Goggle's Story

A short story from a collection placed carefully inside of a book I'm poorly attempting to write.

My name was Thomas, once upon a memory. I remember it fondly, like one thinks on an old picture or toy from their childhood, with a sort of bittersweet happiness partially because of the recalled joy and partially with sadness for better times. That's what my name is to me now, just an old memory. That was before I knew how it looked written down �" I only knew it's sound, the way people said it aloud. That was the only way I knew it. It was so important to me. To hear my name meant that someone was engaging in a conversation or calling me to attention. It meant I was noticed through the soul as well as eyes.

I didn't know what sight was. I had been legally blind since birth, but I could still see some things, general, shapeless lumps that were unnoticeable until I was practically on top of them. It wasn't darkness or blackness, really, it was just nothingness. When you close your eyes you see darkness, but I didn't even know what that was to the eyes, only to the skin. Then suddenly something darker, or in some cases lighter, seemed to melt up into existence before me right before I ran into it and received a smarting bruise and reprimand for walking without a guide. That was how I spent the beginning of my life.

I didn't let my sightlessness deprive me of experience. I went to school, I got a job, I went to college, and I moved into an apartment with friends. I wrote articles for the local newspaper with the help of my roommates and made enough money to help pay rent. My parents would even visit when they could. Despite my eyes I lived life like I could see.

There were times that I had wished so intensely that my eyes worked that it led me to tears of frustration, and more than once my poor, confused friends would enter my bedroom to find me sitting at my desk dripping from the eyes. They were kind enough to ask what it was that time that made me cry, and I would always answer so emotionally and with such longing that they would try to launch into an explanation which ended in all of us laughing. How pitiful was their ability to express physical things to the blind. It made wonderful memories, all the more. I wished for things that I could touch, but that couldn't be explained to me �" colors and shapes, flowers, the sky, snow, water, the ocean, buildings, even pizza, but nothing drove me more insane than my inability to see other people.

There is one person I still wish I could revisit to look at, besides, of course, my dear parents and few friends. She was a stranger, and I'm sure she was beautiful, but I have no way of knowing. I was at my favorite haunt, the park downtown. I had a favorite bench that I often had to compete for even if it involved waiting for a person to leave. It was in the sun but fell into the shade of what my friends told me was an “oak” tree during the suns highest perch in the sky. I sat there most days of the week to think and reflect. It was my thinking spot.

The day was a sunny August, just before late afternoon. It was a day like I hadn't felt or heard ever before, as if everything about it was perfect. I was bathing in the sun and sounds around me like a contented cat sitting in a window. My flip flops were kicked under the bench, and my feet were buried in the cool grass, toes wiggling and wearing a dent into the ground. Sometimes I wore sunglasses, but it wasn't really necessary because my eyes looked “normal” according to the reports from my friends. So I sat there looking like any other person who was enjoying their Friday, almost as if I fit right into the world around me and wasn't a slight mistake of nature.

There wasn't a thump, not even a vibration, but then there was a voice.

“Do you mind if I sit here? I know I'm already sitting, but if you want me to move I can.”

I swung my head in her general direction. “No, be my distinguished guest.”

Her voice warmed and teased me. “Distinguished, well, I'm honored. It's not every day that a stranger lets me grace his bench with my presence.”

I smiled what my Mother called a half crescent smile. I wasn't immediately sure how to reply to her words, but when she detected a single chuckle puff out my stomach she made a comment.

“You're very handsome, do you know that?”

My smile grew into a full crescent tinged with rue and a joke only I knew. I bent my face towards where my legs would have been, where my hands rested. “Really? How so?”

“You don't know? Or are you just being modest?” she said, firstly astonished, secondly accusing, but I was sure there was still a grin in her voice.

“No, I really don't see it.”

