By the time Orenda came over that next Saturday, the snow had hardened into a kind of unbreakable ice, and I found myself slipping everytime I tried to step foot outside. Of course, there was a good part to that, because Barry was also quite blind (in fact, he didn't even have light perception, unlike me) so he couldn't make his way over to my little bungalow to scream at me that week.
My mom had offered to go over and drive him to our house for my lesson, but my dad wasn't down for that. Honestly, I don't think my parents really liked Barry, for a number of reasons. Nevertheless, each week they insisted on him staying with me in a confined room and talking to me about the 'Great Blind Ones', which was supposed to make me feel better about my differences or something like that. He had talked about Helen Keller's life story for a good three months in third grade, telling me how she was able to accomplish so much with only a few of her senses. I could do that too, apparently, but only if I strived to be a Great Blind One. I'd hate to admit it, but I had dreams every night about being the first blind person to beat all the video games, the first one to win a motorbike race, the first one to be remembered whenever someone brought up the topic of great people.
In fact, I did just that. I ran outside one day, stole my dad's huge, bulky mountain bike and started riding it. My small feet failed terribly at reaching the pedal bars and I crashed into a complete stranger's backyard fence. It toppled over and fell on my face, which is why I have tiny, bumpy scars on the right side of my cheek.
The stranger that picked me up and brought me inside to clean me up was actually Egan's mom. She had a strong Japanese accent and her house smelt of sweet incense.
She set me down on the couch and started getting medical things, I believe.
"Your face has blood," I heard a little Japanese accented voice saying to me, his (or her, I couldn't really tell what gender Egan was in grade three) breathing sounded like he had just ran ten marathons.
"I know, dumbo." I spat back, touching the part that hurt, and cringing.
"What is a dumbo?" He asked, sitting down on the couch next to me.
"It's you."
"Your glasses is broken."
"Okay."
"I'm Egan."
"Hi, I'm Finnegan." I recited. My mom had always told me to say that whenever I met a new person.
"Why are you looking at the window?"
I snapped my head over to where his voice was coming from and said, "no reason."
"You're strange."
"That's mean!"
And by that time, Egan and I were tossing around the best insults our young minds could think of, which included, "you're fat!" and "I'm going to tell your mom!" and the rare, "YOU'RE HURTING MY FEELINGS!" Anyway, I left Egan's house in my mom's arms, her fawning over my cheek, and my scraped shin as well. Bu,t I went back to Egan's house a few weeks after that, because we had bombarded our parents with play-date requests; maybe so we could trade insults for the second time.
-----/////-----
Right at the strike of 1 (I had set an alarm clock, for my desperate and pathetic Orenda May Castellano obsession) Orenda burst through my window and slammed it shut.
"Hey, Finn!" She said, cheerily.
"Hi, Orenda."
"Where are we going today?"
YOU ARE READING
Yellow (editing)
Teen Fiction❝She was a sunflower, and even though she never faced the sun, she was still beautiful.❞ When Finnegan Annson reunites with his anything-but-boring, garden-scented childhood friend Orenda May Castellano on a cold winter day, it's no secret that his...
