Blindness (11 page)

Cody drops his sandwich from his hands, and
pushes the plate forward until it falls into the sink. He doesn’t
even acknowledge her standing there, her body shaking, as he
leaves. “He’s not my father, and you’re pathetic,” he says, his
voice flat.

The door slams to a close behind him, and I’m
left alone with Shelly. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I
expect her to begin sobbing, but she doesn’t. Instead, she clutches
the bottle in her hands and turns her body away from me, muttering
incoherently under her breath as she goes back to her room. I’m
invisible.

I move to the window and can see Cody
climbing the stairs up to the carriage house—the harsh rain pelting
him. I don’t even stop to think before I grab the sweater I have
hanging near the back door and run after him. I catch him just as
he’s closing his door, and I push my way inside behind him.

Cody’s place is small. There’s a tight living
room with an old sofa, some TV trays, and a galley kitchen to the
side. I notice Cody’s laundry is piled on the floor next to the
stacked washer and dryer tucked in a pantry closet. A door on the
far side leads to what I presume is his bedroom, and that’s where
he goes, once again attempting to shut the door on me as I follow.
I catch it in my hand and wait in the doorway while he falls
forward on his bed, sliding his body up until his face is planted
in his pillow.

“Just leave. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he
says, working his feet until his shoes fall to the floor. He grabs
a fistful of his pillow and lifts it over his head until it covers
it, like he’s trying to hide.

I know the safe thing to do would be to
leave. But I can’t seem to get my body to follow through with my
mind’s orders. I’m wavering at the door, watching his back rise and
fall with the heavy breaths he’s taking. Eventually, I close the
door all the way and slip my own shoes off, kicking them to the
corner. I pull my sweater off, too, since the rain nearly soaked
through it when I ran outside. I wait at the foot of the bed,
unsure of my next move. I know he can sense I’m still here. I see
his hands grip at the sheets and squeeze, like he’s holding
everything in just for my benefit.

“What did you mean?” I ask, not really
knowing where to begin with him. He pushes his pillow from his eyes
slowly and squints at me. “Before? What you just said to your mom.
About Jim?”

I can’t seem to get myself to repeat it. His
words were so harsh, so ugly. And as desperate as I am to
understand why he’d lash out at his mother, part of me knows deep
down that he was probably telling her the truth. I sit down on the
bed and slide myself up to the headboard, closing the distance
between us, hoping it will help him open up and slow down his
breathing.

We sit there, looking at each other for a
full minute before he answers. “Jim’s having an affair…some woman
in Chicago. My mom knows all about it; she just lets him get away
with it. Says she’s the one who gets the house and all
this,”
Cody says, rolling to his side and waving his hand in
the air.

My heart sinks even more—every new fact I
learn about the Appletons drives my opinion of them lower. I’m
struggling with Trevor, trying not to paint him with the same
disappointment I have for Jim and Shelly. I know it isn’t fair, and
I know he doesn’t have the full story. He would be ashamed of his
father if he knew
everything.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else I
can say. Cody shrugs and pulls his pillow from above him, stuffing
it behind his neck now so he can roll onto his back. I’m unable to
avoid the glimpse I get of his bare stomach as his shirt raises up
just enough to show the line of his boxers peering out from the top
of his jeans. I’m flushed suddenly and start to chew on my
fingernails as a distraction. I keep reminding myself I’m here
because somewhere along the way I became Cody’s friend—or at least,
I’m trying to.

“You and your mom…you seem kind of…distant?”
I say, feeling him out.

Cody sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead and
staring at his ceiling. His lips open with a breath, the words on
the tip of his tongue in several false starts before he finally
lets me in.

“My mom didn’t go to my father’s funeral,” he
says, his words punching me in the gut. “Before he died, she was
more interested in how she could move up in her social circle, and
how she could drown her own fucking disappointment in herself with
alcohol.”

I don’t know what to say to him. I want to
make it better, to suddenly give his mom a cure—to make her be a
mother.
But I know, probably better than most, that there
isn’t a magic pill for this. It’s something people have to decide
to be on their own—and some never do.

