and solving two murders, I hadn’t thought about fashion in over a month.
“Mina Wilde, Dr. Clements will see you now.”
I stood up, steadying myself against the wall as my legs shook. Quoth rose too, turning toward me. He slipped his hand in mine and flashed me a beautiful, sad smile. I drew strength from his gentle kindness and forced my feet to move forward. We shuffled into a bright corner office overlooking the parking lot and a public garden beyond. The walls were covered with old black-and-white movie posters and vintage LPs. In the corner stood a black birdcage, where a cockatoo hopped along a perch.
Beside me, Quoth stiffened. I glanced at him in concern. Would he be able to remain in human form with another bird so close by? His jaw set hard. He gave a slight nod of his head and shuffled closer to me.
Dr. Clements stood to greet me. She was younger than I expected, with a friendly smile and head of layered red hair shot with bright pink streaks. I liked her immediately.
“Hello, Wilhelmina.”
“It’s Mina.” I pointed to a poster from the 1933Draculafilm that hung on the wall behind her. “Like Mina Harker. And this is my friend, Quoth. His parents were goths.”
“Mina and Quoth, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” She patted the chair beside her. “Have a seat. I’ve read your files from your New York specialist. It looks as though you’ve had all the usual diagnostic tests. I’m assuming you wanted to see me because there’s been some change in your vision.”
I squeezed Quoth’s hand. “I’m seeing these explosions of light,” I said. My voice sounded odd, hollow, as though I was listening to it from far away. I detached myself from the words I spoke, my consciousness to hovering above my body, so I looked over my own shoulder while I described my vision. It felt surreal, as though I spoke about some other person. “They look like fireworks or neon lights. They seem to happen when I’m particularly emotional or… or…”
In the middle of sex with one or more of my three fictional boyfriends,but I couldn’t exactly say that.
“Did Dr. Phillips explain to you about the typical stages of your type of RP?”
“A little bit.” Behind Dr. Clements, the cockatoo pecked at its feeder, squawking as it drew out a berry. Quoth’s fingers tightened against mine, but he remained still and human beside me.
“Your retina is a layer of light-sensitive tissue lining the back of your eye – they convert light into electrical signals that make their way to the brain, giving you an image. As the cells in the retina deteriorate, your brain attempts to create its own image to explain why it’s not getting signals any longer. That’s what you’re seeing.”
“Dr. Phillips explained that I might see lights or random shapes in the future, but he said it wouldn’t be for years.”
“That’s correct. I’d like to take a look at your eyes today, and we might be able to get a better idea of the rate of deterioration.” Dr. Clements wheeled over a diagnostic machine and took me through a series of tests. I studied graphs and arranged colors and looked at blinking lights. Quoth held my hand the entire time.
Back at her desk, Dr. Clements opened a drawer and offered me a Cadbury chocolate bar. I accepted it, peeling back the wrapper and shoving half the bar into my mouth. I offered the rest to Quoth, but he shook his head. While I chewed, Dr. Clements studied the screen. “I’m just looking at your results, Mina. What I’m seeing shows that the rate of deterioration on the retina has increased faster than Dr. Phillips predicted. This isn’t uncommon, as the deterioration can slow down or speed up during any stage, and we don’t know what triggers these changes.”
I nodded, my mouth too full of chocolate to speak. Chew, chew, chew. My stomach churned in knots.
“From this point, it’s very hard to give you an exact timeline. Every person is different. But you are progressing more rapidly than we’d usually expect.”
I swallowed, the chocolate sinking to my stomach like a stone. “Can you take a stab at a timeline? How long before I go completely blind?”
“With your particular strain of RP, you may never go completely blind,” she said. “I’ve seen many patients who’ve retained some central vision. You will almost certainly retain light sensitivity. But I think over the next eighteen months you could expect your peripheral vision to recede further and you’ll see more of these fireworks.”
Eighteen months.
Numbness shot through my body. My temples screamed, as though my head had been dunked in ice water. Quoth’s hand squeezed mine, but I barely registered his touch.
Eighteen months.
The only single bright side in this whole mess was that I wassupposedto have years. ‘At least five years’, Dr. Philip had said. Five years to deal with the trauma and come to terms with being blind and learn how to read Braille and find a pair of dark sunglasses that suited my face and whatever else I had to do.
Now even that had been taken away from me.Eighteen months.Icy panic gripped my chest. What was I going to do? I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have a plan. I was hanging out in a bookshop and fooling around with three guys and getting mixed up in murders and meeting Lydia Bennet. In eighteen months time, I wouldn’t even be able to readPride and Prejudice, let alone sell it to a customer. How will I count money for the till? How will I list books on The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named?
How will I see the iridescent colors in Quoth’s hair as it captures the light, or know when his feelings change because of the orange fire dancing in his eyes? How will I continue to learn chess so I can kick Morrie’s smug arse? How will my whole body shudder with ecstasy when Heathcliff locks his gaze on mine?
Quoth winced. I stared down at my lap, noticing with an odd detachment that I’d crushed his fingers so much the tips were turning white.
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Clements’ leaned across her desk, her eyes wide and open and sad. “It’s the worst part of my job, telling people shitty news, especially patients as young and with as good a taste in music and movies as you. I’m glad you have a friend here to support you. I don’t want to give you platitudes while you digest this news, but I think it’s important you know that all my patients diagnosed around your age go on to live full and happy lives. Every single one. RP does not have to hold you back.”