She scoffed, but that was interrupted by a laugh. “Fine then, I'll tell you how you're handsome. Let's see, how do I put you into words? Well, you have a very nice jaw line, it's not too pronounced that it looks like a models, but it's firmly set in a nice sort of way. Your nose is straight and strong, and even though your lips are thin they look sleek. Your hair isn't a regular brown, it's almost shimmery, and the cut really compliments your features. Then there are your eyes... They're so beautiful. It's like a never ending fall into warmth. You're kind of gorgeous. Gee, I hope I wasn't too forward. Well, I don't really mean that. What I mean is I haven't even introduced myself yet, and I really hope that's not a problem. I mean, it's not a problem, but it's kind of rude...”

While she had been speaking the corners of my lips had been pushing their ways up, and my eyes had crinkled. The back of my neck was growing warmer and warmer in a pleasant sort of way that I wish I had experienced more often, and I was playing with my fingers in an attempt to distract myself from the happiness that was bundling up my heart and turning it into a glowing lump of “butterfly kisses”, a term coined from my Mother.

There was a slight pause, and then she exclaimed, “You're blushing! Aw, you're bashful, aren't you?”

I couldn't help it �" I laughed. “Maybe I am. The truth is, you've described me rather well, or at least much more clearly than other people have tried. It was a rather nice go.”

“I don't understand,” she said, her voice colored with a suspicious smile. “Do people usually call you handsome and try to describe you to yourself?”

“No, not the handsome part, but the rest, yes.” I nodded slowly, my lips quivering with happy and mischievous emotions.

There was a long beat, and I'm sure she was sitting there dumbfounded as she tried to understand exactly what my words had meant. I straightened up my back and neck and turned my head to where I thought she was sitting.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, and her voice grew muffled as she asked, turning her head away.

“I'm attempting to face you, but I guess I missed.”

“I don't understand again.”

I felt my lips, still in a smile, tuck into my mouth, and my arm moved out to rest on the back of the bench, a movement that I executed slowly to avoid bumping my elbow. I shifted my body to face the other side of the bench more, my cotton pants making a soft noise as they moved against the metal.

“I'm blind.”

“Oh my go- you- you... Did you really... you seriously made just like, five blind jokes since we've started this conversation, didn't you?

“It was only two, I believe.”

I heard her shift in her seat, most likely slumping. There was another short silence as I'm sure she sat there chewing on and digesting this new information. I was patient with her quiet, and I stayed there with it imagining I was breathing it in with every breath.

“I think you're beautiful.”

There was a beat, then a hitch in her breath. “You... but... okay. Okay.”

“You have a wonderful voice. It's like an orchestra and sunlight. Can I be perfectly honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“I think I've fallen in love with your voice.”

“Oh. Oh, I- I don't know how I feel... I mean... oh...”

My smile relighted itself. “Don't tell me, let me guess �" you're blushing, and you're bashful. I hope I wasn't too forward, but I thought you deserved it after being so with me.”

She giggled, and then hesitated. I heard her breath stop and then pull in many times as if she was trying to come up with what to say, and when she finally went to say it she changed her mind. “Do... I... oh... hm... I'm not sure... I don't... want to ask... but...”

“Are you wearing makeup?”

“No �" why?”

“Well I wanted to ask if I would be allowed to trace your features.”

“I was... I wanted to ask if you would, but I wasn't sure how to. But really, go right ahead.”

“Guide me, then, if you would.”

I reached out my hand from where it was resting on the back of the bench. Soft fingers bumped into mine and then gently wrapped around my hand. Another spread my fingers apart, and then my hand was led forward until it brushed up against skin. It was her cheek, and from there my fingers mapped out her whole face from chin to hairline. What I felt and heard were beautiful, and I made a point of telling her so. When I went to pull my hand away hers took mine, and we rested them on the bench between us, fingers idly interweaving and playing. Topic after topic was covered from favorite sound to foreign affairs, and there was no doubt that some part of me fell in love with that wonderful stranger that afternoon. We stayed like that for what felt like a long, long time, a century perhaps, but when I heard the unmistakable beep from Corey's van and felt my cellphone vibrate from his call it felt like we hadn't time enough.

