Open My Eyes

{Ch. 14} Pity and a Play ✓

warning: some foul language ahead

;;

I ditched my shoes. Any longer with them on, and I would have developed a nasty callus on my big toe. So I held them in my left hand, swinging them back and forth, while my other hand held Iggy's.

The sky traded the sun for the moon and stars. Now, the neon lights of the bars and rollercoasters and Ferris wheel blazed across the boardwalk. At this point, mostly twenty-one-and-olders meandered the entertainment district, drinking at the recently-opened bars.

Iggy and I walked toward the parking garage, avoiding the groups of smokers and drinkers that lingered around old muscle cars and Harley Davidson motorcycles. I couldn't help but notice how the lollygaggers stared at Iggy and his probing cane tapping against the asphalt.

"Hey, angel-cakes, I hate to do this to you, but do you think I could hitch a ride? Obviously I can't drive, and I don't really wanna bother my brother to pick me up."

"Oh, yeah, no problem." I dug my keys out of my purse and slipped into my shoes again, despite the protests of my feet.

"You can just drop me off at H and M. I can walk home from there."

"You sure?"

He smirked at me. "I make it there and back every weekday. Pretty sure I can handle it again tonight."

The parking lot was much emptier now at ten p.m. than it was at six. We found my car with ease and Iggy slid into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh.

I watched from the corner of my eye as he rested his head on the headrest. He removed his aviators, deep red dents on either side of his nose. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

During the walk to the car, something about Iggy had seemed off. His shoulders remained tense, his jaw clenched, his head away from me as though to listen to a sound in the distance. Had he felt the stragglers' stares in the parking lot?

Normally I would have turned on the radio, but Iggy looked like he preferred the quiet of the rumbling car. So I kept silent, focused on the moonlit road. I cracked the windows, letting in a gentle nighttime breeze. When I gazed at the stars above us, I smiled at the memory of Vanessa and me watching a meteor shower years ago.

"It's nice, isn't it, being away from the noise of the boardwalk," I remarked after ten minutes of stillness.

"Yeah. I can feel my senses detoxing." He massaged his forehead.

"Do your eyes ever hurt?" I stopped at a red light, daring to look at him in the dim lighting: beautiful even in the dark.

He shrugged, grabbing the back of the headrest. It showed off his biceps. "Sometimes I get nasty headaches behind my eyes. That's pretty normal, though, I hear."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you – do you ever wish you could, you know, see?"

"Every day." He cleared his throat and let his hands fall into his lap again. "But what's the point of making empty wishes? This is the card I was dealt. It's non-refundable."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't know what I'm missing. I was born blind, remember?"

Silence stretched between us, almost awkward. If I could rewind time, I'd take back the question. The hard lines of his face suggested that a part of him longed to see, maybe even just for a day. To know color, to learn the faces of his family, to watch the sun set and the moon dance.