Wayward Wolf

Understanding

Raymond

            After going blind, waking up became a frightening thing. There's this moment when I first wake in the morning where my mind isn't fully operational, and it almost expects to fucking see something when my eyes open. My chest hollows out and fills with a bristling anger tinged at the edges in panic. The first time was when I woke up in the hospital, I hadn't known where I was or what was going on. I could smell my mother in the room and hear the beeping of the heart monitor speeding up, but all my eyes could process was inky blackness. I had asked Mom where I was and why it was so dark. Maybe a part of me knew, but I was still just a fucking kid and all I wanted was someone to turn on the lights and tell me everything was going to be okay. Mom just called the doctor in and had him tell me what happened.

The doctor asked me all kinds of questions, shined a damn light in my eye that did absolutely nothing, and with every subsequent visit, the prognosis worsened and worsened. It was never coming back, my sight. I learned to read braille and navigate a world where what was once so safe, became terrifying. I never knew how much I relied on my sight until it was stolen from me. My brothers helped as much as they could, but holding my little brothers' hands was just as embarrassing even blind. The story of what happened spread through faster than the stomach flu and even now people whisper about that poor Dupont boy that was permanently disabled by his stepfather. Suffice it to say, it was easy to become a shut in and let the world outside whirl by while I stayed alone.

This morning is no different from any other until I catch the slight scent of something standing out. Eve. She's still in the guest room, and I can hear the blankets ruffling as she moves if I focus. My instincts push me to go catch a fresh whiff to see if her scent still has that undertone of coconut to it. Even slightly stale, her scent is enough to dull the edge of the cutting anger in my chest. It's kind of annoying because I know nothing will come from my instincts latching onto her. She'll leave and her scent will fade, and I'll be back to where I was before she came.

Having enough of fighting with my instincts, I feel around for the edge of the bed before rolling to my feet. I need coffee if I'm going to be fighting with myself all day. Eve's going push me to the brink of insanity before the snow stops.

My instincts keep my ears tuned into the sound of Eve in her room, monitoring for when she might wake up as I walk into the kitchen. Frankie helped me get one of those coffee makers that you just need to put a pod in and stick a mug under the spout. It's easier than trying to measure enough water in the carafe and pour it in without spilling water everywhere. Soon, the smell of coffee overpowered almost every other scent in the room, which made my instincts push harder to get Eve's scent back in my nose.

There's a groan from the guest room before the bed creaks and feet thump onto the floor. My instincts begin to quiet as soon as the door opens and her steps shuffle down the hall. She stops once the sound of her bare feet slap onto the tile floor. It's quiet for a moment until she sniffles as says a quiet "good morning" with her voice thick and croaky with sleep.

"There's coffee if you want it," is all I say in response and wait for her to step up to the coffee maker before making my way into the living room.

The voice guides on the TV are annoying so I never switch the channel away from the news, but Eve had been flipping through them yesterday so I have to fiddle around with the remote for a while until I can get it switched back over. I sip my coffee and listen to the weatherman drone on about how the snow might finally let up tomorrow. Eve sits next to me on the couch and is still eerily quiet. Maybe she's not much of a morning person.

All day yesterday, I hid away in the garage, completely unsure of what to do with the strange woman in my house. She pottered around in my kitchen for a long while and I wondered what she was doing in there, banging around pots and pans and opening and closing the cupboards. It wasn't until curiosity got the better of me because of the unfamiliar smell of someone cooking in my house that I left the safety of the garage. She'd made lunch. Nobody had made me food since I was a kid. Eve talked a lot while we ate, and I mostly just nodded and grunted whenever there was a pause. How she kept finding things to talk about, I have no idea.