Sensations

My hands continued to scale the cold metal of the lockers, cane outstretched in front of me though I doubt I needed it. Seventh period is my physical education class, a class that I just sit out for. I spend my time sitting on the bleachers, listening to the squeaking of brand new running sneakers sliding against the hard wood floor of the gymnasium. I’d take out my trusty laptop and study, but it could so easily break if a loose ball headed my way, something that happens way too often for it to be coincidental. Anyway, my teacher in that class is kind enough to let me go early. Normally, the last five minutes of the class are spent changing back into our regular school clothes and out of the required gym uniforms, but Mister Beyer allows me to leave when everyone is changing so that my trip to my final period could be safe, quick, and easy.

I’m sort of thankful for him allowing me to leave early for journalism. I mean, today’s the first day and I still need to find the quickest route to that classroom, though I know what general direction it’s in.

I felt the coldness of the locker’s leave my fingertips and my hand was momentarily suspended in air. I moved back to the last bit of locker and felt around the wall, smiling when I found one of those little plaques that announces the room number and what teacher’s room it is. My fingers skimmed along the raised plastic, tracing the numbers one, five, and eight. Room number one-hundred and fifty-eight taught by Mrs. Noon. This must be my journalism classroom.

A small smile situated itself on my lips as I slowly leaned my body against the wall right outside of the closed door, folding up my cane and situating it between my left arm and my torso as I waited for my journalism teacher to either or arrive or let out her previous class to the one that I’ll be in. The roughness of the brick walls bit into my back, making me slightly uncomfortable and causing my back to cautiously arch away from the wall, though the back of my head continued to lean against it. I let my head loll back lazily as my waiting commenced, the rustling of students slowly trickling into the hallway around me seconds prior to the annoying bell ringing.

This is the way I liked things, the silence and seclusion that I often experience. I don’t like to be noticed, and for all I know everyone could be staring at me, wondering who the hell the probably awkward looking kid that is leaning against the wall is, but I don’t care, I can’t tell what they’re doing. There’s nothing to see, it’s like I’m in my own little bubble full of darkness and I’m continuously falling, paying no mind to the other people around me unless they force their way into my little bubble. I don’t want to associate myself with people who would look down upon people like me with nothing but pure pity shining in their eyes. I’m not illiterate or mentally ill, I just lack the sensation of sight, and though it’s not the best thing in the world, it heightens my other senses to levels in which they probably wouldn’t comprehend. It’s as if I can hear everything when I’m solely focused on staying in my little bubble, but I choose to ignore the voices and noises that hold no importance to me.

I felt a tiny hand come up to grasp my shoulder, making my body automatically tense as my head slowly swiveled in the direction that the hand came from. I lifted my free hand and slowly took one of the tiny fingers in my own, removing it from my shoulder and letting it drop to the side of whoever’s body it belongs to.

“Oh, um, are you Joshua Lonestar?” I quiet voice asked from the direction I was looking in. The voice was high-pitched but delicate, like that of a young mother, and it floated to my ears, making my head automatically tilt downwards in the direction of where I thought the voice came from. I nodded my head as I felt my brows slowly tilt down in wonder, wanting to know who had to snap me out of my own personal bubble.

“I’m your new teacher,” her voice floated up to me. It held nothing but sincerity and wonder, probably about how I’d want to take such a course when I can’t really write on a lined piece of paper without someone guiding my hand and doing all the work for me.

“Oh,” I muttered, nodding down at her, not knowing what else to say. She sounded like a nice enough woman, possibly one that I’d like as a teacher since most of mine infuriate me since they practically refuse to treat me as an equal to their other students. Okay, I’m blind, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot, yet people who are in charge of giving us our high school educations can’t wrap their thick heads around that simple little fact.

I opened up my cane, putting it on the ground and motioning in the direction of the door for her to lead the way, following the click-clacking of her heels against the tile floor as I walked into what’s bound to be my favorite classroom for the rest of my senior school year. “I hope you don’t take offense to this,” she spoke quietly, “but I’ve arranged for you to have a partner for your class. It’s just so that there’s somewhere there to write everything down with you, observe some things that you may find unobservable, but I won’t be giving you an easy pass. You’d be assigned the same projects, but your requirements would be double what theirs would be since you have two people working together, especially since you and Dayne are said to be my two most passionate writers.”

“I’m not offended,” I muttered as I worked my way throughout the classroom, my hand skimming along the uneven and rough wooden edges of desks. “I don’t enjoy being treated like I’m retarded, but my condition does limit me in some aspects, and I can only thank you for being kind about it instead of writing me off as an idiot and trying to make the class harder for me for the enjoyment of others.”

“You’re welcome,” I heard her say as she walked towards me, taking my wrist gently and guiding me all the way across the room. “This is the only double desk in the class. You’ll be sitting here,” she murmured as people started to trickle into the class, placing my hand on the desk to show its exact location before the sound of her heels tapping against the tiled floor moved away from me and in the direction of her desk, probably around ten feet in front of the area that I’m standing in now.

I paid no mind to the voices that were quickly filling the room and invading my bubble, focusing on trying to figure out where everything was placed in the room and specifically what the immediate desks surrounding mine look like so that I could attempt to move around without being forced to use my cane. Once I figured out the layout, or something close enough to it for the first day, I ran my hand along the smoother service atop the desk instead of the sides, finding the edge of my chair pushed right against the edge of the table. I pulled it out slowly and sat myself down in it, taking out my special laptop and folding up my cane.

