These Eyes Are Blind

“Hey,” Frank says, when he feels Patrick sitting down on the seat next to him. He can tell it’s Patrick because he smells oddly like baked goods. It’s quite nice actually.

“Hey? That’s all I get? A simple hey? Dude, you abandoned me yesterday afternoon,” Patrick says.

“I abandoned you?” Frank asks. “How did I abandon you?”

“Well someone put a kick-me sign on my back and I didn’t even notice it until I got home,” Patrick replies.

“Well I wouldn’t have noticed it,” Frank exasperates, waving his hand in front of his face to convey the fact that he can’t see anything.

“Well, moral support,” Patrick says.

“Your moral must be hella low if you need me to support it.”

“I have no friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” Frank states, putting his back to the bus seat, and crossing his arms.

“You keep saying that, but that’s just what you say. I have a say so too,” Patrick grumbles, “I may not be your friend, but you’re my friend.”

“What? No, you can’t say that. It has to go both ways!”

“Maybe you think so, but not necessarily.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Frank huffs.

“That’s fine. So why weren’t you on the bus yesterday anyway? Did the whole freedom thing not pan out for you?” Patrick questions.

“No, that’s not it. You know that kid, Blake? I pissed him off. Maybe more than was wise.”

“Oh no,” Patrick says knowingly and Frank can feel him shaking his head in disapproval, “so what did the guy do?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Frank says, moving over the replacement cane in his hand unconsciously. He knows it’s the exact same thing, technically it’s the same cane, but it feels different. The handle isn’t as worn as the other one. There’s not as many scratches along it. It’s stiffer when he snaps it together, unlike the old one where the joints had all been bent hundreds of times. This one feels so foreign and every time he thinks about it, his stomach drops a little bit.

The worst part of what happened yesterday was the fact that Frank prides himself, literally, in having too much pride. He’s always had too much pride, and yesterday, he lost a lot of that, which makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t want to run into Blake ever again. Not after the fool Blake made of him. It hurts knowing that he can’t do anything to stop himself from running into the guy though. He’ll see him again, and it’s all going to rush back to him.

“Oh,” Patrick says, when Frank doesn’t say anything more, “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there.”

“Well, Patrick, no offense, but what good is a pacifist against a football captain?” Frank asks, and he doesn’t mean to say it as smarmily as it ends up sounding.

“Saying ’no offense’ doesn’t exactly remove the offense in the statement. I guess I don’t mind being called a pacifist though. I hate fighting, so it’s not untrue. People always so ‘no offense’ though right before they’re about to insult you. It’s pointless.”

“I’m not in a good mood,” Frank grumbles in response, and turns to look out the window, which is stupid because he doesn’t see shit.

"I can tell. I still wish I had been there for moral support on your end. Looks like we both failed each other."

"I wouldn't know since I can't look at it at all."

Patrick sighs and slouches in his seat next to Frank. He’s desperately wishing he had been there to help him with whatever happened.

"I'm sorry still."

"Look you couldn't have done anything about it."

"I could've at least been your eyes for you, if nothing else," Patrick states a little too loudly. A few people look in his direction and he whispers a sorry. Apparently everyone is in a bad mood this morning. Also, apparently Patrick says sorry too much.

"How do you know I needed eyes?"

"Because I can see, unlike you. No offense, but I observed that your cane looks new. So what happened to your other one?"

"You clearly don't know what 'I don't want to talk about it' means."

“Okay fine, Frank,” Patrick leaves it at that and Frank thanks whoever the hell is listening to the thoughts of a blind teenage boy, that he does. He doesn't want to get into anymore crap that he just doesn't need at this moment. He doesn't want to upset Patrick, because as much as he doesn't like to admit it, he does need him around. Obviously things aren't going to go well if he can't see and Patrick is his eyes, even though he doesn't like it. It's like Patrick is his mother at school. Looking out for him just enough or when he needs it. Frank surely needed it yesterday.

Frank feels the bus lurch, and by the arising noise and shuffles that fill the bus, he knows that they are finally at school. His stomach drops heavily, he isn't ready to face Blake today or ever. It just so happens that Blake is in his first period class with him. English. Lucky Frank. Frank feels Patrick stand up and he follows his movements. He grabs his book bag and shuffles out of the seat.

