Blindness(54)

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say, letting a single tear fall down my face while I have the chance.

“It’s okay,” Cody says. His voice betrays him—every time. I don’t know if it’s this strange connection we have, but I know when he’s lying, when he’s hurting, when he’s happy, and when he’s not. And that was a lie.

“No, it’s not. And I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you about…you know…on my own,” I say. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.

We drive the rest of the way home, and Cody helps me carry my bag to the front door before turning and going into his own garage. I watch him walk away. I watch every step until he’s completely out of sight, and even then, I still watch, waiting and hoping he’s seeing me watch him—somehow knowing just how sorry I am. I’m sorry our timing wasn’t better. I’m sorry I hurt him. I’m sorry I didn’t meet Cody first.

I crack a little at that thought, pick up my bag, and head straight up to my room, the rest of the house its usual quiet. I pull out my book and open it to the drawings of Cody’s shop. Then I flip on the light at my desk and work on Cody’s shop some more. I sketch all day, until the moon is out, and then I slide over to the window seat and watch Cody’s garage, waiting for the light to turn on or off. I wait to see movement—see him—but when I don’t after two hours, I relent and dress for bed.

I’m about to pull the covers up, when I have a thought. I unplug my phone from the charger and open my book to my newest drawings to take a picture. Then I open my message and write to him:





I know you don’t want to talk to me. I understand, and I don’t blame you. But I truly am sorry. And I think I still need you in my life. I worked on the drawings a little more, and I’d love to show you.





I attach the pictures and send my message off. Gripping the phone to my chest, I lay under my blankets in the dark and wait. I wait for another hour, and my eyelids are heavy. The clock shows 3:00 a.m. I have class in the morning, and I know I need to sleep, but I will myself to give it five more minutes.

The vibration sends excited chills up my spine, and I can’t seem to slide open the message on my phone quickly enough.





I’m not angry with you. I like the sketches.

I love them.





I read his message over and over again, each time my heart breaking a little more. When exhaustion finally takes over, I plug in my phone and pull the blankets over my head, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and hoping my dreams give me answers.





I’m far from refreshed when the alarm sounds. If it weren’t calculus today, I’d smack the snooze button and go to school late. But I can’t; I know I can’t. My shower is lackluster, and I pull on sweatpants and a giant long-sleeved T-shirt with my boots. My office is closed today, so there’s no internship, no need to dress for anyone.

I set the coffee for a giant cup, more like three cups. I pour it all into a tumbler they gave me at work and take an apple from the fridge, lodging it in my teeth while I grab the rest of my things and head outside. The frost is setting in, and my teeth would be chattering if it weren’t for the apple stuck in my mouth.

“Practicing the apple bob, or is someone trying to roast you?” Cody says, his voice startling me enough to bite hard and drop the apple from my mouth. It rolls down the driveway and is covered with dirt by the time I retrieve it.

He’s sitting on the back hatch of his truck, his feet dangling. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was yesterday, and his eyes look as tired as mine. I smile softly, timidly—I don’t want to scare him away.

“Crap. My apple’s toast,” I say, rolling it over in my fingers.

“Hang on,” Cody says, sliding from his truck and walking over to me, reaching for the apple. “Lemme see it.”

He twists it around in his hands, inspecting it. He rubs some of the skinned part on his sweatshirt, and when he comes to my teeth marks he shrugs and then takes a giant bite out of it.

“Ewwwww, don’t eat dirt!” I say, reaching for his arm and grabbing the apple back to see his damage. He’s eaten the entire part that was covered in debris. I look back at him and he laughs, his mouth full of apple while he chews.

“What?” he says, reaching for my backpack and pulling it over his arm. “It’s just dirt. Ain’t gonna kill me.”

“So gross,” I say, looking over the rest of the apple before I decide he’s right, and I take a bite off his. I’m instantly thinking about how my mouth is, in some strange way, touching his with this act. I feel juvenile even thinking it, but I get a strange thrill nonetheless.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m running late…in fact, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” I ask, knowing he’s usually in the tutoring lab or class at this time.

“Yeah, I am. I’ve been sitting down here for 30 minutes waiting on your ass,” he teases, walking with my backpack toward his truck. I follow behind, confused and hopeful. “Thought we should just carpool. If that’s okay?”

He stops at the door and holds it open for me; his eyes search mine, waiting for my answer—I can see the same hope in them. In that instant, I know Cody needs me just as much as I need him, and that he’s willing to take whatever he can get. The relief I feel almost makes my legs weak.