Blindness

Without even thinking, I push the send button, and I realize I’ve been staring at my message to Cody all this time. I just sent it—like floating a feather in the wind and hoping it gets noticed.

I’m worried. I love you. Please talk to me.

The rest of the study session passes, and I learn nothing. Cody never returns my message either. I’m frantic by the time I get back to my car, and I toss my backpack into my backseat and speed down the highway—right to the driveway for his shop.

The Jake’s sign is gone, only an empty pole standing against the gray sky. The windows are all boarded, and the tires once chained to the side of the shop are gone. I drive all the way in, holding my breath. He has to be here; there’s nowhere else for him to go. This…this…is Cody’s home.

I see one of the bay doors open when I reach the building. Bolt cutters are on the ground in front, and the broken lock next to it. Cody’s truck is pulled in, and the door is only rolled halfway up.

I’m slow and quiet getting out of my car, not wanting to scare him. I wait outside the door for a few minutes, just listening. Gabe’s talking to him, asking him about tools, books and receipts, but I don’t hear Cody’s voice at first. I know he’s in there; I can hear the shuffling of at least two pairs of feet.

“Codes, I don’t know what any of this stuff is. Either you’re going to have to look at it, or we should just take it all,” Gabe says.

“We can’t take it all. Someone will notice,” Cody says, and his voice halts my breathing. I knew I would see him again, knew I would find him. But I still had doubt, and I was terrified that the last words he said to me would be it—all I would remember.

I’m on the verge of a panic attack standing feet away from him, around the corner. My mouth is watery, and my body is shaking. Despite the 30-degree temperature outside, I’m covered in sweat. I need to go in, but I can’t seem to get my feet to carry me.

With eyes closed, I breathe in deeply and grip the cement wall next to me and follow it around the corner, ducking just enough to clear the door. I can tell I’m inside—the voices sound different, and the floor beneath me is slick. The smell of oil is still in the air, and I know if I just keep my eyes closed, I’ll picture everything just as it was.

I open them anyway, though, and the reality slams me in the chest. The walls are bare, the cars are gone, and most of Cody’s boxes have disappeared. It’s devastating—his entire worth, his entire being, erased in a blink.

I can’t help the words that escape me softly. “Oh my god,” I squeak, covering my mouth with my hand, and flashing to Gabe and Cody. They both drop the books that are in their hands and turn to face me, startled at first. Gabe’s expression quickly changes—at first happy to see me and then nervous, his lips tight and his eyes shifting to Cody.

Cody’s body language is obvious. His arms fold in front of him, and his eyes look down at his feet, his jaw flexing with the gnashing of his teeth. He’s angry, but he’s also broken and lost. I recognize it—I’ve worn it.

“Charlie…” Cody starts, shaking his head from side-to-side, his eyes not moving from his feet. His shoulders fall, but he never picks his head up. “What are you doing here?”

It stabs my insides when he speaks. How could I be anywhere else? Why would he think this isn’t exactly where I want—where I need to be?

“I sent you a text,” I say, my lips dry, and my mouth sticky as I talk. “You...never wrote back.”

“Yeah, uh…I’ve been kinda busy?” he says, holding his hands out to the side, pointing to the ruins left around him.

“I want to help,” I say, taking a step forward. But Cody raises his head, and his eyes pierce me when they meet mine. He doesn’t want me here, and I can tell there are things he wants to say simmering under his surface.

“Just go home, Charlie,” he says, turning away from me.

“I don’t have one,” I shoot back, my voice breaking when I speak.

“Yeah, well…whose fault is that,” Cody says, his words making me wince. My eyes are stinging, and I’m barely holding on. Gabe smacks Cody on the arm, and I can see him mouth something to him, but Cody just shakes his head and continues pulling binders out of boxes on the work table.

“You’re not being fair. You don’t understand…” I start, my words coming out stronger this time.

Cody drops the binder back in the box and slaps his hands flat on the table before he turns around and walks at me deliberately, stopping only inches away from my face. His breath smells of whiskey, but he’s not drunk. His eyes are tired and heavy—the blue duller, and the whites red. I want to reach for him, but I know it will only make him run, so I keep my hands at my sides, running my fingers along the seams of my jeans, picking at the threads.