“Are you sure you’re goingto be okay?”Mom had asked.
“Yes. I toldyou. The occupational therapist has already been in the houseto make sure I can maneuver on my own. I’ve been adapting. Slowly but adapting nonetheless.”
Mom wrung her hands as I tried to keep a calm façade. I didn’t want her to know I’m more worried about her than myself. I’ve had a couple of months to try to cope with my new reality. She’ll need a lot longer to handle everything.
“I promise,if I need anything,I’ll call.”
“Maybe call Valif it’s an emergency situation.”
I snorted.“Ifit’s an emergency situation,I’ll call911likeI’m supposed to.”
“Fine. I’ll stop hovering.”
“Idon’t think you’re hovering. But I don’twant you to worry. I’ll be fine.”
I blink back moisture from my eyes.
Yeah, I’m fine. Happy I can’t see like I used to. Can’t play for the Warriors as I used to. Can’t even see the woman I have feelings for. I’m right as rain.
I drop the weights and let out a groan.
This isn’t working. I want to call Val, want to voice text her everything I’m feeling. But she’s at work and probably still processing the bomb I dropped about liking her. Not only that, but she’s got to tiptoe around Hurricane Jackie.
I shake my head. I’m so glad that relationship is a thing of the past. The only way I’ll have any regrets about dating and breaking up with Jackie is if it ruins my chances with Val. A mistake in my youth shouldn’t ruin my future. Though I’m smart enough to know itcanhappen.
Working from memory, I go through shoulder press, chest press, chest fly, and reverse fly. Every move works my muscles like I’m used to. Every automatic rep cycle gives my brain freedom to obsess over the current state of my life.
When I’m ready to hit the shower, I’m mentally drained as much as I’m physically drained. Honestly, that’s just the way I want it. I’m sure when I arrive at the optometrist’s office, the workout endorphins will kick in. Hopefully, they’ll buffer me from any potential bad news the doctor lobs my way.
I request a pickup from Luke and, after downing down a protein shake, head to the lobby floor for my ride. My phone pings as I buckle up, and I put an AirPod in my ear.
“Audio message from Val Elliott. ‘Hey, Jabari, hope your morning is going well. I know you have that appointment today. Just wanted you to know I’m praying. You can call me at any time.’”
My eyes close. This is what I needed. Ever since I told her how I felt, there’s been this niggling worry in the back of my mind that I ruined our friendship. That Val won’t speak to me any longer or be there for me. Though I know that’s wholly selfish, I can’t help the overwhelming relief of knowing she’s not icing me out.
I think of the words to reply to her.
“You never cease to amaze me. How do you always know the right things to say?” I pause. Do I want to ask about Jackie? Fran? Nah. I’ll save that for the next time I see her in person.
“If I don’t call you after the appointment, it’s only because I’m taking a page out of your book and processing. Not sure I’ll be pleasant company.”
As much as I want to receive good news, I have no hope that I will.
A minute later, I get a reply.
“No one’s asking you to be pleasant. You’ve had a momentous shift in your life. Whatever you do, be honest about your feelings and allow yourself to process them. Bottling them up does you or anyone else no good. Ask me how I know.”
I can’t imagine Val exploding at someone, but I can imagine her harboring every single feeling in a secret compartment that she doesn’t open to anyone.
Does she share them with God? Is that something someone does? And when she says she’s processing, is she processing them with God?
Suddenly I want to know everything about her. How she thinks. How she believes. How she’s so kind. Val’s one of a kind and may even be more fascinating to me than hockey. And that’s saying a lot.
When Luke pulls up to the office building, my stomach swoops low in my gut. I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round and need to take an anti-nausea pill to keep from losing everything in my stomach. I’d much rather the chill feeling of riding a Zamboni.
There’s an aide waiting for me at the reception office who guides me back to the eye clinic. They take a retinal scan of my eye. ThenI do the standard eye test. With each answer, my unease grows. As the doctor works up a prescription for me, my dread continues. I can’t say why my insides sense impending doom, but they do.
Finally, after studying my eyes, the optometrist speaks. “Mr. Hall, I’m afraid at this point, you’re considered legally blind. Based on the results of your tests, we’ll want to get you some sunglasses specifically for your disease. Also some yellow-tinted glasses to help you distinguish between textures. It’ll help you navigate stairs and other things easier.”
