Love and First Sight Page 17

The next morning, the last day before winter break, it still feels weird being in the same room as Cecily during journalism class. But I’m also starting to wonder if I got angry over nothing in her car the other day. After all, I still think she’s beautiful, birthmark or not. It wasn’t like she set out to hurt me by deliberately deceiving me. So maybe I acted too hastily. Maybe there’s still a chance to salvage this. Maybe we can at least go back to being friends. I mean, this is the last day of the fall semester. After the break, we’ll become cohosts of the announcements. So it’s probably time to reconcile.

  As Mrs. Everbrook explains a new strategy for soliciting ad sales, I take occasional glances across the room at Cecily. I’m curious to see how she looks to me today, with this new perspective bolstering my judgment. When I look more carefully, though, I realize that I’m not looking at Cecily but at an empty desk. She’s not here.

  Where is she? Is everything okay? I feel a pang of jealousy, thinking about people who can covertly text under their desks.

  Instead, I ask Mrs. Everbrook for a hall pass to use the restroom. I lock myself in a stall and send a text.

  Ces, are you OK? Where are you?

  I wait there for as long as a person could reasonably need to take care of business but get no reply.

  It’s agonizing waiting until lunch to ask my friends if they know why Cecily is absent.

  “None of us have seen her,” says Nick. “I don’t think she showed up today.”

  “I’ve texted her, but she won’t reply,” I say, wishing for the thousandth time I could take back the words I said in the car. “Can you guys try?”

  “I already did,” says Ion. “She didn’t reply to me, either. Whatever it is, I guess she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Hold on—maybe Mark Sybis knows. He lives next door to her,” says Nick. “Yo, Mark!” he shouts, apparently to a nearby table. He speaks loudly to cut through the chatter of the cafeteria. “Have you seen Cecily?”

  “Batgirl?” says a voice. “Nah, man, the car wasn’t in her driveway this morning, neither.”

  Wait, Batgirl? Was this the guy who called Cecily Batgirl because she was walking with me in the hallway?

  “Did he just call her Batgirl?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s mean,” says Nick. “But honestly, most of the school does it.”

  “Most of the school?” I say, horrified. “Just because she was hanging out with me this semester?”

  “What? No,” says Ion. “She’s had that nickname since elementary school. I think Xander gave it to her, actually. It’s because her birthmark covers the top half of her face. Like Batman’s mask. It’s really mean, so we obviously never use it, but a lot of other kids do.”

  I swallow and find myself looking down toward the nondescript geometry of the cafeteria floor. They call her Batgirl because of the way she looks? They’ve been doing it since elementary school? I blink a few times in shock, and then anger. What’s wrong with people? Why would anyone treat Cecily that way?

  But more important right now, where is she if she’s not at school and her car is gone?

  “Where do you guys think she is?” I ask the table.

  “Maybe she’s just sick or something,” suggests Whitford.

  I think about our argument.

  “Maybe it’s my fault,” I say hesitantly. “We had this big fight a few weeks ago. I said some things.… But since then…”

  “What?” prompts Ion.

  “I guess you could say I finally came to my senses,” I say. “I really care about her. And I need her to know that.”

  “About time,” says Ion.

  “You knew?” I ask.

  “About your crush? Duh,” she says.

  “I didn’t realize it was that obvious,” I say.

  “It was so obvious a blind guy could’ve seen it,” says Nick, adding, “No offense.”

  “Well, as soon as school’s out, I’m going to find her. I’ve got to make things right.”

  “I’ll drive if you want help finding her, Will.”

  “I’m in, too,” says Ion. “But don’t worry, I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  “Like I said, maybe she’s just at home sick or something,” Whitford says again. “And maybe her mom just needed the car this morning. We can all go visit her after school. Let’s meet in the parking lot after last period.”

  As it happens, I have no exam last period (gym class). Rather than leave early, though, I had planned to go see Mr. Johnston. Since it’s the end of the semester, I need to go over the routes for my spring schedule with him. I don’t want to ask any of my friends to do it because I feel like they’re finally thinking of me as their friend first, and a visually impaired guy second, and I don’t want to mess that up. I wouldn’t have minded asking Cecily to help, I guess, but now she’s gone.

  I navigate to Mr. Johnston’s office, back to that same room where I began in September. We set off immediately, starting from the main entrance once again.

  “Shame about your friend Cecily,” says Mr. Johnston as I’m counting out the steps in the science hallway.

  I stop abruptly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “About her father. It seems he had a heart attack. He’s home now, and he’ll recover, but she went to be with him for a few weeks.”

  “Her father, like, in California?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s where he lives.”

  As we continue to plan out my walking routes, I’m distracted by the sensation that my chest is going to explode. I want so desperately to apologize to Cecily and to tell her I like her. But how can I now? It’s impossible. Not only is she ignoring my calls and texts, it turns out she’s literally a thousand miles away.

  When we meet at Whitford’s car after school, I fill everyone in on what I learned.

