Blindness

He bites the inside of his cheek, forcing down a short laugh, and nods, finally looking me in the eyes. “Yeah, I can walk. I’m just a little banged up is all,” he says, his smile less bright now. “So, how about I walk you out?”

I cringe at his words, knowing he’s poking fun at himself, and teasing me at the same time. He lets me off the hook quickly, though, brushing his arm into mine. “It’s okay, I’m just bustin’ your chops,” he says, leaning his head to the side and urging me to follow him outside. I trail behind him, my bags weighing down my arm, and my mind working feverishly to remember what his skin looked like next to mine.

Cody sees me all the way to my car, still in his chair. I don’t see anyone parked near me, so I know he’s gone out of his way, but I’m too nervous to ask how he’s getting home. I’ve made enough of an ass out of myself already.

“This is me,” I say, clicking the unlock button on my keys. My Honda lights up, and I pull the passenger door open to drop my bags inside. As I do, my portfolio unbuckles, and a few of my drawings slide onto the ground. I rush to get them before they get dirty, but Cody’s already bent forward to save them. “You do these?” he asks, sliding them behind one another as he sorts through them in his lap.

I shrug a little and just nod yes. I’m always uncomfortable when others look at my work. He’s looking at my home collection—which are my most personal drafts. The series is based on my own dream for a childhood home, and there’s a lot of Mac in those drawings—things he always talked about doing to his Bungalow. I find myself reaching to grab the drawings back as my throat closes at the memories.

“Sorry, I’m running late,” I lie. I have nowhere I need to be, but I just had to stop his questions before they started.

“No problem. You’re good at that, you know. The drawings, I mean,” he says, swallowing hard. I can sense how unsure he is at his words, and I’m starting to break into a sweat.

“Thanks,” I say, coming off shorter and colder than I mean it. I try to repair it by smiling at him again, and then I curtsey. I actually curtsey. My eyes fly wide open, and he struggles not to laugh at me.

“Wow, did you just bow?” he asks, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck and shaking his head, grinning at me.

“Yep. I sure did,” I say, my voice cracking a little at the last word. I walk over to the driver’s side in a hurry and open the door. I lean over the roof of the car to say goodbye. “Thank you so much for today,” I say and decide to end it there. I give him a small wave and crawl into my car, mumbling to myself as I pull the seatbelt over my chest and fumble with my keys. I’m pretty sure my lips are moving as I berate myself when his tapping on the window registers. I start the car and hit the window button to open it all the way, now extremely desperate to drive away.

“Here,” he says, writing something on a small notecard, and then tossing it through my window onto the passenger seat. “My number. Give me a call…you know…if you need more help with calculus. Or…just give me a call.”

I look at the card on the seat, and I pick it up, nodding at him with a smile even though my insides are screaming to remind me: “Trevor!”

“Will do,” is all I say, closing my eyes again with instant regret at my stupid words. I roll the window back up, and he turns to leave. When I drive away, I watch him in my mirror as he heads back into the building.

I know I should toss the card out the window. Just as I know I should never come to a tutoring session again. I tuck it in the folds of my book instead, but I make myself a promise to stay away, forcing my imagination to replay my morning with Trevor—and focus on our perfect, quiet future. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t seem to completely erase the blueness of and the crinkles around Cody’s eyes. And I know why—and it’s making me sick.

Chapter 2: Timing Is Everything

I’ve lived with Lilah for three years. We met as freshmen in the dorms and got our apartment together before our sophomore year. Lilah is really my only girlfriend, and we’re not extremely close. We’re roommates, and that’s about the extent of it. I guess that’s why she wasn’t so worried about turning me out. I know it may be naïve to think that I would stay here forever. If…when I marry Trevor, I would be moving in with him anyhow. But I guess I just wasn’t ready to be pushed from the nest so quickly.

“Man, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were downright depressed about moving in with me,” Trevor says, only half-joking, as he leans into me next to my bed, which is covered with my socks, shirts, shoes, and open suitcase. I shove him playfully. I hate that he thinks I’m not excited to live with him. It’s only that I didn’t quite expect us moving in together to go quite like this or to happen so quickly.