Home At Last (Revised version of "The Blind Man Sees")

  I tripped, crawled and stumbled my way through a shadowy place. I felt trees looming over me and roots beneath my feet. Leaves crunched as animals scurried through the treetops. Insects buzzed around my head and I batted them away. I could sense a light in the distance. A clearing, maybe? I walked toward it, stumbling over a large rock that was in the middle of my path. Then the rock started moving. A leathery head brushed up against my leg and the edge of a shell gently scraped my knee. It must've been a turtle that had parked itself there to bask in the little sun that I felt peeking through the trees.

Stepping into a splash of warmth, I stood for a moment, gaining my bearings. I felt the sunlight warming my back. The smell of pine needles wafted through the air, giving this place a peaceful, restful feeling. It smelled almost like a hint of a memory of home that played at the boundaries of thought and mind. It brought back shadowy and practically nonexistent images of Christmas trees and squeals of laughter. It took everything in me to force myself away from that spot and the peace it held, back into the cool shadows of an unknown place and away from the remenecense of sight and the wonderful idea of being able to see.

With my arms outstretched, I took a timid step closer to what I thought was a clearing. My fingertips brushed the rough surface of tree bark and I took another step. I will not fall. I will not fall. I kept repeating to myself, but the terror remained. Then, I found myself taking step after confident step. I was walking on a smooth surface with no bumps or holes. I no longer felt the crunch of dry brush under my shoes or the squish of mud seeping into the crevices of my boots. I had found a clear path that I could easily follow. Thankful for this happy occurrence, I resisted the urge to run to what I now was certain was a clearing in the forest. Instead, I felt my way cautiously to the bright light that warmed my face, the autumn sunshine that I so dearly loved.

When I emerged from the forest of terrors, there was a voice calling to me. For a moment, I was puzzled. Who could be calling me? Then I walked toward the voice and found myself holding the hand of a young girl. “I'm glad you found your way home, Daddy,” the girl said, “Mommy was getting worried.”

I was speechless. I have a daughter? I think I would know if I had a daughter, especially if she recognized me. I wracked my brain, hoping I could somehow make sense of this situation, getting more and more confusing by the minute. Why couldn’t I see? Why couldn’t I truly remember anything? Why was a small girl holding my hand and calling me “Daddy?”

There had to be something, some kind of memory or image, something, to give me some idea as to what was going on. I had practically no memories. My brain seemed empty except for the questions that consumed all my thought and energy.

I gripped the little girl’s hand, partly because she tugged on my arm so hard I thought if I didn’t hold on to her, she would fly backwards, but more so because it was comforting. The soft, little hand being enveloped in my rough, large one had some kind of calming effect, like petting a dog or listening to the pattering rain. The child’s meaningless chatter eased my thoughts momentarily. I just listened to her high-pitched and rapid voice, carrying on and on about how, “Mommy’s making spaghetti with garlic bread for dinner, because that’s your favorite. You remember that, don’t you, Daddy?” She asked if I remembered. How would she know I didn’t remember anything? I just shook my head, “no,” remaining silent. I didn’t dare speak, afraid of the sound of my own voice, afraid the confusion would overpower me and come out as someone else.

Then the grass turned into concrete and my small guide told me to watch my step. I didn’t hear her correctly, or my leg just didn’t seem to listen to my brain, but either way, I missed the concrete step and fell flat on my face. I gasped in agony and I heard a screen door’s squeaky hinges open. A slight gasp and a few, faint footsteps. The door slammed closed and there was a stronger hand, but just as soft as the child’s, on my arm.

A sing-song voice whispered in my ear “Let me help you,” I found strength in that voice. I recognized it! There was something familiar in the soft, yet confident tone, even though I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell you where I had heard it before. I let the gentle hand support my elbow and lift me to my feet, but still, I said nothing. I just listened to the voice and let my breathing slow back to a normal pace.

“He still doesn’t remember anything, Mommy,” I heard the child whisper to the mother. Nothing else was said, as if saying just that was enough. Just saying I “still didn’t remember anything” was explanation enough for everything that had happened. I still couldn’t see, I still didn’t know where I was and the fact that I couldn’t remember anything apparently explained it all. Why? I didn’t know. How could I?

The mother still gripped my elbow, like she was afraid if she let go, I would collapse. I felt her other hand slip under my arm and around my waist in a sort of embrace and she kissed my ear before saying, “It’s okay, Haden. You’re home now. Everything is going to be okay,”

I took these words to heart. These words I could’ve sworn I had heard before, but I wasn’t sure if I had just dreamt it. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I repeated to myself, but then I thought, “Everything IS okay.” I don’t have to remember every aspect of my life. I don’t have to know where I am, or even see the light of day ever again. What matters is not what is around me, but who. Home wasn’t where I was, but who I was with, and I could tell from the two voices around me, I was, in fact, home at last.

Reviews

[Marie]

This is very nice. The descriptions are great. You have a few misspelled words you need to check.
Also this does not quite make sense: How could this man not instantly have known the voice of his daughter? Or is there something underneath that I'm not getting?