  “So, Los Angeles?” says Nick.

  “Yeah.”

  “You gonna go see her?” asks Ion.

  “That would be quite the romantic gesture, but my eyes… It’s a thing from the operation. I can’t fly anywhere right now.” I feel a knot in the back of my throat like I might cry.

  “Don’t give up so soon. Why don’t we drive to Los Angeles?” Whitford suggests. “It’s only, what? A couple days? And we are on break now.”

  Everyone suddenly starts talking at once, excited about Whitford’s road trip. But even if we can sleep in the car, we’ll still need gas money. Nick, Ion, Whitford, and I disclose our financial assets, which turn out to be less than one hundred dollars in cash between us all.

  “How can you not have any money?” Nick asks Whitford.

  “When I need money, I ask my parents, and they give it to me. It’s not like I have a reason to stash it away or something.”

  “Well, the road trip was a nice idea,” I say. “Thanks for the offer, guys.”

  • • •

  My friends drop me off at home, and I’m sitting in my room by myself when I hear Mom’s footsteps on the stairs.

  Then she knocks at the door. “Honey?” she calls.

  “Come in.”

  I hear Mom walk in and feel her sit beside me on the bed.

  “How’re you doing?” she asks.

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Still at work.”

  She takes a breath and says, “You know, when I was growing up, my mother always told me, ‘Don’t marry someone you can live with. Marry someone you can’t live without.’”

  “Uhhh… okay,” I say, unsure about the relevance of this advice to my life. “Are you and Dad getting a divorce or something?”

  “Oh, no, of course not.”

  “So is that how you felt about Dad when you met? That you couldn’t live without him?”

  “Your father was… very eager to get married. We were young. And I thought he’d be able to give me the life I wanted. This house, my clothes. I didn’t have all this wh
en I was your age.”

  I pause, considering her answer. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Will, honey,” she says, putting a hand on my back. It feels unnatural coming from my mom, who’s usually so much more, well, annoying. But I don’t shrug it off. “It seemed like you were happier when you were with Cecily. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy, at least not since you were little, before you figured out that you were different from the other kids.”

  “Well, it’s over now,” I say bitterly.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but does it have to be?”

  “Yes, actually,” I say. “She left. She went to California.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “Her dad lives there, and he’s sick. My friends and I would drive out to see her, but we can’t afford it.”

  I wouldn’t normally tell this kind of stuff to my mom, but I feel so defeated that I have no energy to keep my guard up. Plus, I want to express what I’m feeling. At the moment, Mom is the only one near enough to listen.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  She really does sound sorry.

  We sit in silence for a few moments, and then she leaves and I return to my staring at the ceiling. After a while—a few minutes, a few hours, who knows—I get bored and scratch a few of the stickers on the wall, noticing for the first time the colors and designs printed on each one. I text Cecily. No reply. I call her. Voice mail. As always.

  It’s early evening now—I can tell because the light coming through the window is all but gone—when I hear another knock on my door.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “Mind if I come in again?”

  “Sure.”

  She sits down. “Here.”

  I reach out, and she pushes an envelope into my hand.

  “Feel inside.”

  I open it and flip through. The bills are already stamped with braille.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I sold the Tesla.”

  “What?” I exclaim.

  “I sold it. I couldn’t get top dollar on such short notice, but I have a friend from the club who I knew wanted one, and I gave her a good deal for buying it right away.”

  “That must be thousands of dollars.… I can’t take that.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not giving you all of it. Just enough for the four of you to drive to Los Angeles and back.”

  “Why didn’t you just go to an ATM?”

  “I thought about it, but my ATM limit isn’t high enough to fund a cross-country road trip. At least, not unless you were going to stay in seedy hotels and live off cheap junk food.”

  I still can’t believe it. The Tesla was, like, her most prized possession.

  “Mom, I really can’t take this.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “No, really. Go get the car back. You got ripped off.”

  “That’s why I know she won’t sell it back to me. So you might as well take the money.”

  “What’s Dad going to say?”

  “Nothing if you leave before he gets home.”

  “Like, right now? For LA?”

  “Unless you want your father grounding me and you.”

  “Um, wow… uhhhh… okay. Okay. Yeah. Let me just text my friends.”

  “The money comes with one stipulation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to stop at the Grand Canyon on your way there. It’s the most beautiful place in the world, and I want you to have the opportunity to see it.”

  “Mom, there’s something I should tell you about my operation—”

  “I already know,” she says softly.

  “You do?” I ask, surprised.

  “There was a problem with an insurance payment, so I had to call Dr. Bianchi’s office. He mentioned the fluid buildup. Asked me how you were doing.”

  I’m silent for a moment. “Oh.”

  “That’s the other reason I got rid of the Tesla. I know how upset you were about it. I’m sorry I don’t always take your feelings into account. So if there’s a chance you’re going to return to total blindness, I’ve decided we shouldn’t have a silent car around.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “And that’s also why I want you to see the Grand Canyon before it’s too late. I want you to see the whole country. Now, while you still can. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  She kisses me on the forehead.

