Back To Where We Lasted

Days passed, and it seems like I've spent more time in the hospital than at home. No-one will tell me my sight will ever come back, but they won't ask me how I am either. I sit in silence for most of the time, and do my best not snap at insensitive nurses as they try to do their jobs. I've had about enough when Rachel comes back from talking with the doctor.

"Hey," she sighs as she sits down on the bed beside me, her hand finds mine and grips it tightly. Once her head has descended onto my shoulder and her hair suitably shoved out of my face she speaks. "They say you probably won't see again."

"I know," I say quietly. "I've known this would happen for years." She makes a noise which I take for agreement, and shifts her nose closer against my skin. "You have too."

A nurse breaks us apart minutes later, and soon we're shown out of the hospital and I'm sitting in the car with no idea what's happening. There is a stick resting between my legs, and as I rub my hand along it's handle the feel is something like I've never felt before. Plastic and rubber mixed in with something; shame?

Rachel guides me up the steps with just her voice and I try to use the damned stick, but I can't lift it past the steps without unbalancing myself and it's hard to move because it's so damn long.

"Fuck's sake!" I seethe in frustration. "How the hell am I supposed to use this?"

I can hear Rachel sigh and catch her breath. I remember how I used to love to hear that noise late at night when the lights were out, but now all I can feel is anger at her and the stick. I throw it to the ground and fall ungracefully to the step.

"It just takes practice," she says. The handle is pressed into my hand again, and I stand up shakily. The shame is back, and it will always be with me.