“Oh! You sure have. Let me get my goodie bag. I’ll be right over.”
My knees nearly buckle from relief, but I somehow manage to keep myself steady.
The wait feels like forever, and I can feel the blood soaking through the cloth. Not good.
Eventually, I hear the huffing of breath and footsteps. I know she’s taking the steps two at a time because there are eight steps and I count four footfalls.
“Let’s see what we can do. Come over here and sit down.”
I shuffle over to the chairs, waiting for her to comment on the fact that I’m blind or the scars on my face that I feel every morning when I shower, but she doesn’t. It feels…good. But the relief is short-lived, and I wonder when the judgment will come.
There’s a lot of sounds and fuss, but eventually she says. “I’m Hattie, by the way.”
“Oh, sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. Violet,” I say, holding out my good arm for her to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Violet. What in God’s name happened?”
The question isn’t unexpected, but the devastation, frustration, and shame increasing tenfold with the question hits me like a punch to the throat. And that’s when the floodgates open. My chest tightens. My lip wobbles. The sob builds like a symphony in my chest, up to my throat, where it lodges painfully before spilling out in a broken harmony that could only be described as a cat in heat.
“Oh, honey. Come here.”
She wraps an arm around me, and I cling to this person I have never met before as if we’re alone on this planet, and she’s the only one who can save me. My body sags into the comfort.
Eventually, she pulls away, and I go to give her arm a squeeze and find nothing there. Surprise has the words ripping from my throat. “You only have one arm?”
She laughs. “Very perceptive of you.”
The heat spreads up my face in a violent rush, and I slap my free hand over my useless eyes.
Oh my god, Violet. Really?
I cannot believe I just blurted that out. Here I am, being grateful she isn’t making a fuss over my eyes, and I go and vomit the obvious like I’m being tortured for the nuclear codes.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That was terribly rude.”
“Pfft, I’m used to it.”
“How? How do you ever get used to it?” My words are a whisper, and yet she still hears them.
“I tell you what, let’s get your hand patched up, then you can make me some tea while I bore you with my journey to acceptance.”
She’s so refreshing that a laugh bursts out of me. “Deal.”
Meemaw is everything and more, but apart from that party she had for me, she’s been tiptoeing around my disability as if I’m a leper and not blind. It’s like she’s scared that speaking about it will jinx whatever nonexistent chance there is that I’ll get my sight back. Likeblindis a dirty word.
Thanks to Hattie, for the first time today, I feel like I can finally breathe as warmth settles beneath my ribs.
“Okay, you’re going to need stitches.”
“Please, no hospitals.”
“Who said anything about going to a hospital?”
“You?” I draw out the word. “You said I needed stitches.”
“Yeah, and I’m a doctor. Technically, I’m a vet, but hey, same thing.”
I’m silent. What’s left of my eyebrows shoot right up to my hairline.
