These Eyes Are Blind

Frank wakes up to some time of day between the hours of midnight and 11:59 pm. He neither knows nor cares what time it actually is.

He reaches around his bed, which he realizes only now doesn’t have any bedding. There’s a blanket over him and a pillow under him, so his mom must have checked up on him sometime after he fell asleep. Frank pulls them away and swings his feet over the side of the bed. It’s a little higher than he’d wish for it to be, because there’s about an inch of space where his feet just dangle. Frank places his feet on the ground and then pats the spaces around him for his cane.

He has a long moment of fear where he thinks that it’s gone. Frank feels around everywhere, scrambling in this big black expanse for the only thing in the world that helps him walk, but he doesn’t find it. He finally feels his hands wrap around it on the floor, and his heart stops beating so fast. It’s kind of belittling that Frank’s whole life is controlled by a long piece of aluminum. He doesn’t like to let on how terrified he is of losing it.

Frank picks the cane up and then pulls himself off of the bed. He tries to get some signal as to whether or not the sun is up, but he doesn’t see any light. Maybe the window’s got curtains or something, or maybe it’s dark out.

Frank walks across the room, hoping that he’ll be able to find his way without stubbing his toe. If toes are magnets to being stubbed, then the polarity of Frank’s toes is higher than other people’s. He actually had a pair of steal toed boots at one point for that exact reason, but they were tedious to wear. Vans are easy. No laces.

Frank hits the door, and then reaches out for the door knob. It takes him a moment to get the door open, because he had thought the door was going to open outward, but it goes the other way. Once the door is open though he makes his way out into the hall, and hears his mother rustling about in the kitchen.

“Mom?” he calls.

“Yes?”

“What time is it?” he asks, because he doesn’t know whether he should go back to bed or not.

“About nine,” she replies. “You slept through the day.”

“Okay. Didn’t mean to, just tired,” Frank sighs, and figures that he probably should just stay awake for now.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, when Frank enters the kitchen.

“Starving,” Frank says, when he feels the emptiness inside his stomach. He frowns and tries to look around the room, but he doesn’t see anything.

“I hope you’re okay with cereal because we don’t have much of anything else,” she tells him. “Unless you want a bottle of mustard.”

“Mm, mustard. As good as that sounds, I think I’ll take the cereal,” Frank says.

“I thought so,” she says and then there’s the sound of a cabinet opening. He hears his mother grabbing a box, and he hears the rustling of the contents, followed by the distinct sound of cereal falling into a bowl.

“I haven’t been to the grocery store yet, so unfortunately, no milk.”

“I’ll take it dry. Just like my sense of humor,” Frank says.

“Yep. So there’s no real dining room in this place, but there’s a table behind you which we’re going to have to make do with for now. I don’t like the style of the chairs so I might pick up some new ones sometime soon.”

Frank turns around and looks vacantly anywhere to pretend he’s looking at the table, “Don’t say that. What a stunning piece of seating. I think these chairs are absolutely gorgeous.”

She makes a huffing sound behind him, and Frank feels his mother walk around him and place the bowl on the table. He makes his way over to it, and feels over the seat to make sure he’ll sit down correctly without falling onto the floor.

“Contain your laughter please,” Frank says, when all he gets is an annoyed silence.

“You could at least try to sound happy at the new house,” his mother says.

“How? What the hell is there for me to say about this place? Everything people compliment about houses is about appearance. ‘Lovely drapes’ or ‘truly remarkable tiling’ or ‘I love the brickwork.’ You think it’s easy to find something nice to say?” Frank asks, “I don’t know what any of this fucking stuff looks like. I don’t know how big the street is, or how many houses there are here, or what the house is even made of! Straw? Wood? Bricks? Do we live in a house that will be victimized by the big bad wolf or not?”

“Watch your language,” is all his mom has to say in response.

The kitchen is silent for a long time while Frank tries and fails not to spill frosted flakes on the table and floor. It’s hard for him to judge how best to eat the damn cereal when he can’t tell if he’s about to let it fall out of the bowl.