I stood and turned to follow the walkway over to the corner of the park, and as we said our goodbyes I remembered something that had slipped my mind since the beginning of the conversation. I turned back and told her my name, and in return I learned that hers was Paris, and from there we departed. At least, I thought we had, until I heard steps running after me crunching the grass. A hand snagged mine, and a slip of paper fell into it. I heard her unmistakable giggle, and then a pair of lips pecked my cheek. Her hand slipped away and her footsteps followed suit. When I got into the van Corey cheered at me and read the slip of paper �" her address and a small note that said she was expecting me to write.

At the supermarket my friend grilled me on everything that had happened as we walked up and down the aisles, and I could remember almost everything which kept him immensely entertained. As I pushed the cart and he guided it from the front I found myself revealing details that I didn't think I would have remembered if it had been any other person, but for Paris I could recall anything. It was almost a miracle. I learned that somehow in the space of a day I'd gotten to know a stranger better than I had any of my flatmates.

When we got back to the apartment I detected a whiff of cigarette smoke and freshly sprayed air freshener. There was a greasy smell, but I wasn't sure if it was pizza, Stromboli, or Chinese takeout. The second we had entered the kitchenette Corey screamed as loudly as he could without angering the neighbors that I had a “super sexy park crush”, a sentence that drew the boys in as quickly as a shark to blood. We spent the next our talking about Paris, eating, and “watching” the news in the background. There was something very good about that night, and I even went as far as thinking that my life was taking a new turn upward. I was heading to higher heights, or that was the thought that was in the back of my brain. It was close to seven o'clock when I changed my mind.

“Thomas! There's a call for you, it's a Doctor Applefondling or something,” Alexandar yelled out.

“Applefondling? What kind of name is that?” Mitchel snorted, choking on his soda.

As the phone was passed over to me and I tried to make my way outside onto the porch I heard the boys cackling over Alexandar's embarrassing mispronunciation of Doctor Apperfording's name. I knew it was going to be a joke that they held over his head for a while leading to ridiculous pranks and teasing until he could find a way to get back at them left with me scrambling for cover.

“Doctor Apperfording, it's nice to hear you call. How can I help you?” I asked, leaning against the railing and basking in the pleasant evening air.

“Thomas, I was just calling to throw a proposition your way. You asked me a few months ago to keep my ears open for any opportunities that might come your way concerning your eyes.” His voice was on the brink of excitement, but there was an edge to it that I was trying hard to detect.

“Yes, I did �" have you found one?”

“Well, that's the thing, son, I have, but there are possibly more cons than pros to this...”

The rest of the night I was quiet, thinking, and the next day when I went to my eye appointment I learned exactly what those cons were and what they entailed. None of them thrilled me, and all of them drew me into a deep worry and war that raged inside of me. I learned that it wasn't just an opportunity my doctor had stumbled across but a request that had come straight from a program that was experimenting with a new prototype of bionic eyes. When the representative they had sent met me that day with Doctor Apperfording they claimed they were impressed by my physical state and that I was a perfect candidate for the program. It was all one blur and jumble of voices and words and thoughts running through my mind, and by the end of the appointment I knew the following facts.

Firstly, the bionic eyes were still being tested. There was no guarantee that they would even work. If that was the case, I would be sent home if I didn't react well to them. Secondly, I wouldn't be allowed to keep contact with my friends if the eyes did work �" I would be placed under special care to be watched for a while to observe my reactions over a long time period. Thirdly, there was a chance that some parts of the operations could be fatal, though a slim chance at that. Fourthly, if everything went well and I received my eyesight not only would I be in special care but I would be secluded from the world entirely. There was a chance I wouldn't see people for a long time. Then there was one last thing.

“Look, Mr. Fen, I know there are more bad things about this than good, but there's something I think you should know. This isn't just some fun science project a few four-eyed, pasty-pale nerds want to try out. This could be a scientific achievement beyond anything we've ever seen before. This isn't just for the physical benefit, though �" this is a government based operation, and you'd be serving your country well if you joined. I don't want to pressure you into thinking you have to because you owe your country, but it is something to consider that you could be helping out future generations. The decision is up to you �" contact Doctor Apperfording here when you've made your decision and we'll give you instructions from there.”

The representative left, and then I followed. Corey was outside in the van, and once I was in he drove me back to the apartment. The whole ride was quiet, drowning in my thoughts, and as soon as we reached our rooms I retired to mine where I sat on my bed surrounded by external silence and internal battle.