“I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s
okay?” Cody says, his eyes drifting off into a blank stare again. I
just nod, focusing on the feeling of my teeth along my fingertips
and the inside of my cheek—anything to keep the rising panic and
thumping of my heart from overwhelming me.

“So, why were you having a picnic for one out
in the first winter storm of the season?” Cody asks, turning all of
his attention to me.

I’m no longer able to stop the whishing
sounds of blood rushing across my ears. I don’t talk about
Mac—ever. I won’t even talk about him with Caroline. And Trevor has
learned not to ask. But there’s something about Cody’s directness,
the way he peels away my layers, unafraid. I somehow sense that
talking about Mac with him will maybe make it hurt less.

“I was visiting my dad,” I say, my voice
weak. I can’t believe the sound of the words when I say them—they
seem ridiculous, like the fantasies of a little girl. My palms are
sweating, and I’m overwhelmed with the same feeling I get when I
have to speak in front of a crowd. I slide down the bed, so I’m
lying on my back now, too, and I pull the spare pillow to my front,
clutching it like a teddy bear. I can feel Cody’s eyes on me. And I
can tell he’s waiting for me to become comfortable with the broken
parts of me I’m starting to share. It’s the same kind of patience
he showed when he took care of my burned arm. It’s disarming.

Deep breath. I can’t believe I’m doing
this—saying this—out loud, to someone I hardly know.

“I miss him. Sometimes it feels like I just
let someone punch me in the stomach for an hour, it hurts so much.
And I just need to talk to him,” I say, sharing more than I have
now with anyone…ever. “Looking at the stars was kind of our thing.
So when the pain gets to be too much, I look at them. I pretend
that he’s looking at them, too. And just the possibility that we’re
both seeing the same stars makes me feel like we’re connected, and
like maybe he can hear me.”

I suck in air and feel my voice quiver; I’m
fighting so hard to hold it in, my eyes burning and my throat
closing up. I squeeze the pillow tightly to me. I can’t believe I
just told Cody all of this. I’m partly worried that he thinks I’m
crazy, and I’m also worried that I’m going to crack, break into a
million pieces right here in his room.

My biggest fear is about to be realized when
he gets up from the bed. I brace myself for him to open his door
and ask me to leave, tell me that he just doesn’t have time in his
life for my kind of crazy. I’m actually counting the seconds until
he kicks me out, but instead of words, I hear him pull open a
drawer and riffle through some papers.

I’m holding my breath, watching him as he
pulls out a safety pin and starts to push holes in a piece of
paper. He spends maybe five minutes looking at the paper closely,
biting on his bottom lip while he concentrates, only letting his
eyes drift to me for brief seconds before going back to work.

I’m squeezing the pillow tighter now, my body
rigid with anxiety. Cody flips on a switch for a small lamp on his
night table, and then turns off the main light in his room. The
bulb is bright, and looking at it is making me squint my eyes,
trying to get them to adjust. I pull the pillow up to block the
light a little and listen as I hear Cody rip a few pieces of tape
and crinkle the paper while he fastens it to the top of his
lampshade. The room is suddenly much darker, and when I pull the
pillow back from my face, I realize what he’s done.

Cody has given me my stars. They aren’t
perfect. There’s no Big Dipper, and the dots on his ceiling are
misshapen and not quite the right size. But the feeling is there.
I’m staring up at them, my smile unavoidable and so big it’s
actually starting to hurt my cheeks. I feel the bed move from
Cody’s weight. He’s lying next to me again, this time, we’re so
close our arms are touching, and between the stars above my head
and the heat to the right of my body, I’m no longer sure of
anything in my life—but I also don’t feel alone.

“Go ahead,” Cody says. “Talk to him.”

I can’t seem to look at his face, even though
I know it’s only inches from mine. I can’t do it, because I’m so
damn afraid of what I’ll feel if I do. I want to be Cody’s friend.
No, I think I
need
to be Cody’s friend. But when I look at
him, my heart squeezes, and I know it’s because I also want him to
touch me, kiss me, and,
Oh God,
I don’t dare let myself
indulge in any more.