Patrick stands closely by Frank as he watches Frank make it down the steps successfully on his own today and smiles. He doesn't say anything though he just follows behind Frank. He places his hand on Frank's shoulder when they reach a large chunk of ice that someone obviously missed when they did the salting.

"There's ice there Frank."

"Don't worry, I'm a pro with that after yesterday."

Patrick raises a brow at Frank, but holds back the urge to ask him what he’s talking about. He knows it has to do with what Blake did to him though, poor kid.

"Just hold onto my shoulder."

Frank doesn't put up much of a fight because even though he tries to hide it, the ice does bother him. Especially because of what Blake and his horrible friends did to him. Frank takes Patrick’s shoulder and walks across the ice slowly.

“Hey Frank,” a voice says once they get across the ice and Frank looks around as a courtesy, though he already knows who it is. He couldn’t mistake Brendon’s voice anywhere, there’s a certain cadence to it, which Frank really likes.

“Uh oh,” Patrick says quietly when Frank lets go of his shoulder.

“What?” Frank asks.

“What?” Patrick responds.

“Uh,” is all Frank can say but he waits for wherever Brendon is to catch up with him, so that he doesn’t have to yell out into a crowd of people he’s never met.

“Looks like you’re doing better today,” Brendon says to him when he arrives to stand next to Frank.

“Yeah, I guess,” Frank shrugs. He can’t tell if Mikey’s there as well, because there’s a lot of footsteps around him of several different people.

“Well anything’s better than yesterday.”

“Can you maybe just pretend that never happened? I don’t want to be that kind of loser who’s so hopeless I needed your help.”

Frank’s cane accidentally hits the back of someone’s foot, but he doesn’t care. Brendon is standing to his right, and he’s not sure where the hell Patrick is anymore. He’s not sure much of what’s going on around him, because it’s cold and windy, and his hands are freezing.

“Didn’t mean to bring it up then, sorry,” Brendon says, “we’ll leave it alone.”

“Good, thanks,” Frank says.

“You know we’re not judging you though, right?” a second voice says and Frank figures out where Mikey is. He’s on the other side of Brendon, to Frank’s right.

“You’d better not be or I’ll hurt you,” Frank says.

“Oh okay, so I guess I see what you’re mom meant by twisted sense of humor,” Brendon states.

“I don’t see what she meant,” Frank replies. If Frank were to make himself a résumé, the first skill he’d cite would be his ability to catch any form of the word ‘see’ or ‘look’ without hesitation and make a joke about it. He’s extremely good at it.

Frank can tell that Brendon holds the front door open for him and he steps inside the school to feel himself sigh with the warmth as it encompasses him. It’s not as cold outside as it had been last night, but the heat isn’t unwelcome.

“Patrick?” Frank asks quietly, wondering where the guy is.

“Who?”

“Ugh,” Frank groans, “the fucker ditched me. Not surprising. I think he’s afraid of people. You two probably scared him away. I needed him to help me find my locker though.”

“Oh, no problem, where’s your locker at?” Brendon asks.

“Hell if I know,” Frank says, and then reaches into his pocket for where he put his schedule. He hands it over to Brendon, or where he thinks Brendon is, and feels it taken out of his hand.

“Oh, this is actually really near me and Mikey’s lockers,” Brendon says, “I’ll take you there.”

“Great. Lead the way!” Frank says loudly and obnoxiously.

Brendon does in fact lead the way, but Mikey doesn’t stay to help him get into his locker. Apparently opening a locker isn’t something he needs to be there for, and Frank doesn’t really care. Mikey doesn’t talk much. Brendon talks too much. They balance each other out.

The first half of Franks day does go pretty smoothly actually. He doesn’t seem to run into Blake even though he’s aware that the guy is staring into the back of his head all through his first and second periods. He doesn’t have to talk to the guy though, and that’s the good thing. He makes it to his third period okay too, and that’s when he has a class with Pete so he’s safe there.

Frank doesn’t really have any emotions about his day at all until lunch. It’s not like he’s expecting to do anything, but he did literally double his quota of acquaintances yesterday.

