Blindness

The sky outside is clear for the first time in days, and the chill is strong. It’s almost Halloween, and I know the snow is coming. Halloween makes me miss Louisville—it was the one time of the year Mac was always with me, even before we got along so well. I think being a cop made him fear something terrible happening to me while I was out trick-or-treating, so he always handled that night on his own.

Being alone has me missing my father even more. It’s been months since I’ve talked to him in my head, so I make plans to start a new conversation with him tonight. I’m behind on calculus homework, so I pack my bag with my books and a few snacks, and grab the blanket and a pillow from our bed. I step outside, but head to the far side of the house so I’m out of the view of the garage. I’ve been forcing myself to stay away, not even allowing myself to check at night to see if Cody’s light is on. It’s better to make a clean break. I’m pretty sure I was forming a bit of an obsession—almost like a teenage crush.

After two hours of studying, I’m making great progress, and am down to one final calculus problem when the sunlight finally runs out. My blanket is littered with snack wrappers and empty juice boxes—it seems when Trevor’s gone, I take on the eating habits of a fourth grader.

Feeling pretty satisfied with my studies, I close up my books and lay back with my arms tucked under my head. The sky is a deep orange, and the color is fading fast, blues and grays filling in where the warmth was only seconds before. I can still see a few of the brightest stars through the clouds, but I know they’ll be covered soon, too, and it makes my chest heavy.

This was our thing—Mac and I would lie on the hood of his car and wait for shooting stars. It was a nightly tradition we started the summer right before he died. He had heard about a big meteor shower one night and thought we might be able to see a few from our driveway. We didn’t see a single shooting star that night, but we ended up talking until the sun came up.

Mac told me stories about his family, about my grandparents whom I never met. And he talked about Caroline with great affection. He worried over his sister—constantly. And lying there, listening to his stories, made me realize for the first time exactly how big his heart was.

His big heart was how he met mom. She had been struggling with drugs. Dad was new to the force, and he met her at a bar one night after a long shift; she was pretty strung out. He said there was something about her that made him feel like he had to fix her, so he begged her to get help. And she did. Mom got sober for almost six months, and in that time, they started dating.

Dad never used the L word when talking about his time with my mom. It wasn’t a word he used a lot, actually, minus the few times he said it to me. I think part of him loved her, but she was so gone—so twisted—by the end of their relationship; it was hard to imagine anyone loving that. Sabrina got pregnant—with me. And she started using again. I put the facts together on my own, never really needing Mac to come right out and say it. Mom wasn’t really the kind of woman who wanted kids—clearly not the right material. And my existence? Well, that drove her over the edge.

Sabrina ran off soon after she found out she was pregnant, never telling Mac about me until she dropped me off seven years later. It was a miracle I came out without any deformities, too, because I’m sure she got high the second the pregnancy test came back.

When we looked at the stars, Mac asked a lot about my time with mom. I know he was feeling guilty that I had to grow up there, but I assured him that I wasn’t emotionally wounded or scarred. I know he always felt responsible anyhow, though. He took in everyone else’s failures and made them his responsibility to correct. He didn’t know any other way to be.

God, I missed him. I was usually really good at pushing down my hunger to hug him once more, to hear his raspy chuckle, and smell his smoking pipe. But every now and then it snuck up on me—like a beast I just needed to feed for a while so I could function. When it happens, I look to the stars. I don’t have to talk out loud, though sometimes I do. I know he hears me either way. And tonight I just need the clouds to stay away—just long enough.

I choke a little when the first drop runs down my face. It’s the same thing every time I feel the threat of tears. I breathe deeply and will them away. I feel another drop, and then another, and I realize that my skin is feeling the sky open up. There won’t be any talking tonight—the stars are gone, the darkness of the clouds all that’s left, illuminated by the full moon.

The downpour comes on fast, and I’m scrambling to wrap my homework, pillow, sweater, and shoes in the blanket. Suddenly I feel the weight of the comforter lifted from me.