Love and First Sight(42)
“Yes, it depends on the angle you are looking at them from.”
“So how many angles are there?”
“Three hundred sixty. You know that,” Mom says.
“So to recognize a single object, I have to learn it from three hundred and sixty different positions?”
“I don’t know… I never thought of it that way. I don’t think it’s that many. But I suppose you will have to learn the shapes of objects from different angles, yes.”
“What about people?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Do they change shapes from different angles?”
“I guess so. You might see someone from the front. Or profile—like a side view. Or the back.”
“I told you this would be difficult,” says Dad, unhelpfully.
I sigh, closing my eyes and slouching in my chair. The idea that something can shift into different shapes depending on where you’re standing is a completely new concept to me. Until now, the world has been limited to what I could place my hands on. And what I could place my hands on I sensed from all sides at once. The object did not shape-shift if I rotated it. It still occupied the same discrete tactile points, the same shape of space in my hands.
But vision, I now understand, is so much more complicated, full of so much more information. Not only will I have to memorize every shape, every object, I will have to memorize every object and every shape from every angle.
It’s a task so overwhelming it makes me want to cry.
Maybe, just maybe, I can learn a few basic shapes from enough angles that I can play Settlers tonight. I can play a board game with my friends like a normal sighted nerd would do on a Sunday night. So I press on, all morning and all afternoon, memorizing the shapes of the blocks, associating the touch sensation of each shape with a new kind of shape, a shape I can see.
Fortunately, the colors come easier. I learn each standard and special-edition Skittles flavor, and by the end of the afternoon, I can identify those colors with close to 90 percent accuracy.
Next stop: Settlers Sunday.
CHAPTER 20
The muscles around my eyelids get tired from closing them so often, which I do to give my eyes a rest and block out the dizziness. Back when I was blind—I say that like it was another era when really it’s been, what, three days?—I kept my eyes open all the time under my sunglasses. But now the light overwhelms me if I don’t give my eyes a periodic break by shutting them. Mom loans me her sleep mask to wear to Whitford’s. It covers my eyes, allowing me to open them without having to deal with their dizzying spatial resolution. Figuring people don’t usually wear sleep masks in public, I put on my sunglasses to cover the mask. So now I look exactly as I did before the operation. Just your average blind guy.
My friends don’t know I’m coming over. I want it to be a surprise. We’ve been texting a lot over the past couple of days, but I asked them not to visit or anything. I didn’t want anyone seeing me until I was able to, you know, see them. I want to make a good first impression with the new me. I want to completely replace their old image of me as a disabled guy with that of an ordinary teenager who recognizes colors and shapes and plays board games with ease.
I still use my cane to walk to Whitford’s house, though. His dad answers the door and shows me into the kitchen. There are gasps when I enter. I recognize one of them above the others: It’s Cecily.
Cecily shrieks, “Will!”
“Oh my God,” whispers Ion.
“Did it work?” asks Nick. “Can you see?”
I tell them about the last three days, the unexpected difficulties, my slow but steady progress.
“Um, is that a sleep mask under your glasses?” asks Nick.
“It’s showing?” I ask. “I thought maybe my sunglasses would cover it.”
I explain how I’m wearing it because light and colors can be so overwhelming.
“Wait, so you know colors now?” Nick asks.
“Most of them.”
“What color shirt am I wearing?”
This is a test I think I can pass. I take off my glasses and the sleep mask. I blink a few times. The light is disorientatingly bright. I close my eyes.
“Can we turn some of the lights off?”
“Sure,” says Whitford, jumping up from his seat to flip a few switches. “How’s that?”
I open my eyes. “Better.”
I rotate in my chair to face Nick. “You’ll have to bring your body right up to my face. I won’t be able to pick out your shirt otherwise.”
“Jeez, Will, I didn’t know we were at that stage in our relationship,” says Nick.
Nick stands up and steps closer to me. A single color takes over my field of vision.
“Red,” I say confidently.
“HOLY CRAP!” exclaims Nick.
They show me a few more colors, and I get them all correct. Their minds are blown. And mine feels pretty darn good about itself.
“So,” I say. “How about a game of Settlers?”
“Let’s do it!” says Whitford with a clap of his hands.
“Should we set up the map?” I ask.
Awkward silence.
“Will, we already set up the map before you got here,” says Ion.
“You can’t see it?” asks Nick, confused.