Adrenaline spikes, and my heart just about hops out my chest. My fingers won’t stop shaking.
I drop to my hands and knees, and here’s where I make a mistake. I don’t think about not being able to see, it’s just instinct. I reach out to find my phone and press my hand straight down onto a piece of jagged glass. A gasp erupts from my mouth. Pain explodes down my arm, and nausea sweeps over me in pinpricks of heat.
Holy Heathcliff, that hurts like balls.
Ever felt pain so bad that it hits you in the teeth?
Warm, sticky liquid drips from my palm onto my fingers and bare legs as a metallic scent fills my nose.
It’s true what they say about your senses being heightened when you lose one, because damn, I swear I can hear the pain. I’ve never been great with blood, so my stomach turns, and my head feels woozy. I cannot pass out here. Not on the kitchen floor. Not while I’m losing so much blood. Not with all the glass.
“Stay awake, Violet. Stay awake.” Oh man, I cannot be sick right now. I literally can’t think of anything worse than having to clean up vomit when I can’t see if I got it all.
“Okay, Violet, you need to get your bearings.” Ever since the accident, I’ve gotten into the habit of talking to myself.
Judging from where I was and how I turned when I went to pick up my phone, I know if I turn to about nine o’clock, I should be facing the stove and can grab the dish towel hanging there. “Please be right. Please be right.”
I do that and—BINGO. Thank you, universe, or fuck you—whichever comes first.
I sweep the floor with my slippered feet, trying to find my phone, but when I nearly slip on some blood, I realize there’s no time to fuck around. I need help.
Frustration hits me like a tanker coming into dock, and I’m the dock.
I lift my pajama top to my mouth and scream into the fabric. The sound scrapes up my throat and burns its way out. The scream comes from deep in my belly, but it doesn’t ease my frustration. It feels like it’s growing, hot, angry, restless in the pit of my stomach. Like it’s an actual entity. Fuck…This…Shit!
How many steps was it from the kitchen to the porch?
I’m so furious that I take my chances. Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?
That’s another thing. When you can’t see, you can’t storm off. You’ll end up with a cut-out of your body in a door or wall like inThe Looney Tunes.
So, I slowly make my way to the door, wishing I had my cane handy. That’ll teach me for thinking I’d be better off learning my new environment without the cane. But I was told I should try to get on without it in the house.
“The sooner you get used to the broken bones from all the accidents, the better.”
Okay, no oneactuallysaid that, but they might as well have.
Damn, I’m salty.
When I reach the porch, the sunlight hits my face. It’s like this every time I come outside. Most days I relish it, but today is not one of those days.
“Hello! Is anyone there?”
This’ll teach me to ignore Meemaw’s advice about getting to know my neighbors. I didn’t want to know them. I just wanted to be left alone and not have anyone pity me.
“Hello!”
What if no one’s here? What if I bleed out? What if there are wolves out here that can smell the blood?
All right, my imagination is really starting to get out of control. Sight: Zero. Imagination: Ten.
“Hey, can I help you?”
The voice is young and energetic. Maybe my age, maybe younger. Energetic. My savior.
“I… I’ve had an accident.” My throat tightens as shame overtakes me with my admission.
I lift my arm to show the woman.Please don’t let her be blind. Please don’t let her be blind.