The truth was, I wasn't worried about the operations failing or even being secluded from society. Dying was the farthest concern from my mind. I didn't want to have to sever contact with my friends. That was the biggest thing stopping me from accepting the offer. Corey, Alexandar, and Mitchell mattered the world to me, and having to live without them in my life was unthinkable... almost. One one hand, I had spent all of college with them, and they'd grown to be something akin to brothers. They cared for me even after all of the horrible things we'd gone through together, and they didn't let me fall behind because of my impairment, nor did they treat me differently because of it. They were sensitive but at the same time were just as rough and playful.

On the other hand, eyes had been my dream. I knew that was what they wanted for me, too. I thought it was likely that I wouldn't respond well to the bionic eyes and would be sent back to my regular life. Then, of course, the thought of being able to serve my country and help other people with the same problem weighed heavily in favor of going. I had always felt I couldn't do enough for the country that had treated me and my family so well �" I had wanted to serve, but I wasn't sure that I could. This was my chance. Finally, I didn't want to be that person who denied others a possibility to see just because I was selfish and worried of what I could lose. I didn't want to be like that.

That night I knew I had to tell the boys otherwise the choice would be pulling me down into a deep hole of regret and worry. Their reactions were as I predicted, and because they were my friends I told them everything that was on my mind. Mitchel was determined to have my bags packed that very moment �" he said he didn't care that I wouldn't be able to keep in touch with them.

“We want this. We don't care what we have to do to make sure you're happy.”

“But I won't be happy if I can't have you guys there.”

They settled everything for me, and that very night I made my choice. I called Dr. Apperfording, and he passed on word to the representative. That next week went like a blur. I went to the park, like usual, and I helped shop for groceries. I did laundry, cleaned, and spent time with the boys. Then I packed, and I left for the airport. On my way there I realized I had forgotten something important, and Alex helped me sort it out. I dictated, and he wrote, and the last thing of mine that was written in New York for me was left in his capable hands. When I boarded the airplane with the help of a stewardess I could hear the boys yelling goodbye at me. When we took off I was informed by the passenger next to me that they were waving from behind the gate looking like “bloody lunatics hellbent on using their arms as helicopter blades so that they could take off into the sky.”.

The airplane ride seemed very long, much longer than eight hours. I slept quite a bit for most of the trip, and I listened to audiotapes that I had brought along with me. I could still hear some of the other passengers and was incredibly nervous; that was my first time on a plane of any kind. It felt odd, very odd, but I can't say it was entirely unpleasant. I was almost moved to tears when I heard a boy in front of me fawn and croon over the sun and clouds. This was my chance, and it was possible I wasn't going to make it to seeing. Now that I was gone from home there was nothing I wanted more.

I wasn't in the airport for more than five minutes before my things were packed into a car trunk and I was carefully led into a back seat. I didn't ask where we were going, not at first �" there was too much quietness. Every answer I received was short and to the point; I wasn't going to get to know very much. At the time I should have realized how suspect the situation was, but like a foolish sheep I was led to places and reasons unspecified and unknown. I tried to be friendly, but even that was replied with cold silence. By the time the car ride was over I had been beaten into submission by their seeming flatness.

We were at a hospital, or that was at least my impression. I was walked inside to a counter where my name was taken and a name tag was pinned to my shirt. Then I was herded to an elevator that took us up, up, and up and threw my stomach into my throat then back down again. From there we walked through hallways, and the sound of shoes smacking hard floor, rustling scrubs, soft voices, and beeping machines still echo in my head when I recall that day to mind. Sharp smells pricked my nose, cool air washed my skin. The waiting room I was led into was even quieter. The only sound I could hear was the rustling of magazine leafs being turned.

I was sat down, and then my escorts walked out shutting the door behind them. My seat was plastic, uncomfortable, but I stayed still trying to discern who was around me and the exact environment I was in. I could feel only cold around me and assumed that there was no one sitting to my left or right. There was a window, I thought, maybe across from where I was sitting, but I wasn't truly sure. As far as I knew there were only a few other people there with me.

