Status: Completed! :O Sequal yet to come!
Blinded
You're Going to Run into the Fireplace
The first thing I noticed once I stepped out of the airport and into my Aunt’s ancient, squeaking, clanking, rust-bucket: it was wet. Rain was already pouring over our heads and it was loud in my ears. However my hair looked today - total guess work on my part - was no longer a worry to me since it was soaked and clinging to my neck and forehead. I did not mind the rain that much; in fact, I actually rather enjoyed it. I don’t doubt, however, that my likeness of the mixture of hydrogen and oxygen falling from the sky was going to disappear when Uncle Steve reminded me that it is like this in Forks almost every single day. He also mentioned the skies would be grey and bleak, but that did not really concern me too much.
I strapped myself into the backseat and heard the purr of the engine. Actually, purr is putting it lightly: it roared - growled like an angry lion. It startled me and I felt the car jolt forward, the car moving, and I took a deep breath. Time to see my new home - in metaphorical terms, of course.
“We have your room set up already,” Aunt Cara told me, her Italian accent hard to miss in her sweet, feminine voice. “When you were five, I remember you telling me your favorite color was red, so we made your room red, black, and white.”
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say to that.
“I know it doesn‘t matter that much to you, but I figured you would want your room to look presentable,” she explained.
“Yeah, it sounds nice,” I told her. “How big is it?”
“I doubt you‘ll remember, seeing as it was eleven years ago since you were here last, but it was that guest bedroom down the hall from our master bedroom.” I stayed silent. “You don‘t remember, do you?”
“I . . .” I was trying to think back and could barely remember it, but what I could remember is that it was empty, white, and fairly large, but what a five-year-old sees as huge could be a moderate sized room for a teenager. “It was white and empty, I remember that. And to my small self, it looked big. I am guessing it will be a good medium.”
She was silent. “Oh sorry, I‘m nodding,” she explained.
I shrugged. “And I‘m shrugging.”
Uncle Steve chuckled softly. “We even got a new bed for your dog, Romeo, right?” I nodded. I didn’t have to announce that to him, though. “It matches the rest of your room. We got food and water bowls as well as food. We didn‘t know if you had toys for him, so we got some ourselves.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Beh, certo. Voi siege la nostra famiglia e ci prendiamo cura l‘un l‘altro,” Cara replied in Italian. She simply said that I was family and they never leave family behind. I smiled and listened to the sound of the rain outside my window.
I usually ask someone to describe our surroundings if it is someplace new but on the car ride to my new home I just listened to my Uncle explain what school I was going to, the neighborhood, and our neighbors. Apparently everyone knew everyone in this small town, so he warned me that neighbors close and far would be coming to welcome us. He also warned me that kids in school would know who I am before I even know them.
Luckily I would at least know someone in the school I'm going to: my cousin Angela Weber. She was not Cara’s and Steve’s daughter but the daughter of my other Aunt and Uncle living here. For some reason the Cappola family is resigned in either Verona or Forks. I have no idea why, but I do know that I was born in the hospital here. I lived here until I was five. In the Cappola family you either lived here in Washington or in Italy, no other places. It seemed to work out for my family so I shrugged at the thought.
The drive wasn’t too long and on our way through the town Aunt Cara described it to me: Small, people wearing coats and carrying umbrellas, people coming in and out of little shops. There was a restaurant that supposedly had the best fruit cobbler ever and Uncle Steve promised to take me there after my first day of school to try one. I loved fruit, so I held him to that promise.
We made it to my new house and I felt the car stop moving. I heard the engine turn off and I hadn’t realized how loud the thing was when it was eerily silent after it turned off. I assumed the rain had stopped due to the fact that there was no more sound of rain. I opened the car door and felt the light drizzle, almost like a mist, hit my arms and face.
When I stepped out I felt rocks crunching under my feet. I remembered that they had a gravel drive way, the surrounding area dirt, if I do recall. Even if I do barely remember the house, I still stayed close to the rusty car. I didn’t know the surroundings too well so for all I know I could run into the side of the house, fall into a bush, or something along the lines of running into something.
“Um, Aunt Cara?” I asked, a sudden awkwardness tainting the air.
