Losing the Light [h.s.]

09

The phone rings, for the fifteenth time today, and Harry buries his face in the couch, feeling pathetic. He's been home for less than twenty-four hours, give him a break, please. There'd been people leaving messages on the Styles's house phone the moment the accident happened, and almost a week later they still haven't stopped.

"Is there some way to disconnect the landline?" Harry calls out to the kitchen.

He hears Gemma's footsteps enter the family room. "If we do that, they'll call our cell phones."

"I hope this ends soon," Harry grumbles, trying to block out the annoying phone ringtone. He'd asked Gemma to go through the house and turn off all the ringers on the phones, but his mother must have turned them back on. Gemma's footsteps retreat back to the kitchen, and Harry is left alone.

Harry feels relieved once the ringing stops. He waits for it to start again, but it doesn't yet. He lets out a long-held breath, basking in the temporary silence. Harry frowns, putting his hand on the couch, trying to remember the brown color it had been. The couch had been the same color throughout his entire life, so why was it so hard for him to picture it now?

He imagines it as a chocolate brown at first, but then shakes that off. No, it's more of a dark coffee brown, isn't it? And the floor is that same dark color... but in wood.

Harry's imaginary family room isn't the same. There isn't a basket of clean clothes on the floor, waiting to be folded. The lamp in the corner is missing, and the wood floor isn't warped from Gemma spilling water on it so many years ago.

Harry sighs. If only he'd paid more attention to the little things while he could.

"There's food on the table for you, Harry," Gemma says, making Harry jump a little. He hadn't heard her come into the room at all.

Harry stands up from the couch, reaching for the thin red and white cane leaning against the end table. He holds it out in front of him, still getting the hang of things without sight. Gemma holds onto his arm, helping him find his way into the kitchen.

Blind people are supposed to use these, Harry thinks. Not me.

Gemma sits him down in one of the kitchen chairs, telling him that there's a sandwich in front of him with a banana and a bag of crisps. "But, I might've eaten a few of those," she confesses, speaking of the potato chips.

-

Marlee sits next to Harry, her right arm looped around his left. She listens to him talk about his pain and headaches, and how he can't sleep well at night anymore. She looks at Harry's mouth, thinking of how it used to have the look of everpresent happiness, but now it's turned down at the corners. Harry's eyes look sunken and cloudy, and his hair is always messy now. Well, messier than it was before. 

She takes this opportunity to really look at his changed features. He doesn't know she's looking, so she can stare all she likes. Marlee reaches for Harry's hand, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry this happened," she says. "But it is what it is."

Harry exhales through his nose. "I'm hoping it's only temporary," he replies. "I'm just praying and praying that this will go away."

"Harry," Marlee says, sitting up straight. "If you make the most of this, it will be temporary. But what have you done to deserve to get your sight back? Nothing. You've been sitting here on the couch for the past week. I think it's time to get back out there and really work for this."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting you try and skate, it's what makes you happy."

"I can barely even walk without running into a wall," Harry scoffs. "Let alone skate without falling. I can't do that."

"You'll have to try sometime. What if it is permanent?" Marlee reminds him. "I know you're going to want to get back in the game sometime. It's not like you to just sit and sit and sit."

Harry rubs his shoulder. "Well... When I'm ready, maybe."