  “This is your journey. I can’t guide you anymore.”

  At first I think she’s saying this to herself: time to let her son go. Then I realize this is the moment she was training me for my whole life. This is why she always insisted on guiding me instead of holding my hand when I was little—so I would be able to let go when I was ready.

  “No time to waste,” Mom says. “Now, get out of here before your father comes home!”

  CHAPTER 29

  Being in a car with other people is the opposite visual experience of being in a building with them. In a room or hallways, the background of the walls and floor remain stationary while people walk around in front. In a car, however, the heads and bodies of your fellow passengers stay still against a backdrop of constant motion as the world zooms by out the windows.

  I notice this as I sit in the backseat with Nick. Ion is up front while Whitford drives.

  The four of us made it out of Toano within two hours of Mom’s giving me the money—an impressively quick mobilization.

  We were even able to leave before Dad got back from the hospital. Our goal is to put enough distance between our homes and our hotel tonight that by the time the lies and half-truths start cracking under the scrutiny of our respective parental units, we’ll be too far into our quest to turn back.

  It’s nighttime as we head west on Interstate 70. Most of my field of vision is dark or nearly so. I motion with my hand over light sources so Nick can identify them for me. The large but stationary glow is the dashboard. The fast-moving dots are car lights. White are headlights, red are taillights. And the tiny bluish spots overhead are stars.

  “We’re outside the city now, so you can see them really well here,” says Nick.

  Stars. Everyone talks about their beauty and ability to inspire the spirit. I roll down my window and stick my head out to gain a better view. I find a tapestry of dark sky with tiny bluish-white specks. And in between the brighter stars are many points so small and faint I can barely see them.

  I bring my head back in the car.

  “How many are there?” I ask, the pounding wind decreasing in volume as I roll up the window.

  “Stars? I don’t know,” says Nick.

  “I know there are like a gazillion stars in the universe.”

  “Sextillion,” corrects Nick. “One with twenty-one zeros after it.”

  “Okay, but I mean just the visible stars you can see right now without a telescope or anything. Can’t you just count them?”

  “Uh, not really. You’d need a computer or something. There are way too many. It would be impossible to concentrate that hard.”

  So even for a person with normal eyesight, there’s an upper limit to counting. A problem with concentrating simultaneously on the number of objects and the visual tracking of them. In fact, it’s the exact same problem I have with counting, albeit with much smaller quantities.

  Nick waves his hand over various constellations, which according to tradition connect together in shapes like Orion’s Belt, the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper. I can’t see the images, and it’s difficult for me to imagine how anyone could.

  Honestly, I find more pleasure in looking at the dashboard than I do the stars. First of all, the dashboard lights are much bigger and easier to see than the stars. Second, they come in a variety of shapes. There are square buttons and several half circles. The stars, on the other hand, are only available in one model: the tiny dot. And third, unlike the mo
nochromatic stars, the dashboard features an array of luminescent hues. Nick tries to tell me one star is actually Mars and it’s red, but to me it looks like pretty much the same bluish-white as the other dots in the sky.

  I think for a moment that maybe this could be the New Year’s resolution I’ll share on the announcements, something about appreciating all the lights and colors and sounds, about enjoying the view as we drive through life. But what is there to enjoy right now? I fell for a girl, then pushed her away. And now she’s gone from my life, maybe forever. After three hours of driving, we stop in Colby, Kansas. I shell out some twenties for two rooms at the Holiday Inn Express. There is a discussion as to how to divide sleeping arrangements; surely, we agree, Whitford’s and Ion’s parents would not allow them to share a room. But Nick points out that their parents aren’t here, so they should do what they want. I lie in bed awake for a while thinking about Cecily, wishing there was a way to get to her faster.

  The next morning we hit up the free continental breakfast in the lobby and get on the road. I have a number of missed calls on my phone from my dad last night. None, however, from Mom. I assume Dad is upset about the almost-new car being sold for a lot less than they paid for it, and about me being gone, but that Mom hasn’t changed her mind about it being a good idea. So I don’t call back.

  As we get back on the road, I roll down the window again and look at the sky. It’s quite different from last night. Where, I wonder, does the blackness go? Where do all the stars go? The galaxies have been replaced by a single star, the sun, and the black sky is now lit up in bright blue. The color of my eyes before the operation, I think. The color of my eyes when I was blind.

  And there are white and blue and gray clouds of all different sizes. Unlike the stars, I find the clouds fascinating. I watch them for a full hour, during which time I see one cloud that looks like the bicycle my dad gave me the other day. Of course I know that there cannot be actual bicycles floating in the sky, and actually I have a pretty fuzzy memory about what the bike looked like, but my eyes and brain insist that yes, that’s what I’m seeing. A sky bike made of clouds. It makes me laugh. My friends ask what I’m laughing about, but when I tell them, they don’t find it as funny as I do.