From Dusk Till Dawn

Chapter Eleven

Amy had her surgery the following day, just like planned. Naturally, everyone was there; family and friends. All waiting in anticipation for the good news. The doctor had even reassured us over and over before the surgery. It wasn't a 25% success in his opinion. Instead, he said this will turn out well and Amy will most probably regain her vision. The surgery, he had said, was to be successful by 60 percent. But he was mistaken. Or maybe 60 percent was too little. Amy remained in the hospital two days after the surgery with a bandage on both her eyes. It wasn't supposed to be removed before 48 hours. In those two nights, Ellie stayed with her at the hospital and I visited her. It was just the three of us on those two days. "I can't wait until I remove these and can see again," She had said referring to the coverage on her eyes. In her tone of voice, there was uncertainty but coated with anticipation.

The next morning, was the moment of truth. The eagerness was eating me alive as I waited along with everyone else for Amy's reaction when the doctor was removing the band of her eyes. Somehow I knew it. When her wide, toothed grin dropped from her face. When her expression turned into pure anguish. It was a nightmare. "I can't see anything," Amy had whispered on the verge of tears. Silence hung over the room as the darkest, gloomiest cloud. All emotions were drained from Amy's face. Like she was no longer able of expressing herself. Her heart must have been too tired at that moment for her to process her feelings. No one cried this time. The doctor checked Amy's eyes again with his little torch-like device and moved his index finger from right to left in front of her face but her pupils didn't follow. "Close your eyes and reopen them. Try to focus harder," The doctor had said. Amy did as he recommended but with the same results. "I still can't see anything,"

I am not sure if I have seen this coming. I wasn't a hundred percent positive about the surgery but in a way, when my suspicion became real right at my face, it was still scandalous. Only, in that hospital room, on that specific day, did I realize that even when I'm completely doubtful and uncertain, any tiny bit of hope I had in my heart was always dominating me. Don't we all search for the happy ending, after all? It was a painful reality how we ignore all the signs and push our doubts to the bottom of our hearts and let our optimism lead. We all were somewhat lying to ourselves, pretending it will be all right. I had my suspects that the surgery might fail, but I didn't truly put that into consideration. I realized that I had somehow started to imagine how our life would turn back to normal after Amy regains her vision After the surgery would succeed. How pathetic was that? I never thought of it before. But sadly, when we are so desperate for something to happen we have nothing to do but fantasize about positive outcomes. I was mistaken to let myself fantasize too much until I awoke to a nightmare. One that I will probably stay in forever. Seeing Amy emotionlessly quiet was tugging at my heartstrings painfully. The knot in my chest made it somewhat harder to breathe. Between all of this, I found myself wondering whether I would really be capable of handling this or not. Whether I would be able to live for the two of us. Love conquers all and I loved Amy with every piece of me. I fell for her and am completely smitten by her everything. Kindness, authenticity, body, soul, and all. It was what kept me going the past months. I was afraid however that this too may not turn out well. If I can't fulfill all her needs. If she needed me and I wasn't present, what would she do? She can't even use her phone and she hates using Siri. She hates using things in a way that'll remind her she was blind. It bugged me to no limit that what I was doing for her was not enough.

My mum was holding my hand the whole time we were in the hospital. I felt Ellie's gaze on me multiple times and knew she was trying to read my mind through my facial expression. But my face was as blank as a white canvas. And ironically enough my mum indeed mentioned that I turned pale that my skin was almost white. Just like a blank canvas. That was me, indeed. Amy was a blind artist who was not able to add colors to me anymore. I felt that I will remain the plank canvas till the day Amy regains her sight. Which was a day that might never come. Amy's friends were extremely supportive and even offered to give us a ride home. It made me feel pathetic. Although I didn't have any energy to react or speak, it was still obvious that I didn't take it well. I felt pathetic and no one tended to hide their pity. For once, however, I didn't care. I stood beside Amy and held her smaller hand. Our fingers laced together and my mum was still holding my other hand stroking her thumb slowly against my skin to soothe me. It didn't help much though. Voices were blurred to my ears and my stare was glued to mine and Amy's interlocked hands. Hands of two artists whom the fate didn't approve of. How will she paint anymore? How will she go sightseeing? How will she read about different types of galaxies and black holes? She has the dates of each meteor shower, solar eclipse, lunar eclipse, or any likewise phenomena written in her calendar. She does that every year on each of her calendars. How is she going to decorate our Christmas tree? She always had creative suggestions for our tree every year. For Amy to be upset is an understanding. She was, in every way, devastated. No matter how much ache we all felt. She was the most traumatized. Her life was meant to take a different path forever. Later that day, the doctor said that he wasn't sure anymore about her case. He didn't understand what went wrong and claimed the surgery should have succeeded, especially that Amy's case was not severe. Unfortunately, her case was severe enough to take away her enthusiasm toward life.

When I managed to gain my sense of reality, I wrapped my arms around Amy trying but failing to mend her broken pieces. She was trembling in my arms. Her hug was weak and unsure. As if she didn't trust it anymore, that I was there for her. She seemed, all of a sudden, insecure. Moreover, she seemed somewhere else. Her gaze was fixed to the distance and she didn't budge or move a muscle. No matter who said what, she stayed silent, unmoving like a statue. It was overwhelming to her. To all of us, but her the most.

Amy and I went home and I made it clear to everyone that we were fine by ourselves. We didn't need help in any kind of way, especially that she needs her space now more than ever. During the ride home, Amy was resting her head against the car window all the time. I glanced over at her multiple times in failed attempts to read any hint of emotions on her face. But there was none. Looking at her broke my heart for she didn't seem blind. If I didn't know I would've deduced she was a woman with an occupied mind looking out of the window and actually seeing what's outside. Her eyes didn't change after the accident and the natural gleam in her irises stayed exactly the same. There was no tension between us, but there was some sort of inconvenience in the air. If there was one thing, just one thing, I could do or say to make her feel better, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But unfortunately, there wasn't. Our last string of hope was torn in every way. The only bridge left was burnt. I tried to reach for her hand to hold it as an oath of assurance; that she will be alright. That we will find a way through this, just like we always manage to do. Just like she always does. But with almost an inch apart, I flinched my hand away from hers. Somehow I was, by all means, daunted to touch her. I feared that my touch may remind her that it was all we had left now. All she could do to acknowledge was to touch. I decided to let her with whatever thoughts on her mind. She needed her time to process. After all, this time, it wasn't a temporary state that will be fixed with surgery. She was bound to stay like this. Only a miracle, it felt, would help her. And those were the hardest to find.