“Frank,” Patrick’s voice calls and then catches up to him. Frank’s standing at his locker, and had actually been waiting for Patrick to show up ever since Pete left him to put his books away at the end of third period a few minutes ago.

“Why did you ditch me earlier?” Frank asks, “If I keep having to give my locker combo away, someone’s going to rob me blind. See what I did there? Oh my, I’m so fucking whimsical.”

“Sorry,” Patrick says with a shrug, “I, uh, I’m not a people person.”

“Well you talk to me,” Frank says.

“Uh, I don’t mean this in a mean way or anything, Frank, but I don’t find you all that intimidating. Like most people kick me and taunt me and throw me away, but I don’t think of you as someone who would do that. Partly because I get the feeling that that’s happened to you.”

“Where are we going?” Frank asks when he doesn’t know where the hell he is.

“To the lunchroom, Frank,” Patrick says, and Frank nods, continuing to follow where Patrick is leading him. About five minutes later he has a tray of food that he doesn’t particularly want to eat, because, to quote Patrick, the food was ‘extra inedible looking today.’ Frank decides he’s just going to throw most of it out and eat the chips he bought.

“Frank,” Brendon’s voice says, and Frank is really starting to wonder when so many people started to address him. No one’s supposed to talk to him, by design. That’s exactly not what he wants.

“Oh god,” Patrick says.

“Calm your tits boy, they’re not going to eat you,” Frank says, and then he tells Patrick to lead him to wherever Brendon’s voice was coming from. The cafeteria is loud though, and he can’t tell where Brendon is, so yeah, he just sassed a guy and then asked for his help.

“Here?” Frank asks.

“Uh,” Patrick responds, “I think I’ll sit somewhere el-”

Patrick starts, but Frank sits down, and then grabs Patrick’s sleeve and pulls him into the spot next to him.

“Oh so this is Patrick,” Brendon says.

“No this is one of the other prototypes in my many surplus of friends,” Frank says sarcastically.

“So... Patrick?” Brendon asks, because apparently the sarcasm was lost between Frank’s mouth and Brendon’s ears.

“Yeah, that’s Patrick,” Frank says, shaking his head. He grabs his chips and pulls them open, without giving Patrick a proper introduction.

“Frank?” Patrick whispers.

“Oh, I forgot,” Frank says, even though he didn’t forget anything, he’s just antisocial, “this is Patrick. He’s afraid of people.”

“I am not!”

“You are, Patrick,” Frank says without question.

“Am not.”

“You really are.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Patrick concedes.

Someone very loud and very distinct sits down across from Frank, and he recognizes that person even without them having to say anything. No one else is just that loud though.

“Hey Brendon, hey Mikey,” Pete says, “So we’re sitting here today?”

“I guess,” Patrick mumbles.

“Who don’t you fucking know in this world?” Frank asks Pete, because the guy seems to literally know everyone.

“I don’t know Beyoncé, which is a real shame,” Pete replies.

"I don't think you'd want to know her. She's seems a bit snobby.”

“Hey don’t diss Beyoncé!”

“Then again, you talk to everyone, and there are way worse people than her," Frank says referring to Blake, but he isn't sure if anyone else caught on to that. He doesn't care either way.

Frank puts his head down at the chips in front of him, eating them quietly for a few minutes and trying to ignore everything. He hears Pete talking to Brendon, and Patrick’s silence is almost deafening.

“You need to get over your fear of meeting new people,” Frank says to Patrick. “These guys seemed nicer than I am, but then again, I’m not very nice, so that’s not saying much.”

“Just no good at making first impressions,” Patrick mumbles.

“Yeah, or second or third impressions. Or any socializing at all for that matter,” Frank says, “See, I’m an asshole. You don’t want to talk to me. And also, you’re ugly.”

“Did I just get called ugly by a blind guy?” Patrick asks.

“Quite possibly.”

Frank’s quiet conversation with Patrick is broken by Brendon, who’s voice is particularly loud and probably carries far, makes a remark about Mikey.

"Dude there's a thumb print on your collar. A red thumbprint. Were you out murdering people again last night? Why didn’t you invite me to go murdering?" Brendon says and Mikey looks down at his white shirt and sighs loudly. Mikey can't actually see the print because it’s a little further back on his neck, but he knows what it’s from without seeing it.

