Clarity (5 page)

Smiling a little, I scoff. “Don’t be silly. Because of my books?”

“Yes. You’re a little different than I imagined, but I did expect you to love your wine.” The doctor laughs lightly. “Why are all writers such heavy drinkers?”

“I don’t know. Why are all doctors such nosy pricks?” I retort with a growl.

He chuckles at this, and does not seem to be offended. “Did you know that you’re really popular in the blind community? I always tell my patients about you to inspire them. There was a fascinating feature a few months ago…”

“I know, I know. That dumb magazine article on the top ten most successful and influential blind people of 2013. That was just a publicity stunt by my publisher. It’s marketing. They’re capitalizing on my disability to sell books. Don’t believe everything you read.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I shouldn’t believe anything without hard evidence. Journalists often get it wrong. And so do photographers; you’re much, much prettier than the picture in the back of your book.”

I raise my eyebrow. “At this point, I almost want to agree to your study just so you’ll stop talking. Calling me pretty isn’t going to further your case. Also, I don’t really care if I’m pretty; what does that even
mean?
I have no concept of what an attractive person looks like, versus an unattractive one.” I growl a little. “Are you taunting me? Trying to flaunt that you can see what I look like while I have no earthly idea? Or are you lying to manipulate me, because I’m actually hideous, and I have no way of knowing that?”

“I was just paying you a compliment,” he says defensively. “Obviously, it’s a subjective matter, but personally, I find you stunning.”

“Yay,” I say in a monotonous tone. I take a sip from my bottle again. “Well, I think I have an answer for you. On whether I’ll participate in your study…”

“Wait!” he says quickly. “Don’t you
want to know more so you can make an informed decision?” 

“You gave me plenty of information…”

“Just take a moment to really think about it,” he tells me. “I don’t want you to miss out on this because you’re being hasty and prideful. There might not be another study like this in the near future. And it’s rare to find one in your age group…” Liam sounds like he’s getting flustered.

“I’ll do it,” I tell him.

The doctor continues to panic.  “Think about what this could—wait, what? You’ll do it?”

“Yeah. But you’ll have to do something for me in return, like you promised earlier.” I take another sip slowly. “I need a ride somewhere.”

“A ride? Sure, that’s easy. Is that all?”

“I need a ride to New York,” I inform him. “Tonight”

“New York?” he says in surprise. “Well—we were going to head back there anyway. But Dr. Philips and I have a room booked here for the weekend, and he’s meeting family…”

“Tonight,” I repeat, unwaveringly. “It’s for my sister’s wedding. I need to be there as soon as possible. If we could leave now, that would be best.”

“But it’s at least a six hour trip,” he says weakly. “We’ve already been driving so much today. I’m exhausted…”

“There must be some reason you want me, specifically, for your study,” I inform him. I’m bluffing a little, and overestimating my own importance. I’m also gambling on the fact that the doctor seems like a really nice guy. “If you take me to New York, I’ll be your guinea pig. You can poke around at my eyes all you want.”

He takes a moment to ponder my offer. He sighs. “Could I have some of that wine?”

“Oh. I’ve been drinking from the bottle…”

“That’s fine,” he says, crossing the room toward me and taking the bottle from my hands. He is not standing too close to me, but I can still feel his breath against my face. A subtle whiff of his cologne invades my senses.

I flinch and scoot away on my bed, pressing my back against the wall. My heart rate quickens, and I am suddenly very afraid. He seems nice, but one can never be too sure. My chest feels suddenly very full of a breath that I have been holding. I can hear gulping noises from his throat as he swallows a generous helping of my wine.

“Okay,” he says finally, placing the wine bottle down on the desk. “I’ll take you to New York. Let me just text Dr. Philips, and we’ll get going.”

I release my breath in relief. I am glad he did not notice my momentary anxiety attack. “Great,” I say in a confident voice. “You’re also going to help me pack.”

The doctor grunts as he drags my suitcase out of my cabin. “Do you really need all this stuff? It’s like you shoved your entire life in here!”

“I like to be thorough and prepared,” I tell him as I step over my threshold. The frosty air rushes at me, slapping me in the face and filling my lungs. The initial shock of the cold fades as I breathe in deeply, and I can’t help basking in the refreshing sensation. The air inside my cabin tasted hot and stuffy, although I didn’t notice this until I was immersed in an atmosphere of superior quality. The cool breeze swirling around me feels alive—it infects me, causing something to stir inside my bones. All of a sudden, I am feeling somewhat adventurous.

