Love and First Sight(25)

“What do you mean?” I say.

“When a blind person sees for the first time, it’s not like he can suddenly process everything going into his brain. He can’t identify faces, people, shapes, or colors. You’ll have no point of reference for understanding the images. Slight left.”

“So it’s like a foreign language, then?” I ask, adding, “People learn new languages all the time.”

“Not exactly. For an adult born blind, learning to see would not be like learning a new language, it would be like learning language itself for the first time.”

Dad alerts me to an upcoming bend in the road. But I’m not paying much attention and find myself startled when the bike tips and accelerates through the turn.

“And, Will,” he adds, “that’s if the surgery is successful at restoring your vision, which still requires immunosuppressant drugs that could allow you to die of something like a cold or the flu.”

That seems to be his trump card. Not only will the surgery not work, but even if it does, I might die of the flu. Really subtle, Dad. “Well, I guess we know which side you are on here.”

“I’m on your side, Will.”

We coast a bit in silence, and I feel the breeze biting my face.

He adds, “I think you are a tremendous son, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. I just don’t know why you’d want to risk everything on this operation when you already have so much going for you. Think about it this way: What if instead of giving you sight, this operation made a clone of you. The clone had functioning eyes, but in order for it to live, you had to die. Would you agree to that?”

This strikes me as kind of extreme. “Come on, Dad, that’s totally different!”

“Is it, though? Because currently you are a blind person. With sight, you would be a sighted person. If you gained your sight, by definition, you’d be a different person than you are now.”

“I guess,” I agree reluctantly.

“So the Will that is riding this bike with me would no longer exist. You would be a different Will. Who would that Will be?”

I count out a few seconds as we ride, his question hanging unanswered in the air.

“We’re home, aren’t we?” I ask.

“That’s my son. That’s my Will. See what you can already do? What would you need this operation for?”

I go back to my room and lie on my bed and think it over. When I first heard about this procedure and had my initial appointment with Dr. Bianchi, I immediately thought, Yeah, I want that. But after what my dad just said, I’m not so sure.





CHAPTER 12


As I waste stomach space ingesting large quantities of pointless beta-carotene at lunch the next day, my friends and I discuss the homecoming dance. Ion suggests I go with Cecily.

Be the only blind person at a school dance? Um, no thanks.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“Why not?” she asks.

I don’t want to tell her that I’m afraid of the event itself, though, so I share a different problem. “Well, for one thing, I came to public school to learn how to live independently. I don’t have time for a girlfriend right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? You can just go as friends. But if it makes you feel any better, Cecily doesn’t want a boyfriend.”

“Why not?”

“You’d have to ask her that,” says Ion. “But seriously, what could better demonstrate how well you’re mainstreaming than taking a girl to homecoming?”

“You have a point,” I concede. As an afterthought, I add, “What does Cecily look like?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ion.

Her hesitation is a surprise—usually people jump at the chance to paint word pictures for me.

“You know, like, is she pretty or whatever?” I clarify.

“Does it matter?” asks Ion.

“If she’s pretty? No, not really.”

But sort of. I mean, I know it shouldn’t matter. I’m just curious. And the way Ion’s stalling, I’m beginning to think the answer is no.

Whitford jumps in. “It’s not like that. Cecily is more of a sister to all of us. We don’t see her in that way.”

It’s obviously a nonanswer. Even if you don’t think of her like “that,” you would still notice if she was pretty. Wouldn’t you? I think so. Isn’t that how eyesight works?

I always kind of assumed Cecily was pretty. Her voice is pretty enough. But maybe I was wrong. Again, it’s no big deal. I’m just curious.

Nick says, “If you guys won’t do it, I’ll be the one to tell him.”

Ion tries to interrupt. “Wait, Nick—”

“She’s hot,” he continues, undeterred. “Totally.”

There’s a pause.

“Yeah, all right,” chimes in Whitford. “It’s true. I mean, I’ve only got eyes for my girl Ion here, but if I was single, I would definitely look twice when Cecily walked by.”

“Ion?” I ask.

“Cecily is lovely,” she says slowly, carefully.

“So you think she’d say yes? If I asked her to homecoming?”

“I don’t know, actually,” says Ion.