What happens when the world goes blind for two years…

Door.

3 steps.

Swing right.

Down 14 stairs- don’t get caught on the last bit of carpet.

For the thousandth time I make my way through my house using nothing but memory and the occasional gliding my fingertips on the walls. When I make it downstairs I make a left to the kitchen, running my hands on the borders of the pictures hanging from the walls.

February 13, 2023

My first summer camp group photo.

May 1, 2020

The birth of my baby sister.

December 23, 2017

My parents 20th anniversary.

The photos get older as I slowly walk by them. I would give anything to see them again.

November 17, 2016

I pause feeling the old, splintered frame on that one and fight back the sting in my eyes.

It’s better not to dwell on things that can’t be fixed.

I step by the kitchen, deciding I’m no longer hungry, and go to my parents room. Little feet pad the wood floor when I assume Carey makes her way out of her room. When I sweep her up before she can hurt herself she lets out a squeal.

Not being able to see never bothered her; she was too young when it happened to remember how it was to see in the first place.

She tugs on my hair and gets comfortable on my hip.

“No running or you’ll hurt yourself, got it?”

I can practically feel her pout when she responds “Fine.”

Taking a moment to remember where I am, I turn back to the kitchen to at least get Carey something to eat.

The lights must be bright when I set her down in a kitchen stool from the island.

When was the last time the brightness bothered me?

The thoughts flit out of my head when Carey starts up again, asking me little questions like What day is it? or When will we go outside? She might not be able to see but she must love the feeling of the sun on her skin. I rub at my eyes as I get on my tippy toes to reach the glassware on the high cabinet.

“Mei Mei, can you do my hair after thisss?”

Amazing. She still cares about her hair even in the event that no one will see.

She reminds me more of someone else than I’d like her to.

“Sure I will.” That’s harder to say than I’d like it to be. It’s difficult to find motivation these days.

Putting the glass bowl on the marble counter fills the room with a sharp but soft clink. I spin back around to the fridge, grabbing the cold metal bar and tugging on it until a cold blast hits my face. My eyes burn a little more than I’d like them to.

I pull out the government issued food that every family in America has been provided because it’s “safer, healthier, and easier!”. The government helped most struggling families after the Great Blinding- until about a year ago. Only priorities get certain help and it doesn’t surprise me after what they did to him.

Don’t ask questions.

That’s how you stay safe here.

The persistent beeping of the microwave drags me out of my thoughts. I take it out and juggle it in my hands, trying to avoid the heat. Emptying out the contents into the glass bowl I step behind Carey and run my fingers through her hair.

When she was born it was a dirty blonde like mine, I wonder if it got darker over the years.

There’s an ache right behind my eyes I just can’t place.

Sweeping up all the loose strands, I wrap them into a high messy bun. The corresponding giggle is enough to tell me Carey’s satisfied with the hairstyle though she can’t see it.

There’s a ringing- is something on fire-

Before I can finish my thought a blinding light fills my vision and I can’t help but gasp. Panic starts to rise in my throat when my eyes become blurred- then perfectly clear.

“MEI!”

I can’t help but jump, she must’ve been calling me for a while now. But I can’t respond when I realize I can see her.

Dark, dirty blonde hair and all.

She looks so much like me-

RED.

So much red at the corner of my vision.

I turn left and right and simply freeze.

On each surface.

Each wall.

Each bowl, counter, brush.

Even on the fridge.

“DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE” is scrawled in messy handwriting absolutely everywhere.

“Yes.” I absentmindedly reply to Carey, walking over to the fridge to drag my hands over the paint.

Still wet.

“Today’s the day, y’know…”

She’s always careful of my reaction to her mentions of that day.

She knows it took more from me than just sight.

I wipe my hands on my pants to rid them of the insidious red and rush around the kitchen, really checking if it’s the same message everywhere.

“Don’t worry about that. Let's go outside.”

I can do it.

Simple instructions will keep me alive.