Page 82 of The First Time I Saw You
My arms find their way through the sleeves of my denim jacket; my left hand finds its way into my pocket as my right grips on to Michael. We are going to the doctor’s and we are going on our own.
Our first problem is when we get into town, we need to cross the road, but as my fingers push the button and we wait for the green man, I find it hard to locate him. As the fist squeezes tighter and tighter, it is taking me longer to see the things I need to, even though I’ve become an expert on ‘crossings’. Mam has been noting the best ways for me to cross town, making use of pelican rather than zebra crossings as most of them will have a sound when I need to cross.
‘Did you know that the name for a pelican crossing comes from Pedestrian Light Controlled Crossing – isn’t that clever?’
‘Hmmm,’ I’d replied. I don’t really know what response she was expecting me to give. It seems that Mam has become an expert on all things ‘blind’; it’s like her new fecking hobby.
The green man flashes at me, but I don’t trust it. I concentrate on the hums of the engines of the stationary cars and only when I’m certain that they are not about to move do I step off the kerb.
My life has become something I don’t recognise. This time last year it was something that strode alongside me without a care in the world; that life – the one that revolved around a man who could see and was surrounded by light and life – has died, and when it did, it left me with its shadow. Michael rolls along the street and I bump into an overweight man, his heavy carrier bag swinging into my leg; both of us say sorry at the same time. The shadow skulks around me and the tunnel, it slithers across the buildings and trundles behind me as I follow the familiar route to the eye specialist building; no matter how hard I try to get rid of it, it follows me everywhere I go.
The doors into the building swing open easily and as the reception desk flickers into view, I don’t see the edges of a buggy that is hiding in the darkness beneath my feet and I trip over it, regaining my balance before I fall. The apology has already left my mouth, the question if the toddler is OK happening before I have instructed my mouth to open. Apologising is becoming as much a subconscious action as breathing is. I don’t need to think about it any more. The toddler is fine, no harm done – look, he’s still fast asleep. I put together the small parts of the baby’s face to make a whole, and I smile. His name is Henry, she is telling me. I step back to try and fit the pieces of her face together; she’s pretty with green eyes and lip-glossed lips, but the look of love that radiates from her as she looks at her son knocks me off balance almost as much as the buggy had. Sophie will have that look soon; she will look at her sleeping child and will feel complete happiness: something in me changes.
The realisation is so powerful, so unexpected, that I find myself standing still, smiling at this woman, this stranger who has just told me more about my relationship with Sophie than I knew myself.
I love her enough to let her go.
Sophie’s happiness is enough for me to begin my new life without her.
This realisation is like fresh air to me. I can breathe again; I can be happy because I know she will be happy.
Plans for my future begin to line up and take order as I follow the corridor. I need to take my life into my own hands. The shadow shrinks a little as I think about the changes I must make and the answers I need to find.
‘Good to see you, Samuel,’ Dr Morris greets me. I don’t know if it is ironic that my reply is that it is good to see him too. My leg is bouncing up and down as I think of all the things I need to do. I need to get my shit together, so I can learn to be independent; I need to find a way of marking my clothes so that I can dress myself without looking like an idiot. How am I going to do that? I need to take control; I need to start living my life again.
I look up and down, to the right, to the left, into various pieces of equipment. I answer his questions, but all I can think of is how I’m going to change my life.
‘When you see my finger, say now.’
‘Doc? How can I make sure I don’t dress like an idiot?’ I ask.
‘Concentrate, Samuel.’
‘I am. But it’s important, right? That I don’t go out looking like a twat?’
‘Say “now” when you see it, Samuel.’
‘I will. How do your other patients do it? You know, the ones that are completely blind?’
‘Um,’ he sounds distracted, ‘let’s do that again. Say “now” when you see my finger.’
‘How do they do it?’
‘Well . . . I have one patient that has the store assistant cut a shape out of the label. Can you see my finger yet, Samuel?’
‘No, a shape?’
‘Yes, like a triangle for blue, a square for red . . . anything?’
‘Not yet, oh – now. That’s a good idea.’
The wheels on his chair whir as he pushes himself back.
‘Where do I go to get a guide dog? Can I just go and pick one up? You know, if I take my certificate?’
He ignores my question. ‘Samuel, it’s not good news, I’m afraid.’
‘What? I don’t qualify for a dog?’