I adjust my backpack over my shoulder, as it contains the most important items: my Braille note taker, wallet, phone, and some other handy electronic devices. I figure that I can get some writing done from the back seat of the car while the doctors drive me to my destination. This doesn’t have to be a completely wasted workday. I could still write a few thousand words—or possibly take a nap.

“You packed like you don’t intend to return here,” Liam observes as I turn the key in the lock to secure my front door. “I don’t think you left anything of value behind.”

“I like to keep the things I value very close to me,” I respond, turning away from my cabin and taking a few steps in the direction of the road. Obviously, I haven’t shoveled my driveway, and my winter boots crunch through the top layer of ice and sink deep into the snow. I’m bundled up warmly in a heavy coat and mittens, so the cold does not bother me. I turn to look back over my shoulder toward the cabin where I spent the last three years of my life. Of course, I see nothing. But as I try to envision what it might look like, I begin to feel an odd nostalgia for this contrived image in my mind. “Maybe I won’t come back,” I say suddenly. “There were many reasons I left home; if those reasons are no longer relevant, maybe I’ll stay there with my family.”

“What were the reasons?” he asks me.

I shake my head, with a small smile. “No. Nuh-uh. You’re not going to extract my deepest, darkest secrets only a few hours after meeting me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he tells me. “We have a long car ride ahead of us, and I can be very persuasive. I am almost positive I can dig up all your skeletons.”

“Pfft.” I blow air through my lips in a sound of contempt. “You can dig all you like, but I buried those rotting corpses pretty well.”

“Then I’ll just have to dig a little deeper,” he says gently. “I think I see Owen’s car pulling up. Would you like me to help guide you to the street?” He places his elbow against my arm.

Jerking away from him, I frown. My neck flushes with heat, and my stomach churns with nausea. His touch was respectful and kind, meant only to offer me support and direction, but I’m not comfortable with this. I’m not comfortable with accepting help from a stranger unless there’s some sort of bargain agreed upon beforehand. Unless I know what I owe him in return. We already have a bargain, and I am determined to never need anything more from him beyond this drive. “I can walk,” I assure him. “I’ll just follow the sound of your footsteps.”

“Why are you so stubborn, Helen?” he asks me. “It won’t kill you to accept my arm. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you, not to hurt you.”

“You are helping me,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “You’re carrying my suitcase and offering me a ride to New York. Isn’t that enough for one day, Dr. Larson?”

“I just don’t understand you,” he says as he begins trudging toward his colleague’s vehicle. “All the blind people I have met usually prefer a little more touch in their communication.”

“Well, you hadn’t met me,” I say simply as I stroll behind him. “I don’t like being touched. I don’t like it when people use my disability as an excuse to fuss over me.”

“That’s not what I was doing!” he says defensively. He grumbles to himself, but continues moving toward the road. He walks in silence for a few seconds before speaking again. “I think I should warn you: road trips with Dr. Philips can get a little… crazy.”

“Crazy?” I say with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“Dr. Philips is usually very professional, but there’s something about long drives that turns him into a teenage boy. I think he used to do road trips with his frat buddies to Daytona Beach for spring break. He’s kind of… odd.” Liam clears his throat. “Maybe he’ll behave himself with you in the car.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” I say with a smile.

“I hope not. We’re a few steps away from the car now,” Liam informs me.

There is an unlocking sound as Dr. Philips pops the trunk open, and a little
oompf
as Liam tosses my suitcase into the back of the car.

“Would you like me to help guide you into the backseat?” he asks.

I am worried that he is going to touch my arm again, and I step back. “No, thank you.”

He sighs. “Look, Helen. I work with patients who have limited vision all the time. Almost every day, really. Touch helps them to connect and understand, the way someone might observe facial expressions…”

“Does it seem like I want to connect and understand?” I ask him.

“Not particularly,” he responds with disappointment.

“Good.” I would reach forward and touch the car, and fumble around for the door handle, but I know from experience that the handles are on different places on every car. It’s frustrating, and I am almost guaranteed to look like an idiot while blindly groping the side of the car and getting my hands all dirty. I would rather behave like a bitch than seem like a moron. So, instead, I thrust my chin into the air. “I’m a writer. I like words. If I wanted to connect and understand, I’d listen to the words people say. That’s all I really need. Are you going to open the car door for me, or not?”

“I thought you didn’t need help,” he says with a chuckle.

“I thought you were polite!” I reply curtly, crossing my arms under my breasts. “I don’t need you to shove me into the car, but it’s customary to open the door.”

There is a sound as his hand pulls the latch and swings open the panel of metal and glass. “I really hope we can restore your vision, Helen,” says the doctor. “Maybe once you can see how beautiful the world is, you’ll be a little less bitter.”

