Page 90 of Out Of Time

Brown looked between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, doing scary things is cool and all, but are we really going to act like she didn’t mention Max in cat ears?”

They all began to laugh, and Max began to talk with his teammates more freely than he had in all the years leading up to his last. He wondered if it was too late to create the memories that should have lined the halls of his home in picture frames long before now.

Time didn’t stop for anyone, but Max was certain that he wanted to spend the rest of his saying yes.

The hockey season for the Condors continued on without Max, as he knew it would. He watched the games with Remi, and sometimes he resented his team for winning so effortlessly without him in front of the net, and some games he cheered them on with nothing but respect and admiration for a team he loved so dearly.

Max found himself doubling down on his time off the ice. He could sit back and let his disability become his entire identity, or he could ready himself for the future with it. He had his moments where he still freaked out, and nights where he laid awake angry and bitter, his heart questioning his misfortune. There were also days where nothing filled the void of hockey, not Remi, not the beach, not sex, food or even his newfound love of music.

This was to be expected.

He tried to show himself grace when he wasn’t the best version of himself.

Sometimes he failed.

And sometimes he slept too long.

Sometimes he just needed to get out of the house, so he found himself in a stranger’s home, his Busy Bee Cleaners shirt on as he mopped the floors while Remi scrubbed a toilet in the next room over. Max was grateful that she shared her outlets with him, invited him to get his hands dirty with her, to be a part ofherday-to-day.

He was happy she wasn’t sick of him yet.

“Hey,” she said, as they loaded her cleaning cart into the back of her Subaru after they finished cleaning the last house of the day. “I was thinking that tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I can take you to check out Lighthouse, that rehabilitation facility I told you about.”

“I’m nervous,” he admitted, slamming the trunk shut and circling around to get in the passenger side.

“Tell me what about it makes you nervous.”

He had a long list of reasons why he was apprehensive about visiting the facility. This wasn’t the first time he had thought about taking the recommended steps for preparing for the future with his disability, but something about acting on it felt so final. He still technically had his vision; he could drive during the day, he could watch TV—even if blurry—and he could still do the simple acts of life with just his peripheral vision being affected, though he knew it didn't stop there. He knew what came next, and he knew the best thing he could do was prepare himself for it.

But getting there was hard.

“I’m afraid I’m not emotionally ready to learn what this looks like in depth. Right now, I have a general idea, you know, the common misconceptions of what life looks like with a vision impairment. I know enough, but I’m choosing not to be informed, because the more I know, the more real it will become and I’m struggling with that.”

“That’s a very valid thought process, Max. But don’t you think the unknown might be scarier than just ripping the Band-Aid off and speaking to people who are not just living, but thriving with a vision impairment? Maybe what you’re really afraid of is thinking there is no silver lining, and because of that, I think you might want to go take a look for yourself and see that there is so much technology and support out there for you. I know it’s out there, because after we met with your dad I started to dig. I wanted to be informed, so I did some research. I wanted to understand this, I wanted to know for myself whatweare up against, because I’m in Max, I’m all in, and we have a lot of fucking life to live together.”

Max took her hand in his, bringing her knuckles up to his lips to kiss. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

***

Hand in hand, they entered the Lighthouse Rehabilitation Agency. Remi could feel Max’s nerves in the stiff way he held her hand, his palms clammy against hers. The facility was welcoming, the lights were bright, and the room was free of any unnecessary clutter. Along the far wall was a line of desks with computers, and in the far-right corner there was another desk where a young man sat as an older woman explained contrast and labeling to him. At the far back of the facility there were two closed-off rooms, one for counseling, and one that Remi had visited last time, which was the office that belonged to the facility manager, Nicole, and her sweet dog, Shepard.

“Right back here,” Remi assured Max as she led him through the facility slowly, giving him time to take in the surroundings.

“It’s nice,” Max said.

“It’s very nice. It’s one of the top-rated facilities in California.”

“Everyone seems… happy.”

Remi gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course they are. Look at all this amazing technology and support. This is going to be really good for us.”

“Us,” he said under his breath, giving her hand a squeeze back.

Remi knocked on the doorframe of Nicole’s office and announced that it was her and Max. She had been researching ways to be respectful of the vision-impaired community, and one of the things she read was announcing yourself, and making your presence known.

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