“Hm?”
“Could you, um . . . ?” I reached out my hand, asking for help. I never liked doing it, but since this was a new place, I was dependent on someone else to help me. I was the type of person who, despite my disability, wanted to fend for herself and ask no one for help. It always worked up until the point I would run into a wall, a pole, another person, or simply go in the wrong direction walking into the, oh I don’t know, boys bathroom when all I wanted to do was go into the girls restroom.
“Of course, come on,” she said, the sweetness in her voice clear, and I felt her hand grab hold of my own. It was cold, soft, and if felt the slight tickle of long nails against my skin. I wondered if they were fake or real and if they were painted any certain color.
I heard the rocks shift around underneath my feet and, when we reached the end of the driveway, I heard the slight squishing of mud and a few leaves being kicked. Some must have hit my ankles because I felt something wet hit them and stick there for a few seconds before falling off. Way to wear kapris and flats to a wet and dirty place, Mariabella.
“There‘s a step,” Aunt Cara warned me. I heard her feet scrape against something and the ever-so quiet creaking of wood. They were wooden steps. I followed behind, taking my time, hearing the creak of the step when I stepped onto it. I reached out to my left to see if there was railing and, to my surprise, there was, and it was really close. I let go of Cara’s hand to reach to my right and there was another railing that too was close. Must have been a small section of stairs.
”Be careful, the door is right at the top, right here,” Steve said, and I heard the squeak of a door opening. The wind from it hit my face. Then a second door opened, but it wasn’t squeaking. I just heard the turning of a knob on the second door. The first door must have been a screen door. I felt it and my guess was confirmed when I felt the mesh beneath my fingers.
“All right, come on in, Mariabella,” Cara said, grabbing my hand once again and pulling me forward. “Welcome home.”
I smelled apples and, after hearing a few footsteps and shuffling around, the smell of cinnamon. I heard a match being lit, so I assumed it was a candle. I reached over to my right to feel a wall and a couple picture frames. To my left there was nothing, so I walked over slowly, my hand extended. I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped, not expecting there to be one.
“You‘re going to run into the brick fireplace,” Steve told me. I huffed. “How about we give you a tour and you can become familiar with your surroundings that way. It‘ll be less hazardous, okay?” I huffed again.
“It‘s a new place, Mariabella. You still have to get used to it,” Cara added. She knew me well enough to know exactly why I was huffing and puffing.
During the tour I made a mental note of everything: where it is, how one place connects with another. The living room was adjacent to the kitchen, no wall separating them. The counter was parallel to the couch, and there was a good amount of walking space in between. There were stools, so I made sure to keep my hand extended whenever I walk over in that general direction so I would not run into the stools or the counter. Going past that counter were all the kitchen appliances, and past it was the hall that led to a small guest room that they used as a private sitting room for reading, going on the computer, and for my Aunt, painting. Next to that room was the restroom.
From the door there was a straight path to the dining room, a small slab of wall with a rectangular hole - not like an accidental hole - that a vase filled with flowers sat upon. The table was small, but it would fit all of us. There were glass double-doors that led to the backyard that I was to investigate later.
The stairs were next to the kitchen and I counted about 16 steps, the 16th step being the stairs end. There was a short hall and at one end, just to the right of the stairs, was the master bedroom. From the left of the master there was a short hall leading to the restroom. Going back up that hall to the door of the master, going back to the other end of the hall was my bedroom, and the loft/office in between.
Last was my room, and I was already filled to the max with remembering where everything is. I already forgot how many steps there were on the stairs, and that was my biggest fear. I have fallen down the stairs enough times to create a healthy fear of stairs.
In short, my room had enough space in between everything so I wouldn’t run into things. My bed was up against the back wall in the middle and to the left, coming in from the door, was a window that took up most of the wall. I had a book shelf, catty-cornered, that I would use for CDs since I have more CDs than books. Some CDs were audio books. I guess the book shelf was, in a way, used for its real purpose of holding books, if they weren’t exactly the paper back or hard cover books.