There was shuffling, like the sound of someone moving on a couch, and then steps, small and fast, from across the room to my side.

“Hey, man, if you want you can sit on the couch. Those lousy suits never give us the good seats.”

I tipped my head upward. “You'll have to help me over there, if you don't mind.”

“Man, what are you looking at on the ceiling? There isn't anything up there worth looking at,” my acquaintance said, his voice fading quietly as he swung his head upward to where my “gaze” seemed to fall.

I sighed. “I missed again.”

“Say what?”

“I'm blind �" you're going to have to help me over to the couch,” I clarified, reaching a hand out.

A small, firm hand grasped mine and helped me up. “Now things are starting to make sense. I see, I see. Oh, dang, not like that. Lik- you know what, I'm just gonna shut up now.”

I was walked over to the other side of the room, almost tripped over a coffee table, and then found the edge of the couch with the voice's help. I sat down and shifted myself until I was comfortable. There was warmth radiating from behind me which made me sure I was backed up against a large window; it felt pleasant on my skin and made a nice contrast to the cool room.

“What's your name?” I asked, clasping my hands together.

The couch bounced slightly as he sat down. “It's Noah, like Noah and the whale.”

I shook my head slowly. “I don't know that... story?”

Noah made a ticking noise with his tongue. “Brother, you've got a lot to learn, and we've got a long wait, so set your ears to attention, shut up, and listen.”

That was how I met Noah Clanners, a strongly spiritual man who loved to talk. In the next half hour he became a good friend who was chock-full of stories from his holy book and knowledge of life. In everything he said he seemed very casual but full of exuberance and incredibly animated �" I could just tell by the swooping noises his hands made as they cut through the air and the loud stomps of his foot against the floor. The couch bounced quite a bit as he excited himself through his narratives and accounts of life, and he loved to make the same point over and over again until I was sure that I wouldn't forget it.

We parted when both of our names were called and a nurse helped me out the door. I could hear his footsteps walking the opposite direction of mine, and I was sure that after that I wouldn't see him again. I was taken into a smaller room and helped onto a bed where I went through numerous tests and was instructed on many things. It was a physical but so much more involved that by the time it was all done I was tired out and ready to take a nap. My nurse, who had been even more deadpan than the men who had driven me there, took me back to the waiting room and told me that I would be there for a while and to sit tight. I was counting the ticks of the clock, tapping my foot on every other second, waiting patiently when I heard his voice again.

“Hey, brother, you survive? Let me tell you, those scrubs made me take test after test after test, and I'm not even mad about it because I found out that those suckers have a vending machine on the floor below, and I'll bet you it has Doritos.”

The couch puffed up as Noah plopped beside me. He sat for a minute, and then he started to fidget.

“What is it?” I asked, turning my head slightly.

He huffed. “I could have sworn I had another dollar in here. Hey, you have any change?”

I felt around for my pocket and pulled out a wallet, giving it to him in trust. “I think I have a few ones in there, but I can't see for the life of me what you would want them for.”

“See �" that's a good one,” he chuckled. “I want them so I can go buy myself a bag of chips and a soda.”

“The nurse told us we had to stay here, or, mine did. Didn't yours?” I asked nervously.

He snorted. “Of course that old bat did, but there is no way I'm sitting here for another half to a full hour without a snack. Screw authority, I'm hungry.”

“Don't your teachings sa-”

“Well they didn't tell me I couldn't eat, and they didn't say I had to stay in the room, just that I should wait here until they called my name again. Hey, say what, you should come with me,” Noah said, his voice pitching in excitement.

“What.”

“Ohhh, that's a good one, man. No, really, two of us is more fun.”

“No way �" I don't want to get in trouble. I can't afford it.”

