Page 137 of We Drank the Dawn

And how grounded it felt.

After months and months of barely surviving, I felt so alive.

Maybe that change had gradually crescendoed but I didn’t realize until I hit the apex—Wren running into the road—or maybe she woke me up somehow. Whatever it was, something had happened in me.

Before I knew it, we were heading to the park and I was pushing Wren on the swing. While life carried on, I got stuck.

Wren running. Me running.

I kept reliving it, marveling over one particular thing.

It was a sightless memory.

That might not have seemed ground-breaking to anyone else, but it tilted my entire world. For so long I had tried to anchor my sightless experiences in imaginations of what could be around me—constantly exhausted with visualizing everything so I didn’t feel lost.

But that didn’t happen with Wren.

She ran. Then I ran.

Pushing Wren on the swing, I cycled back, trying to imagine what her wailing might’ve looked like. What the vehicle behind us looked like. What Bea’s face looked like as she held her baby. What the flower bed in the median looked like.

But I couldn’t conjure anything up. There was nothing.

No, that wasn’t right. There wasn’t nothing. There was a lot, and that’s why I couldn’t stop reliving it. It was my first sightless experience that didn’t feel like a half-moment or a fuzzy dream. Even in the inky blackness, there was sensation, space, and audio. The way Wren’s open crying mouth pressed into my chest and her terrified fingers wound through my shirt, pulling it tight across my body. The way she stretched, lengthening as she reached for Bea. The mulch grinding into my hands and the warm concrete striking my knees. The way the bushes dragged over my face and neck as we fell into them. Hollie’s hand on my back as she helped us up.

I could go on forever.

There was so much. All of it sharp, a dialed-in lens.

Even as we meandered around the park, I tried to visualize the sky above me, the playground equipment, my nieces and sisters, even Cooper. But the images brought to mind were dull. Boring replacements for real experience.

The crazy part? I wasn’t mad about it.

Because the breeze tugged at my shirt. And the scent of pine chips on the playground reminded me of the horse stalls. And my sisters’ laughter as they came off the adrenaline high made me laugh too. And Wren’s sticky hand kept wrapping around my index finger, yanking me from place to place. And I knew where everyone was. And I heard their voices. And I knew a bird moved from a nearby tree to the top of the playground equipment just a few feet away—it’s song pouring over us. And I felt gravitational force as Cooper spun all of us—adults included—on the old fashioned merry-go-round. And I felt my body, present in every second.

Every moment was so full.

Back at the ranch, we roasted hot dogs over the fire for dinner then carved pumpkins. I didn’t carve my own, but I helped my nieces gut theirs, pulling out the long sticky pulp that smelled a little like crushed leaves until the walls of the pumpkins were dry and bare. Then I sorted a thousand seeds out of the mess, plopping them in a bowl for Bea. Hollie and Cooper helped and we laughed together like the oldest of friends.

Then salty pumpkin seeds, fresh from the oven, popped in our mouths while the kids sorted their candy on the front porch. The night air nipped my bare arms as I swung on the porch swing with Bea tucked against my shoulder. Just when I thought the day couldn’t leave a heavier impression on me, a big pile of candy hit my lap.

Nora’s breathy, excited voice said, “These are for you.”

My fingers came to the pile, noting the uniformity of each piece. Before I could say anything, she explained.

“They’re Twix.”

Remembering we shared a favorite candy, I said, “Ah, Nora, I don’t want to take these from you. They’re your favorite.”

“You have to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you helped Wreny today and this is my thank you. Plus, I worked really hard trading to get all that. So you should be thankful.”

I blinked repeatedly as warmth rose in my eyes. Putting my hand over the gift, I accepted it. “Thank you, Nora.”

Flinging herself at me, her arms came around my neck. “I love you, Uncle Peter.”