“Go ahead and settle in,” Cara told me, putting her hand on my arm. “I‘ll get your bags and you can put some clothes away, okay?” I nodded, feeling around for my bed - which was very silky soft - and took a seat. I felt something soft touch my forehead and I realized she was kissing my forehead. “I‘ll have dinner ready soon. I‘m making your favorite: Tiela.”
“Oh, that sounds heavenly,” I commented, clutching my now growling stomach.
I strapped myself into the backseat and heard the purr of the engine. Actually, purr is putting it lightly: it roared - growled like an angry lion. It startled me and I felt the car jolt forward, the car moving, and I took a deep breath. Time to see my new home - in metaphorical terms, of course.
“We have your room set up already,” Aunt Cara told me, her Italian accent hard to miss in her sweet, feminine voice. “When you were five, I remember you telling me your favorite color was red, so we made your room red, black, and white.”
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say to that.
“I know it doesn‘t matter that much to you, but I figured you would want your room to look presentable,” she explained.
“Yeah, it sounds nice,” I told her. “How big is it?”
“I doubt you‘ll remember, seeing as it was eleven years ago since you were here last, but it was that guest bedroom down the hall from our master bedroom.” I stayed silent. “You don‘t remember, do you?”
“I . . .” I was trying to think back and could barely remember it, but what I could remember is that it was empty, white, and fairly large, but what a five-year-old sees as huge could be a moderate sized room for a teenager. “It was white and empty, I remember that. And to my small self, it looked big. I am guessing it will be a good medium.”
She was silent. “Oh sorry, I‘m nodding,” she explained.
I shrugged. “And I‘m shrugging.”
Uncle Steve chuckled softly. “We even got a new bed for your dog, Romeo, right?” I nodded. I didn’t have to announce that to him, though. “It matches the rest of your room. We got food and water bowls as well as food. We didn‘t know if you had toys for him, so we got some ourselves.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Beh, certo. Voi siege la nostra famiglia e ci prendiamo cura l‘un l‘altro,” Cara replied in Italian. She simply said that I was family and they never leave family behind. I smiled and listened to the sound of the rain outside my window.
I usually ask someone to describe our surroundings if it is someplace new but on the car ride to my new home I just listened to my Uncle explain what school I was going to, the neighborhood, and our neighbors. Apparently everyone knew everyone in this small town, so he warned me that neighbors close and far would be coming to welcome us. He also warned me that kids in school would know who I am before I even know them.
Luckily I would at least know someone in the school I'm going to: my cousin Angela Weber. She was not Cara’s and Steve’s daughter but the daughter of my other Aunt and Uncle living here. For some reason the Cappola family is resigned in either Verona or Forks. I have no idea why, but I do know that I was born in the hospital here. I lived here until I was five. In the Cappola family you either lived here in Washington or in Italy, no other places. It seemed to work out for my family so I shrugged at the thought.
The drive wasn’t too long and on our way through the town Aunt Cara described it to me: Small, people wearing coats and carrying umbrellas, people coming in and out of little shops. There was a restaurant that supposedly had the best fruit cobbler ever and Uncle Steve promised to take me there after my first day of school to try one. I loved fruit, so I held him to that promise.
We made it to my new house and I felt the car stop moving. I heard the engine turn off and I hadn’t realized how loud the thing was when it was eerily silent after it turned off. I assumed the rain had stopped due to the fact that there was no more sound of rain. I opened the car door and felt the light drizzle, almost like a mist, hit my arms and face.
When I stepped out I felt rocks crunching under my feet. I remembered that they had a gravel drive way, the surrounding area dirt, if I do recall. Even if I do barely remember the house, I still stayed close to the rusty car. I didn’t know the surroundings too well so for all I know I could run into the side of the house, fall into a bush, or something along the lines of running into something.
“Um, Aunt Cara?” I asked, a sudden awkwardness tainting the air.
“Hm?”
“Could you, um . . . ?” I reached out my hand, asking for help. I never liked doing it, but since this was a new place, I was dependent on someone else to help me. I was the type of person who, despite my disability, wanted to fend for herself and ask no one for help. It always worked up until the point I would run into a wall, a pole, another person, or simply go in the wrong direction walking into the, oh I don’t know, boys bathroom when all I wanted to do was go into the girls restroom.