A minute and a half later we were standing at the elevator. I can't remember a time when our escapades didn't get us in trouble, and that was the first of a long line. When we'd finally found the vending machine we'd already been wandering around for fifteen minutes, and once Noah paid for them he proceeded to have a wrestling match with the machine in a fight for his food. He told me that it had gotten stuck, and so I stood there for five minutes next to the craziest food lunatic I had ever encountered, and as he banged and kicked the machine and made noises unimaginably loud I found myself wondering how no one had come and found us yet with all that racket. My hands were over my eyes, I was shaking my head, and he was muttering deliriously about how he'd fought tax collectors that were less forgiving than that particular machine. He won, ultimately, and when we got back to the floor above and found the waiting room (which took far longer than it should have) there was a seething nurse waiting for us. She tapped her foot on the floor and hissed at us through her lips not to ever leave the room again, and then she left.

We sat down and shared the chips and soda. I don't ever remember feeling that mischievous before in my life, but it was very satisfying. It wouldn't be long before I got used to the feeling. Until then, however, I had much more to go through. We sat for a long time, and Noah was convinced that it was a conspiracy the nurse had cooked up as a punishment, but I wasn't so sure. When she did come back it was to send me down to the foyer of the hospital where my ride was waiting for me, and Noah Clanners and I parted ways sure we would never see each other again.

A week later I went to my first operation.

I was moved to a “facility” and kept there after the surgery. I still didn't have my sight. I was kept in a small bedroom that I became too familiar with �" I stayed their most of the day except when someone came to walk me around the hallways for exercise. It was always a different person, and they rarely ever engaged me in conversation no matter how much I said to them. I accustomed myself to the thin blanket and the cafeteria-like food. I listened to more audiotapes than I ever thought I could. Besides my daily walks and the surgeries that was where I made home.

Two weeks after that I went under, and they told me that they were sure this was it. I woke up hours later, much to their surprise �" they had been sure I wasn't going to make it through the evening.

Often at nights I stayed up wondering what the boys back at home were up to. I dreamed about the familiar sounds of the park and city. I imagined the taste of pizza and the smell of aerosol air freshener. I lingered over memories of Paris and Noah, running over the conversations I'd had with them until I knew them by heart, soul, and mind. I was homesick.

I went into a third surgery, and they told me that my heart had stopped twice. The operation had been riskier than all the others, and I lost a large part of my sense of smell to it, but they told me they were making progress. Food didn't taste the same �" everything tasted like diluted mush. I cried more than I knew the boys would want to know about, more than they would ever want me to. I was miserable, gloomy, and had lost much of my spirit. Sometimes I thought I heard my Mother and Father's voices at the back of my mind cheering me on and repeating the things from my childhood like motivational signs I was going insane.

I was taken to my fourth surgery. When I woke up, everything was as it always had been, full of nothingness.

“Thomas?”

That was my doctor's voice, the voice in charge of the surgery. He was kind, thoughtful, and he told me that I was an exceptional patient, though I often thought he said so just to make me feel good.

“I'm awake.” My voice was much quieter, more subdued than before. There was less joy to it.

“Thomas, I want you to keep your eyes wide open. Take care not to blink unless you really need to, okay? And let me know if you do. I want to check your eyes carefully.”

Something in his voice seemed off. I felt my body fall into looseness, into the sense of dread. I kept my eyes open, and I felt something around my head start to move. There was the soft noise of friction between fabrics, and with each one something began to change. The nothingness was being replaced with a muted brightness that kept growing.

“Doctor! Doctor! Is my heart failing? There's something! It's light �" I think I'm dy-”

I was enveloped in harsh light that faded with each passing blackness that winked before me. The blackness, I thought, was trying to balance out all the light, and when everything faded there was the strangest thing before me. My fingers and neck buzzed, and when I moved my head things blurred. Things blurred visually. I moved my hand, and it made me jump as I saw something long and tendril-like jerk around. I blinked, and the nothingness was back. It made me yell in surprise. When my eyes opened, it was gone. I turned my head, my eyes, and looked into a face, and in that face's eyes my own image, glassy and small, stared back. The person's lips floated open to reveal white teeth.

“Nice to see you, Thomas.”

Author's Note

Ignore my grammar failures, if you please, dearies.

Overall feedback?

Questions that need to be answered will most likely be answered in the rest of the collection this specific short story belongs with, but if you could still point out which ones need answering that would be lovely.

Please be intensely nice to me.