Open My Eyes

{Ch. 24} An Art Exhibit ✓

          After three weeks of extensive training and paperwork for a special license to work for Hope and Miracles, I settled into my paid position: I acted as a teaching assistant for Mrs. Gibbens' ASL evening classes; I became a part-time kitchen worker; I shadowed one of the nurses who worked in the afterschool daycare program for children with autism spectrum disorder.

The job proved an effective distraction from the fact that I worked alongside Iggy.

Like I had predicted, I noticed Iggy constantly. I saw him in the hallways, on the playground with the blind kids playing games, volunteering as an assistant teacher for braille when he didn't have late afternoon classes. Sometimes I saw him where he wasn't: a glimpse of a lean figure in a doorway, a shadow by the windows in the cafeteria, a silhouette against the side of my car.

That Wednesday, finished with my three-hour shadowing, I headed to the playground for a break. Seated on the bench, I ate the peanut butter and honey sandwich I had packed for a snack. The honey and peanut butter squished out the sides, making my hands sticky. And I had forgotten a napkin.

When a tall, thin person wearing aviators and a cross on a chain necklace appeared at the doors, I assumed my imagination fabricated Iggy once again. So I looked away and slumped on the bench, watching nothing in the distance.

But the figment of my imagination collapsed onto the bench with a sigh. I bolted upright, fingers gripping the seat's edge, eyes wide as I stared at Iggy's profile.

He cleared his throat. "Hi."

My mouth opened to respond but a gravelly "Uh" came out instead.

The ghost of his dirty secret smirk touched his lips, and my heart climbed clumsily into my throat. "So. How've you been?"

I tried to make the ugly "uh" noise again, but I coughed once—twice—and managed, "Okay. I've been okay. Um. How about you?"

He rubbed his neck. "Not okay. Okay sometimes though."

I nodded. When neither of us said anything, I went to the moments of stifling silence when I had mentioned my parents' divorce or when Iggy broached the subject of being born blind and its impact on his family. Or the million little awkward moments between our first kisses and the times I spotted him after we broke up.

My hands fidgeted in my lap. I sat crisscross, then pulled a leg to my chest, then sat flat-footed, angled, ramrod straight, slumped.

"I, uh, I heard you're in a paid position now. Official staff member."

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and plucked at the hem of my pants. "Oh, yeah. I – Just during this gap year. You know, make some money. And stuff."

"Right."

The silence spanned forever.

Iggy gave a hard swallow. "Hey, Angela?" he hesitated.

"Yeah?"

He shifted in his seat so his body faced me but his head did not. "Do you think – maybe – that we could try the friend thing? Do you think that – that's even possible? To be friends?"

"Oh." I stared at my restless hands. "I don't – I don't know. It'll be really awkward."

"Any more awkward than this?" He turned his head to me, chuckling. The slight smile threw my heart into cardiac arrest.

My face warmed, and I blurted, "You're too pretty to be just friends with."

His smile grew. I smiled too.