“Of course, come on,” she said, the sweetness in her voice clear, and I felt her hand grab hold of my own. It was cold, soft, and if felt the slight tickle of long nails against my skin. I wondered if they were fake or real and if they were painted any certain color.
I heard the rocks shift around underneath my feet and, when we reached the end of the driveway, I heard the slight squishing of mud and a few leaves being kicked. Some must have hit my ankles because I felt something wet hit them and stick there for a few seconds before falling off. Way to wear kapris and flats to a wet and dirty place, Mariabella.
“There‘s a step,” Aunt Cara warned me. I heard her feet scrape against something and the ever-so quiet creaking of wood. They were wooden steps. I followed behind, taking my time, hearing the creak of the step when I stepped onto it. I reached out to my left to see if there was railing and, to my surprise, there was, and it was really close. I let go of Cara’s hand to reach to my right and there was another railing that too was close. Must have been a small section of stairs.
”Be careful, the door is right at the top, right here,” Steve said, and I heard the squeak of a door opening. The wind from it hit my face. Then a second door opened, but it wasn’t squeaking. I just heard the turning of a knob on the second door. The first door must have been a screen door. I felt it and my guess was confirmed when I felt the mesh beneath my fingers.
“All right, come on in, Mariabella,” Cara said, grabbing my hand once again and pulling me forward. “Welcome home.”
I smelled apples and, after hearing a few footsteps and shuffling around, the smell of cinnamon. I heard a match being lit, so I assumed it was a candle. I reached over to my right to feel a wall and a couple picture frames. To my left there was nothing, so I walked over slowly, my hand extended. I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped, not expecting there to be one.
“You‘re going to run into the brick fireplace,” Steve told me. I huffed. “How about we give you a tour and you can become familiar with your surroundings that way. It‘ll be less hazardous, okay?” I huffed again.
“It‘s a new place, Mariabella. You still have to get used to it,” Cara added. She knew me well enough to know exactly why I was huffing and puffing.
During the tour I made a mental note of everything: where it is, how one place connects with another. The living room was adjacent to the kitchen, no wall separating them. The counter was parallel to the couch, and there was a good amount of walking space in between. There were stools, so I made sure to keep my hand extended whenever I walk over in that general direction so I would not run into the stools or the counter. Going past that counter were all the kitchen appliances, and past it was the hall that led to a small guest room that they used as a private sitting room for reading, going on the computer, and for my Aunt, painting. Next to that room was the restroom.
From the door there was a straight path to the dining room, a small slab of wall with a rectangular hole - not like an accidental hole - that a vase filled with flowers sat upon. The table was small, but it would fit all of us. There were glass double-doors that led to the backyard that I was to investigate later.
The stairs were next to the kitchen and I counted about 16 steps, the 16th step being the stairs end. There was a short hall and at one end, just to the right of the stairs, was the master bedroom. From the left of the master there was a short hall leading to the restroom. Going back up that hall to the door of the master, going back to the other end of the hall was my bedroom, and the loft/office in between.
Last was my room, and I was already filled to the max with remembering where everything is. I already forgot how many steps there were on the stairs, and that was my biggest fear. I have fallen down the stairs enough times to create a healthy fear of stairs.
In short, my room had enough space in between everything so I wouldn’t run into things. My bed was up against the back wall in the middle and to the left, coming in from the door, was a window that took up most of the wall. I had a book shelf, catty-cornered, that I would use for CDs since I have more CDs than books. Some CDs were audio books. I guess the book shelf was, in a way, used for its real purpose of holding books, if they weren’t exactly the paper back or hard cover books.
“Go ahead and settle in,” Cara told me, putting her hand on my arm. “I‘ll get your bags and you can put some clothes away, okay?” I nodded, feeling around for my bed - which was very silky soft - and took a seat. I felt something soft touch my forehead and I realized she was kissing my forehead. “I‘ll have dinner ready soon. I‘m making your favorite: Tiela.”
“Oh, that sounds heavenly,” I commented, clutching my now growling stomach.
♠ ♠ ♠
Feel free to tell me what you think, okay? Thanks for reading! :D