Oculos Patentes

Our breathing was the only audible sound in the room as we laid together on her bed, side by side, our thighs touching and our pinkies intertwined. Her hair was splayed out around her head, the blonde contrasting with the black of the pillow case beneath her. We were staring up at the ceiling, my eyes tracing the starry pattern above. She had painted it herself, as well as the painting hung above her desk on the opposite wall. Her whole room was a piece of art, the colors of the walls recreating a sunset, slowly fading up into the darkness of the night sky that was her ceiling. I had never seen anything like it, but then again I had never met anyone like Avery.

“Why stars?” I found myself asking, turning my head from the captivating scene above me to let my eyes land on her face. It was void of any real emotion, but a slight flicker in her bright eyes let me know it was an uncomfortable topic. Before I could tell her she didn’t have to answer, she was already speaking.

“I was twelve when I finally realized how bad my condition actually is. It was the fourth of July and my family and I were in the backyard, getting ready to light off fireworks when everything went black. I was calling out for my mom and when she came running toward me all I could see was her face. Every surrounding area was black, complete darkness; tunnel vision they told me it was called. And I started crying. I could feel the tears but I couldn’t see them, and when I looked up I couldn’t see the stars.

“It’s not like that all the time. I have my good days and my bad days, like Monday. Some days I can see so clearly I can almost forget that I'm going blind, but then there are some days I close my eyes to sleep, and when I wake up it’s as if my eyes are still closed anyways. When I was a little girl, me and my father used to watch the stars together outside on my balcony,” her eyes drifted toward the French doors to our left, the dark curtains closed over the white wooden frame. I could see the longing in her eyes, practically feel it. “He helped me paint this room, but mostly the ceiling; he wanted to make sure I got every star just right,” a small laugh left her lips at this before she got serious once more, “but then he died, and these are the only stars I can bring myself to look at anymore.”

Her voice was almost monotone as she spoke, and I wondered if she was deliberately trying to hold back her emotions or if she had simply gotten so used to it that it no longer brought her any sadness. I laced our fingers together and squeezed her smaller hand in mine, turning my head away from her and back towards the ceiling. Her words brought about new questions, but I was afraid to ask them, afraid to make her feel like some test subject I was probing for information. I was curious though, I couldn’t deny that.

“You’re one of three people outside of my family that know about it,” she said, interrupting my inner battle and causing a small smile to work its way onto my face. I felt honored, in a way, to know that she trusted me enough to tell me, even if she didn’t know me. I squeezed her hand again and we lapsed back into silence, neither of us really knowing what to say, but both of us feeling content with that.



Quite some time passed by us as we laid together and not much progress was made; I was still confused as to why she had felt I needed to know, and I was almost certain she was confused about that as well, but a part of me didn’t want to ask.

I felt like I was living in a dream. A week ago I had no idea who Avery Ryder was, not really anyways. She was a figure in the background, pushed to the recesses of my mind like leftovers pushed to the back of the fridge, but I knew today would change that; I knew I would never be able to push Avery to the back of my mind again, and the thought scared me a little, but it excited me even more.

I looked over at her, my eyes tracing the smooth skin of her face, taking in the small details that I previously would have never noticed. She had a scar right under her left eye, barely noticeable but still the only blemish on her otherwise flawless features. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath she took and I wondered what she was thinking about. I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off by a knock on her bedroom door, a short figure appearing on the other side as the door was pushed open.

“Avery, who’s car is parked in-”

The woman stopped midsentence as she lifted her head in our direction, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of me. Avery sat up immediately, a blush rising to her face as her hand fell from away from mine, our fingers unlacing as she stood and smoothed down her clothes.

“Mom, this is John O’Callaghan, my… friend.” She seemed unsure of whether she should call me her friend or not, but I liked the way it sounded. Her friend, I smiled at the thought. “And he’s staying for dinner, right John?” Avery shot me a pleading look and I nodded sheepishly, bringing my hand up to rub the back of my neck out of nervousness. Unlike the look of innocence Avery held, her mother’s was one of intimidation, and I could feel the uncertainty radiating from where she stood in the doorway.

“Well I suppose I’ll set another place at the table. Could you help me downstairs with that Avery?” her mother asked, glancing at me skeptically even as she turned around to walk away. Avery hesitated and I asked,

“She doesn’t like me very much, does she?”

Avery looked back at me, an unreadable expression on her face as she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s not you she doesn’t like,” she muttered, walking briskly out of the room as her mom called her name, leaving me to sit and ponder over her words; I had a lot to learn about this girl.