I take in a deep breath and hold it for a
second or two before letting it out slowly, like I’m throwing
sandbags over the edge of a hot air balloon so I can get it to
lift. I shut my eyes tightly, imagining the real stars in my head
before I open them back up and see Cody’s beautiful sky.

“Hi, Daddy. It’s me…Charlie,” I say my name,
the only one Mac ever called me, and the instant I do I feel Cody’s
fingertips stretch for mine. I give in and wrap my fingers together
with his tightly. I don’t have to explain; I know I just gave him a
key to look inside me, to see my secrets—the good ones and the ugly
ones—with that one small sentence. And I also know it’s more than
I’ve ever given anyone. And I think he knows it, too.

I decide to keep talking to Mac out loud. The
feeling of letting it all out for someone else to hear is doing for
me what months of therapy couldn’t.

“Daddy, I miss you. It’s almost Halloween,
and I bought candy corn when I was at school the other day. Those
were your favorites.”

I have to pause. I work so hard keeping these
memories away from the surface, that when I let them out they
overwhelm me. I catch my breath and feel Cody squeeze my hand
tighter. He’s giving me courage.

“I’m worried about Caroline. She hasn’t been
answering my calls. I know I should go see her, but I haven’t been
in the house since the day I left. I just can’t…”

Cody rolls to his side, my hand still in his,
and I feel his other hand along my arm, almost like he’s bracing
it. I feel his forehead against my shoulder, and I know he’s doing
that so I won’t feel uncomfortable having him look at me while I
bare my soul.

“I don’t like it here. The Appletons? They’re
not like you, Daddy. I was supposed to be living here with Trevor.
But he left. Don’t be mad at him—he had to. You’d be proud of him;
he’s a real hard worker. He was chosen for this amazing internship.
I’m thinking about joining him next semester.”

Part of me wants to keep the rest of my
conversation in my head, but then I feel Cody’s grip loosen, and
his body start to slide away. The coolness left behind jars me, so
I continue.

“You don’t have to worry, though. I made a
friend,” I say, my heart racing with panic that Cody won’t stay to
hear the rest, which makes me speak louder and faster.

“You’d actually like him a lot—probably more
than Trevor,” I admit, unable to stop the smile on my face knowing
exactly how much my dad would love Cody. “I only know him a little,
but I’m getting to know him more. I try to make him smile. His eyes
crinkle when he smiles—just like yours.”

Cody is still next to me, his grip on my hand
once again strong, but his body is stiff. I’m rewinding mentally,
realizing just how far I went. Shit. I said way too much! I don’t
even know what I’m doing here. This all suddenly feels way too
intimate—wrong. My pulse is speeding up the more I think about what
Trevor would think if he saw me, saw this—
saw us!

I slide the pillow from my chest to the side
and work my fingers until they’re out of Cody’s grip. He remains
next to me, but isn’t moving. I’m pretty sure I just made him feel
unwelcome in his own bed, the awkwardness creeping in now and
almost choking me. I have to leave, leave this bed, and then leave
this room. I’ll be calm until I shut his door, and then I’m
running.

Yes, that’s it. I’ll run.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I just unloaded, like,
way too much
on you. I’m…I’m just going to go,” I say,
pushing myself up to sit at the side of the bed and slip on my
shoes. The light is dim, but I can tell that Cody’s eyes have
shifted to me. He’s still not moving or speaking, and I don’t
really want him to. I just want to get out of his room without him
saying a word.

“Thank you, truly,” I say as I stand and look
once more at the ceiling. “The stars? They’re amazing,” my voice
wavers, and I turn and walk to his door. I’m gripping the handle,
willing myself to keep it together for just a few more seconds
until I’m out of his view. I feel his body behind me, and see his
hand flat against the door.

His breath against my neck raises every hair
on my body. I’m looking intently at his fingers splayed out on the
wood paneling of the door in front of me, my hands still gripping
the door handle. Beyond this door, my life continues on one path—a
path I know. A path I love. But I’m stalled, considering what
happens if I stay in this room. I’m paralyzed. Fear.
Indecision.

“Cody, I…” I start, but don’t know how to
finish.

“Just stay,” he says, his voice barely
audible, and the air released from his words sends more chills
around my neck and down my entire body.