My fingers were tangling and untangling themselves continuously as my feet tapped against the floor without any rhythm, my body fidgeting in my seat. Why is it that I finally get into a class that I’ve wanted to get into since I entered high school and I have to be paired up with Dayne of all people? He’s just one of those people who is so easy to despise because he gets through life so easily. It’s not even like he plays any sports, but people fall at his feet and fawn over him like he’s the king of Montgomery High School, which he might as well be. He probably has no idea what obstacles a true challenge can present, his biggest challenge deciding what clothes he should wear in the morning. And even then, he’s going to coast through life being fed off of a silver platter and adored by all because he’s Dayne Greenly, and Dayne Greenly simply can’t do anything wrong or be hated by anyone that matters.

I stiffened when I heard the seat to the left of me, directly connected to the desk that I was currently sitting at, skid across the floor, a slight screech resonating around the room, though it seems that I’m the only one that really heard it since everyone just continued on their merry way as if nothing happened. A soft ‘thud’ and the scratching of denim against plastic came next, then being followed by the thumping of a series of books hitting the floor carelessly, probably his backpack.

I paused, hearing him shift around in his seat to make himself comfortable, waiting for the inevitable greeting to come and I personally believe that it came too soon. “Hey,” his voice rang out coming from my left, prompting me to slowly turn my body towards his to show that I had heard him, nodding my head in my own form of a greeting. I rested my elbow on the table, allowing it to cradle my head as I used my free hand to bounce my fingertips against the hard wood surface of our two person desk. “I’m Dayne Greenly,” he commented. I did my best to ignore the pleasant tone of his voice, like a music piece that only the best of composers could write. It’s just another thing that helps him drive through life without even a miniscule bump in the road. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?” His voice rung out, a tone that clearly said he thought I was being sort of rude.

“Joshua,” I muttered. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten.” Why should I introduce myself to a boy whose name I have known since the first day I stepped into my kindergarten class back in elementary school? Oh yeah, that’s right, because he only cares about the important people and wouldn’t know me. “Joshua Lonestar,” I continued, pretty sure that even the mention of my last name wouldn’t spark any recognition within him.

“Sorry to say that I don’t really remember you,” he said politely, trying not to be rude. Props to him for being a gentleman though I’m practically egging him on. “It’s a big school, but would you mind if I asked a question?”

“Shoot,” I muttered, knowing that I couldn’t really avoid it.

“Did you possibly have a run in with a guy named Greg this morning?” I tensed even more and my blood ran cold at the mention of my tormentor’s name. The miniscule tidbit of hope that I had that I’d be able to somewhat tolerate this boy went out the window. If he associates himself with such a horrid person he’d probably do anything in his power to make me regret taking this class, but I found myself nodding my head cautiously anyway since I couldn’t just ignore him. “Why didn’t you fight back? I mean, he’s an ass and he needs to get his ass handed to him. You’ve got a good four or five inches on him and probably could have taken him. I totally blew up on him this morning because he was being so stupid and proud about such a cruel thing.”

I paused, brows furrowing as his words registered. I’m not a fighter, how could someone that’s blind be a fighter. Is he an imbecile or is he just oblivious to my condition? “I’m blind,” I got out through gritted teeth, knowing that that simple sentence is normally what inevitably leads to people shying away from me and thinking moronic thoughts about me.

“No way!” He said, shifting in his seat excitedly and leaning a bit closer to me, a few loose strands of my hair falling into my eyes as his breath fanned across my forehead. “You can’t be blind, you’ve been staring at me the entire time we’ve been talking! How many fingers am I holding up?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes as I took the hand that was previously tapping against the table and scaled it along the edge till I found his elbow resting on the table, from there I moved my hand blankly in the air, coming in contact with the middle of his chest, making it easier to find his shoulder and to barely skim my fingers along his bare arm till I reached his hand. I spread my fingers and matched mine up to his, noticing how only his index finger and middle finger matched up to mine. “You’re holding up two fingers,” I answered deadpan, inclining my head to the side as I let my hand fall onto my jean clad knee.

“Whoa,” I heard him mutter under his breath, though it probably wasn’t meant for me to hear.

I felt a slight breeze tousle my hair against my forehead suddenly, something completely unexpected since I’ve been in the room for more than a good ten minutes and nothing of the sort has happened yet. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped waving your hand in front of my face,” I muttered, figuring that’s probably the only cause of the surprising wind. It’s been done to me many times in the past yet I still find it to be incredibly irritating.

“Yeah, sorry,” he muttered. “I just wanted to make sure…” he trailed off, shifting in his seat. “I guess it’s true what they say, lose one sense and the other’s get stronger.”

“It is true,” I said, bringing my hand up to move my silky locks back into their original position, barely covering my eyes. I ran my fingers through my hair a few times, making sure there were no knots now, and if there were any, I wanted to comb them out.

“I gotta say that it’s really cool to, like, meet you,” he muttered, a hint of shyness underlying his tone. “Like, I didn’t even know you were blind and shit because you’re so normal and I guess it just must be hard to function, especially with idiots like Greg in the world. So yeah, that’s totally respectable,” he finished off, his voice lowering as he spoke.

I felt my lip quirk up into a smirk as I sat back in my chair since my arm was now getting tired. “You learn to live with it,” I responded.

“I’m all excited to get to work now. We’re gonna own this fucking class,” he said excitedly, probably bouncing in his seat since I could scarcely pick up on a rhythmatic thumping coming from his direction.

“Totally,” I muttered, turning to face the class as the ear-shattering and chill-inducing sound of chalk running across a chalkboard was heard. Mrs. Noon was probably calling the class to attention.

Maybe this entire situation isn’t that bad. I mean, Dayne issomewhat tolerable.