Page 25 of Sight Unseen

“Well, it didn’t work, did it?” I growled. I wiped my nose and threw the tissue down to the floor. Another tissue was pressed into my hand.

“Put your head forward. I’ll go get some stronger toilet tissue and wet it. That should help. Don’t move.”

Suzanne’s feet shuffled down the corridor, probably toward a bathroom somewhere. In an idle moment of clarity, I knew she was wearing sneakers. I’d learned to hear the difference between people’s feet. Jon in his designer boots; Cody’s flip-flops or combat boots. Everyone had a different footfall. I wondered dully whether this was my life, identifying people by their footwear. Maybe I should join a circus.

I stood there as angry desolation crept into me with insidious sly fingers.

Fuck, what the hell am I thinking? I can’t do this. Be like this. I’m never going to be able to manage on my own.

Suzanne padded back toward me. “Here, lean forward,” she instructed quietly. “This should help.”

Something cold and wet was pressed to the bridge of my nose and we waited in silence for the faucet that was my nose to stop gushing.

“It’s a glitch, Nate,” Suzanne said softly as her nimble fingers pinched my nose shut. “You’ve done so well so far. Don’t let this one little thing upset you.”

I grunted, not able to speak. What the hell did she know?

I can’t even stop a nosebleed without help. How the hell am I going to manage anything else?

When my nose finally stopped bleeding, we called it a day and Suzanne took me home to shower. I at least calmed down enough to get my coffee and sandwich.

By the time Cody came by that evening, my mood had improved. I basked in his concern about my swollen nose and snarled in mock anger at his jokes about looking like a prizefighter down on my luck. We listened to audiobooks of Clive Cussler and drank beer until it was time for him to leave.

Jon didn’t even come home that night, citing an over-running photo shoot schedule as an excuse.

I was too tired, depressed and sore to give a damn. I wasn’t even sure what we had could be called a relationship anymore. I’d kept up the pretense to the outside world that everything was fine, when in reality it was anything but. We hadn’t touched each other since that one shower.

I craved the intimacy of the old days, feeling a man’s body touch mine, and a hungry, wet mouth finding my lips, sending me into a thrall of passion and heat. All that was gone now, leaving a sexual wasteland. While what I’d had with Jon hadn’t been my life’s dream, we had been comfortable, and he was familiar.

Now, we hardly spoke; and when we did it was perfunctory, asking each other how our day had been, please pass the butter, do you want another glass of wine. It was conversation that was so mundane as to be worthless.

Jon had landed himself a new modeling campaign, which necessitated him being late often and away more than ever. When he was home, we’d lie in bed and I knew the man next to me was now a stranger.

I cursed the person driving the car that hit me then fled. The police still hadn’t found the culprit. I didn’t think they ever would. Sometimes I’d sit in solitude and wonder what they were doing now—if their lives had changed drastically as mine had. Pondering their fate had become a preoccupation I shouldn’t have dwelled on, but one I couldn’t help.

Too much introspection damaged my fragile psyche, and I tried not to give in to it too much. But damn, it was tough.

***

Despite my meltdown at the empty office building, I became better at learning how to use a cane. Apparently the secret was to let it become an extension of your arm. I was improving every day and Suzanne said I had a natural ability for it.

I’d always had a special sense of touch and feel, and the cane work had turned out to be an exercise in dexterity, remembering how to sweep and walk.

Suzanne preferred to teach her students with a normal cane to start with. She likened it to learning to drive a car with a stick first instead of an automatic.

Getting to know the terrain and movements on your own with no special help was critical in becoming independent. You were all you had when things got tough.

However, I’d now purchased a cane equipped with sensors, which made a difference to my mobility and freedom, and I was glad I’d bought it.

We’d had a few upsets of course, because nothing went smoothly all the time. I had tripped a few times, and had not listened to Suzanne on occasion and forged ahead again in misplaced confidence. Once I’d hit some poor old dear with my cane as I waved it around in frustration. Suzanne had placated her and I’d mumbled a terse apology. It hadn’t been one of my better days.

I’d also bought a new phone, one that better met my needs and would enable the Braille keyboard later when I was more proficient.

Speaking of which…I scowled as my tired fingers ran over the teaching Braille flash cards once again.

Suzanne’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Nate, have you finished your homework?” The emphasis on homework was tinged with amusement at the fact I’d complained I felt like a damn schoolchild during what Suzanne called “session time.”

I shook my head mulishly and moved my chair back from the dining table, stretching my legs. “No. My fingertips are tired, my head aches, and I wasn’t much of a reader anyway so I don’t really see why I need to learn this stupid dotty stuff.”