“I’ve already put in a request for the right signage to be put up for your safety,” his mother says to break the silence. Frank thinks it’s kind of cool that they put up signs just for blind kids, and if he could see it he’d probably be really excited to see the ‘Blind Child Area’ sign put there specifically for him. Everyone likes to feel like they’re special. Frank gets signs. He also gets people to create paths for him when he’s walking in a crowd, because they’re afraid or disgusted by him. Being bitter is his second nature. In all honesty, the signs are just depressing to him. All it does for him is make everyone driving down the street know he’s there, and that’s rather unsettling.

“Cool,” Frank answers after his long silence.

"Cool? That's it? No smart remarks?"

"It's not really as fun when you want a remark."

Frank tries again at his bowl and almost tips it over. His mother guides his hand and he yanks it away.

"I was just trying to-"

"I don't need your help okay? Let me feel normal while eating at least!" Frank yells.

Frank's mother flinches at her son's raised voice, and then sighs. Frank didn't mean to snap at her, but it’s that kind of behavior from people that Frank doesn't want. He doesn't want to feel like the hopeless blind boy who can't even eat correctly. He successfully picks up the dry flakes in the bowl and shoves them in his mouth. He crunches on them as lightly as possible.

"I hate cereal. I can hear every single crunch and it's annoying," Frank states.

"I thought you liked annoying."

"Ha ha. Not very funny."

Frank's mother chuckles lightly and then stands up, "Do you need anything else?"

"Some water would suffice, unless you want me to die of dehydration."

"A yes or no would work, and then the rest of your answer."

Frank grunts before shoving more cereal into his mouth. His ears perk up at the sound of his mother rustling in a box. The water is then turned on and he hears the shift in the sound as the water begins filling a cup. Frank isn't really allowed glass things which annoys him even more. He's blind not a fucking slime that things just slip from. He can hold a damn glass or plate.

The water is turned off and in seconds his mom is back at his side. He reaches out for the cup and she places it in his hand. He hadn't been too far off with the estimate of where she was holding her hand out. He mentally gives himself a tally mark. He drinks the water down quickly, and then sits the cup down on the table without missing; another tally mark for Frank the fucking blind kid. His mother pats him on the head patronizingly.

"I guess you were closer to dehydration than I thought."

"Yeah, I was pretty parched. Sleeping through the day does that to a person."

"Yeah, well, yesterday was a long day. I'm gonna go get a few more things situated before calling it a night. If you need anything just call me."

"I need my sight back," Frank says plainly.

"Frank," His mother gives him a warning glare that he obviously can't see. He can, however, detect it in her voice and feel her eyes on him.

"Okay, sorry."

His mother nods and then leans forward to kiss his forehead, "I love you."

"I have a deep regard for you too mom."

Frank's mother smiles at her boy. Frank listens as she departs the kitchen. He gives himself a few more handfuls of the cereal before getting bored with it and giving up. He stands up and grabs his cane. He puts it out in front of him and moves it around to find his way out of the kitchen. Frank walks into the living room where he hears his mom bustling about and he hits the wall with his cane.

Frank clears his throat and says, "If you don't mind, could you get me some pajamas to put on? And also, I want to take a shower."

"I don't think you should take a shower until they put the bar up in there. They'll be here first thing in the morning. Maybe you could settle for a bath?"

"I settled for being blind and needing a bar. I don't think I'd like to settle on something I can control."

"You're taking a bath,” she says firmly.

"Baths are dirty, ma! All you do is soak in your own dirt. I thought the idea of washing was to get clean not marinate in funk some more."

"I gave you a command and that's the one you will follow. Either take the bath or wait until the morning to get clean."

"I can hold onto the wall," Frank propositions.

"You can also slip and break something which will make your life even harder than it is now. Now march your butt into that bathroom, and take a bath or go back to your room."

"I could slip getting into the bath or getting out," Frank reasons.

"You are taking a damn bath, Frank!"

Frank jumps back a bit and bumps into the wall. He feels his mother's gaze on him, and he looks back in the direction her voice was coming from.

"Stay here. I'll go get it ready for you," with that, she rushes past him so fast that Frank can feel the wind breeze by him.

He knows he was being insolent, but he didn't expect her to blow up like that; it’s just something they do every now and again. He decides that she must be stressed from the move, and handling everything on her own. Frank decides he'll keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night and maybe even tomorrow. He sighs and looks around the room trying to spot anything with a color that he can see so he can waste his time staring at it.

