Blind Not Oblivious

Four

I lay there breathing. Simply breathing in her scent. Her presence. Her existence. I tried to open my mouth to say something but my voice box only vibrated. 

"Elliot don't even try honey." She sounded disappointed. "You're only going to hurt yourself ... even more."

I looked in the direction of her voice, still only seeing darkness. My hands, once tensed, relaxed and began searching for her's. I felt her soft fingers wrap around my shaking ones.

"You're father always joked that you were going to go blind when you sat too close to the television." She forced a laugh, then became quiet. I felt her hands tense and I knew exactly what she was telling herself. Too soon.

"But I guess you can rub it in his face now since that's not what caused it," she had already lost the forced pity humor, this was said from a mother who lost half of her son. She was distant and monotone. As if she had now lost the sense of emotions.

"The doctors said they don't quite know what caused it. It wasn't in your eyes, in your ears, in your muscles. They have no clue. You're nerves just seemed to short circuit. Like they wanted to cut themselves out of your body. They were all torn and just broken." I imagined her saying this while she stared off into nothing. An empty chair. The window maybe. Just anywhere but her broken son. She was looking into her own black void.

"They ran a bunch of tests. The doctor said he never saw anything like this. But they still tried to find something ... anything. A virus. A parasite. They even tried seeing if they could see you're nerves tearing in the action. But they found absolutely nothing.  All they saw was the damage." I heard her swallow a whimper. She already had to hear a doctor tell her this, now she had to repeat it to me. I could tell her nerves were about to break.

"They're pumping all kinds of medicine into you. They say there is a 25% chance they can save your eyes and voice. 55% only your voice. 34% only your eyes. You're father says there is no chance. He saw the pictures. They are too close to the brain. The medicine can't get there, you would need to go into brain surgery." I wanted to ask her what she thought. 

I heard a creaking noise and felt my mother shift. "Mrs. Imarie. May we please speak to you in the hall," a voice said. It was fast and almost cheery.  

"Yes I will be right there." She kissed my forehead and sat there, most likely staring at me for another minute. "I will be right back, I promise." 

Then the weight on the bed lifted, and the door closed. And I was left alone. To stare at the black void and listen to the silence.