“I’m not bitter because I’m blind,” I tell him as I take off my backpack and move into the vehicle. I feel around to get a sense of the layout of the car. “I’ve just encountered one too many assholes, and lost my faith in humanity.”

“Then I’ll just have to restore it,” he tells me with determination, shutting the door and moving to the front seat.

“Hi,” says the man in the driver’s seat. His voice is not quite as deep as Liam’s. “I’m Dr. Owen Philips. I don’t have any faith in humanity either. I think I lost it when my buddy Liam convinced me to come out here for the weekend, and then randomly decides we’re going back to the city without any warning.”

“Sorry, Dr. Philips,” I say with regret. “That’s my fault.”

“No, no. I blame Liam,” says the other doctor. “He’s got a fanboy crush on you, so he was easily manipulated into doing whatever you wanted.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Liam protests as he settles into his seat and yanks out his seatbelt.

I hear the little
click
as it locks into place
,
and I am reminded to fasten my own. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I was in a vehicle. I usually get everything delivered to me, so I can avoid people—I never go anywhere anymore.

“No, it was exactly like that,” Owen says. His voice takes on a high-pitched tone of mimicry. “Oh, I can’t believe I’m going to
meet
her! She’s
such
a great author! I wonder if she’ll sign my book?”

“Jesus, Owen. Stop it,” Liam says with annoyance.

Owen laughs. “I bet it doesn’t help that she’s really pretty. Helen—can I call you Helen?” He does not wait for an answer before continuing. “I know you can’t see, so I feel obliged to inform you that Dr. Larson is blushing furiously. He is red as a beet.”

“I am not,” Liam says seriously. “He’s lying. If there’s any redness in my cheeks, it’s from the cold wind outside.”

I can’t keep a smile away from my face. His voice is so masculine and confident sounding that it is hard to imagine him displaying visual signs of embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re not blushing, Dr. Larson.”

“Enough with the formalities!” Owen says, as he puts the car into gear and slams his foot down on the gas. The car lurches forward, peeling away from my cabin. “We are going to have fun on this road trip. Helen, just forget that we’re your doctors and treat us like your friends. Just feel comfortable to say what’s on your mind. This is a safe and judgment-free zone. I’ll get started!”

“Oh, no,” Liam says with a sigh. “Please don’t…”

“Right now, I’m upset,” Owen tells us. “I’m upset because I was relaxing in our hotel room, and enjoying this movie I ordered on the TV, when
Liam
texted me that our vacation was over. He said I had to drive over here right away. And I was
really
enjoying the movie, if you know what I mean.”

Liam groans loudly. “Dammit, Owen! That hotel room is on
my
credit card.”

“It was just one movie, man.”

“Yes, but—dammit! You charged porn to my credit card?” Liam asked angrily. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“We’re friends. I knew you’d help a brother out,” Owen says. There is a sound, which I assume is him reaching over to clap Liam on the shoulder. “Besides, I’m sure it shows up as something discreet on the bill.”

I lift my eyebrows. I should probably reach into my backpack and pull out my notetaker to begin working, but I am a little too surprised and entertained by the doctors in the front seats.

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk about this sort of thing with Helen in the car,” Liam says quietly to Owen.

“Why not? She doesn’t mind! Do you mind, Helen?” Again, he doesn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “Since you so rudely interrupted my movie, Liam, and have no appreciation for the art of porn, I’m going to tell you all about it.”

“No,” Liam says. “Absolutely not. Here, let’s just listen to the radio…” He presses a dial on the dashboard and begins sifting through stations.

There is another noise as Owen slams his hand down on the dashboard and turns off the radio. “Actually, this is
my
car, so we play by
my
rules. If you wanted to pick the topic of conversation or radio station, then we should have taken
your
car. But no, your car is new and shiny, and you wanted to keep it all locked up safe in your garage. Let’s take Owen’s crappy car, because who cares if we put more miles on it!”

Liam sighs again. “Owen, can you please try to act like a grown up…”

“What’s more grown up than porn?” Owen asks innocently. He turns back to me, which I can tell from the direction of his voice. “Hey, Helen! Have you ever seen a good porno? Well, silly me—what a stupid question! Since you’re blind, let me try to describe what porn looks like.”

“Uh,” I say awkwardly. “I really have no interest…”

“No, no. This is important. You need to know what you’re missing out on! The skin pressed against skin, the bodily fluids slowly dripping down thighs…”

“Oh my god,” I say in discomfort, sinking down into the backseat and clutching my head which is quickly beginning to ache. “I really don’t want to hear this. I was actually hoping to get some writing done while we drive.”