Oh God, I will not say that. He deserves better. Better than me. And that’s not self-pity, it’s just a fact. A cold, ugly truth. You want the best for those you love.
I manage to hold back the sobs but he must know I’m crying. There’s nothing I can say. I can’t even say I’m sorry again and ask him to forgive me. I wouldn’t want him to forgive anyone else who did this to him.
“So… it’s complicated, yeah?”
I nod and try to stop my shoulders from shuddering.
I hear shuffling.
“But we’re friends. Here, I have something for you. I made it at Marsh, right after it happened. To give you when you came back. Lately I started carrying it around, trying to sort things out, and… here, put out your hand.”
Something light and metallic touches my palm, with a pin. A button.
I don’t trust my voice enough to ask what it says, but then I feel bumps on the front; it’s braille. Like he pounded them into the thin metal with a tiny nail.
Even before I read what it says, I stop breathing. Of all the buttons on my vest, none of them are in braille. I stuck braille labels on the backs so I can tell what they say, but this button is in braille on the front, like the first button for me instead of everyone else.
I run my fingers across it:
seeing
is not
believing
I break.
I sob and cry, not hysterical or afraid, just profoundly sad, like the world is ending and I can’t do anything about it. He takes me in his arms and I bury my face in his neck.
It takes a few minutes to get it all out. Once he tries to stroke my hair but my scarf makes this awkward, so he just holds me. You can read a lot into a hug if you pay attention and there’s nothing guarded about how he’s holding me. He doesn’t fidget, like he could do this forever. I could too. But I have to let him go. I finally do.
My voice comes back. “You can’t trust me because I didn’t trust you. It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I won’t make it again. That’s a promise.”
“Oh, well,” he says with his sad smiling voice. “You say that now…”
“I mean it. I can live with you not wanting to be with me, but I can’t live with you never trusting me again. I want to prove it to you… I just don’t know how.”
“It wouldn’t be trust if you had to prove it.”
“No, that’s how faith works,” I say, my heart pounding hard in my chest and throat over what just popped into my head. “Trust… trust needs proof.”
I take a step back.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Are we alone? I mean completely alone? I want to show you something… something I’ve never shown anyone and I don’t want anyone else to see.”
“No one’s around but I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want—”
“I want to. But are you sure no one can see us? Are you positive?”
“There’s no one else here, I promise, but I—”
“Shhh,” I say.
I slowly reach up with both hands, and with one smooth movement, I pull off my scarf.
“Parker…”
I wipe the tears from my face and lower my arms.
I open my eyes. My dead, empty, useless eyes.
I strain to listen for any hint of how Scott’s reacting. I don’t hear a thing, not even breathing. I think he’s holding his breath. I know I am. I feel like I might never breathe again.
This is the thing I absolutely hate most about being blind.
“They’re blue-green,” he whispers. “Like the sea.”
He’s using his boyfriend voice. I breathe in deeply to take it all inside me.
“I know they used to be.”
“They still are. They’re beautiful.”
I snort. “Yeah right.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
I can hear him breathing again.
“I thought you’d have more scars.”
“Not on the outside.”
“Well, they’re beautiful. Your eyes, I mean.”
I smile. “They’re my mother’s. Father’s nose, mother’s eyes.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“Me too… she would have liked you.”
Silence.
Well, except for the pounding in my chest, in my ears, and in the air all around us.
“So…” I say. “Which way are they pointing?”
He laughs so I get to laugh too.
“Does it matter?” he asks.
“No, I’m just curious. What are they looking at?”
“Well, which one?”
“Jesus, Scott!” I swat his arm, happy to score a direct hit on his biceps.
“They’re not looking at anything. It doesn’t matter. Seeing isn’t believing.”
“That’s right.” I smile and hold out the button to him.
“It’s yours.”
“Find a good spot.”
I concentrate on his hands fumbling just under my collarbone. When he’s done, I tie my Starry Night back over my eyes. I do it slowly, to put off what I know I need to say next…
“I have no right to ask for anything, but I really need a favor.”
“What?”
“If we’re not going to be together, I need you to stop being so nice to me.”