Soon he hears the water running somewhere off in the distance and lets his head hang low. He stands there trying to imagine what running water looks like. It has been so long since he last had the privilege of seeing it. He wishes he hadn't taken it for granted. People live their lives taking everything for granted, and Frank just wants to cherish those things.

If someone had told Frank that he would be blind he would've taken the time to value everything. He would've even learnt how to find the beauty in the trash littering the sidewalks. He would've taken his time to study granite or linoleum. He would've even paid more attention to the way the water swirled when being flushed in the commode. Frank just wishes he knew beforehand what he would be missing out on.

He hears his mom come back into the living room, and she starts rummaging through the boxes again. He figures she’s trying to find him some pajamas. He keeps quiet and waits for her directions. Soon after, he feels her shift until she’s standing right in front of him. His mother links her arm with his and leads him slowly to the bathroom.

Frank doesn't put up a fight or say anything. He just lets her do what she wants. He doesn't even protest when she starts shedding his clothes for him. He hates when she undresses him to take a bath or shower whenever she thinks he needs her help. He remains obedient though.

Most teenagers get freedom at the very least by the time that they are legally an adult, but Frank doesn’t get that privilege. He’s never going to be allowed to live by himself in his life. That’s never going to be something he can do. Even Frank has to admit that, even though he wants freedom, he really can’t actually live on his own. He can’t do the dishes, make food, do laundry, file taxes, pay bills, buy groceries, drive a car, and a long list of other things. He’s never going to be truly independent, and realizing that is the scariest thing in the entire world to him.

His mother helps him climb into the lukewarm water, and lets him sink down slowly. She takes his cane from him and sits it by the tub. The bathroom has more echoes than most other rooms so it’s easier for him to sense where things are. She stands up and looks down at him, sighing quietly. She hadn't meant to blow up at him, but he was being more difficult than he needed to be.

"Call for me when you're done. Don't try and get out on your own. The soap is in the dish to your left, and your wash cloth is right here."

She places the cloth in his hand and squeezes his hand softly. With that she turns off the running water and exits the bathroom. Frank begins washing himself up immediately. He’d meant it when he said baths were dirty. He doesn't want to float around in his muck for longer than needed.

He mentally congratulates himself on not dropping anything, and reaches out for his cane. He locates it and swings it around until it hits what he thinks to be the sink cabinet. He hits it a few more times until he hears his mother's footsteps.

"Why are you doing that, you could've bent it out of shape?"

Frank starts standing up and she rushes over to grab him. She helps him step out of the bath and then gives him a towel. He wraps it around himself and takes his cane from her. They walk to Frank's room, and she gives him his pajamas. He takes them and sits them on his bed. Frank still hasn’t said anything to her since she’d shouted at him.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just tired."

Frank doesn't say anything in response. His mother sighs and takes hold of his hand.

"I love you Frankie. Don't you ever forget that."

With that she turns and leaves his room, closing the door behind her.

Frank thinks to himself that it’s going to be awfully hard for him to fall asleep, seeing as he just woke up. He hates travel though, and it hasn’t worn off of him from yesterday, so his body is already giving into the grasp of sleep. Being in the car all day had made him completely drained, and it hasn’t been satiated as of yet.

Nevertheless Frank falls asleep pretty quickly, but it’s not an easy sleep. For the first few months after Frank lost his sight he still saw nightly images when he dreamed, and sometimes he still does, but it’s very rarely. Though there are still days when he sees a face in his sleep, but by the time he wakes up, the face is gone. Mostly he just dreams in sounds or smells.

Tonight though it’s uneasy, because his mind has probably gotten too much sleep in the past several hours, but at the same time he’s still drowsy. Frank isn’t a restless sleeper, but its nights like these, after his mom and him had a spat, where he just doesn’t get any relief from sleep.

Eventually, sometime in the middle of the night, Frank gives up, and pulls himself into a sitting position. He leans himself against the wall and for a long moment he sits and stares out into his eternal darkness, wishing he could see someone. He would be up to seeing Slender Man if it meant he could see him.

Instead Frank just stares into the dark room, and then he picks himself up and drops down to his knees on the ground. Frank feels around the floor for his discarded jeans. He finds them at last and pulls out his Walkman. The plus to overly baggy jeans is that there’s more pocket space.

Frank crawls back into his bed and tries to let the music either carry him into sleep, or get him through the next few hours of the night.