“I don’t see anything,” Frank says and then grins as he takes a handful of his potato chips.

“Thanks Frank,” Mikey says, “ugh, fucking idiot brother."

"Was he painting around your clothing again?"

"The idiot dyed his hair bright red last night and he decided to do it while wearing my shirt! He's so stupid sometimes I swear. He’s lucky I’d be the first suspect if he were ever to go missing," Mikey huffs out angrily and starts picking through his food.

“Why’d he dye is hair bright red?”

“You’ve met him, he does weird things sometimes. Probably just a spontaneous decision he made. He’s a loser, what can I say?”

"He sounds cool to me," Frank states and he feels everyone's gaze fall on him. "What? I mean, I can’t see shit, right? I’ll establish this, in plain English, I can see light, and the way that red hits the eye is different from any color. I can see red. Kind of. Not well. Red is the best color though, because it’s the only one I can even kind of see. So if this dude has red hair then he's cool in my book. Also since he has the balls to sport that color on the top of his head then you have to admit he might just be the shit."

"He's a fucking loser just like the rest of us at this table," Mikey speaks and Frank shrugs.

"Yeah well," Frank munches on another chip, "None of us have red hair so I guess we're bigger losers than he is. I just think you guys have no fucking idea what it’s like not being able to see jack shit. Your brother, even though I’ve never met the guy, would make my life a little more colorful, even if it’s in the most insignificant way possible.”

“Frank, it’s just a color. Calm down,” Pete says, and Frank scoffs.

“Yeah it’s just a color. Says the guy who gets to see colors every fucking day. You get to underappreciate them just like every other goddamn person on the planet who never consider how lucky they are. Lucky that they get something so simple that it’s almost unbelievable we care in the first place. I’ve been blind for ten years guys, I don’t remember any colors. I don’t see colors. I can’t see them, at all. I just get little glimpses, little flashes of light that make it into my eye and the only color I’ve ever gotten from that is red. So yeah, red is just a color, it’s nothing exciting to you, because you get to see it every day. Me, I don’t. So you’ll have to excuse me for thinking it’s kind of cool that someone out there has red hair,” Frank says.

“We didn’t mean to disregard you like that,” Mikey says.

“Yeah well no one ever fucking does do they?” Frank says and looks down at the table, but he doesn’t actually look at all.

The whole world is made for people who can see. Made for people who get to know what color the trees are, for people who can walk through life and know the difference between green and evergreen. But you make enough blind jokes and people start to think that you really don’t care that you’re blind. That it doesn’t make you hate yourself for being faulty and pointless. Frank just sometimes wants to pull his hair out because everyone in the room, everyone in the entire fucking town, goes about their day normally and they don’t know how lucky they are. They don’t struggle to get dressed in the morning. They just sort of live and never realize what Frank would give to be them.

It’s true though. If Frank could just turn back time and not step out of the house that day... Or maybe he wouldn’t have gone out with his friend that day ten years ago. Maybe they’d spend more time hanging out at the park, just an extra five minutes so that Frank wouldn’t have been on that street corner. Maybe he’d have put his hands out in front of him to stop himself falling onto the sidewalk and hitting his head. Maybe if he’d looked at the world a little more that day to memorize it all, than he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be at this school, and he wouldn’t have lost his old friends. He’d just be normal.

Normal. What he wouldn’t give to be normal.

“I don’t mean to sound bitter,” Frank says, even though he kind of does, “I just hate when people don’t appreciate a sense I’d sell my right arm for. That’s all.”

“Yesterday was a lot harder on you than you let on, wasn’t it?” Brendon asks.

“You have no idea,” Frank grumbles. They really don’t. It’s so belittling that Frank’s whole life, his entire life, can be completely ruined by a stick. A fucking stick! His entire life revolves around a hunk of metal, and he’s hopeless without it. That’s what’s really gotten to him. How can he ever expect to do anything with his life if he can’t even get out of a football field by himself?

“Wait what happened yesterday?” Pete asks.

“Not important,” Mikey says with a shrug.

“Okay then,” Pete says, and Frank smiles. So maybe he doesn’t believe in having friends, but he kind of likes Mikey and Brendon. Or at least, their toes will stay intact for now.