Blindly

Stepping forward, her toes graze the edge of the ledge. She gasps in the cool morning air. At least, she thinks it’s morning. She’s sure her nose is pink from the cold breeze dancing around her. Her lips must be turning a slight purple. She has been led here, quite literally, blindly. She hasn’t had the gift of sight since she was 12 years old. “A stroke of terrible luck,” she’d always tell herself. What are the odds that a random, 12-year-old girl from Salem, Massachusetts would be involved in one of the most gruesome vehicle collisions of 2019? Losing her sight and her father that day, nothing has ever been the same.

Wincing at the dirt blown into her face, she reaches outwards, not knowing what her fingers would grasp onto before her. Nothing. She touches nothing, but the wind grows anxious and suddenly pushes her forward from behind. She reels for a moment, stumbling backwards as she regains her balance and catches her breath. Her heart like thunder in her ears. The wind presses against her once more and she braces herself against the ground, clawing at the dirt for anything to grab hold of. The wind becomes forceful, dragging her to the cliff like a ragdoll as she desperately screams for somebody, anybody to do something. No sound travels anywhere. There are no ears around to hear it, anyways. She feels the edge of the cliff make its way from her toes to her stomach, to her chin, and finally the tips of her fingers as they slip from the cool dirt, dragging small rocks with them.

“Alissa?” She blinks. “Hey, are you okay? Are you listening?” She’s always listening. That’s all she can do. “Alissa, do you need to go to the nurse’s office?” She takes a shallow breath, “No, I’m alright Ms. Jackson.” Her teacher gently touches her shoulder. “Are you sure, honey? If you’re not feeling well-” “I’m fine, ma’am.” She’s never interrupted her before and feels the silence next to her that Ms. Jackson produces when she’s upset. “I’m sorry,” Alissa whispers. “I was just spacing out a little. That’s all.” Ms. Jackson takes a breath and steps out of her personal space, “Alright.” She claps her hands at the class and moves back to the front of the room. The way her steps sound tells Alissa her teacher isn’t going to stop thinking about this encounter.

On her way home, all she can think about is that... dream? Can it even be called a dream if it was in the middle of the day like that? A daydream, she supposes, but still, that didn’t seem like a vivid enough word for it. Anyhow, she can’t help but think about the feeling of the ground scraping against her body until her fingers were finally plucked from the edge of that cliff. She remembers how the rocks dug into her skin, fighting against it until she was sure she was covered in blood by the time she fell. Then, she thought about the wind. The way it fought her. What was going on?

*KLANG* A sign rattles as it knocks her to the ground. Flailing her arms, she stumbles backwards and crashes to the cement. The feeling of rocks tearing into her skin becomes real. “Augh!” She yelps, as she struggles to her feet. She kneels and touches the ground around her for her walking stick. She’s not actually even sure were she’s at. “Crap,” she whispers to herself when she realizes she can’t feel her phone in her pocket either. “Hey Siri, where are you?” She listens. Nothing. Alissa panics when there’s no answer. Her sound is still off from while she was in school. Desperately spinning around in circles, she grabs at the ground in all directions. She can hardly breathe at this point. The sound of the breeze in her ears reminds her of her “dream,” causing more panic to rise within her. Her fingers find the edge of a curb and she throws herself backwards, tripping over her backpack in the process. Her heart hammers nails into her head. Every single skin scrape sends flames to her nervous system. Her ears ring louder than church bells and scream into her skull. She can feel the sting of tears in her throat, scraping her esophagus like she’s eating barbed wire.

“Excuthe me?” She jumps at the sound of a little boy’s voice. “H-hello?” she stutters. “Um, hi,” he says nervously. “D-do you need help ma’am?” She breathes with excitement “Yes, yes please! C-can you find my phone a-and my walking stick?” She gulped down air to keep her tears from escaping. She could hear the little boy moving around her and the sound of her cane scraping against the cement as he picked it up felt like music to her ears. “Here you go!” he said, excitedly. She slowly reached her hands out to feel for her things. He placed her stick and her phone into her hands and helped her up from the ground. “Thank you so much for helping me,” she gasped and squeezed his hand. She paused “Um... do you know how to read?” “Yeah!” He jumped in excitement, startling her a bit, but still she let out a giggle. “That’s great! Do you see any signs that tell you where we are?” She hoped to God he knew what kind of signs she meant.

The little boy laughed as he pulled her over to the very sign she ran into. “This one actually thays we’re on fourteenth and thiren,” he says matter of factly. She smiles and spins around with joy as the little boy giggles some more. “I know exactly where I’m at! Thank you so much...” “Rider,” he finishes “Rider Harrington. I’m theven years old.” She smiles again “Well, Rider Harrington, I appreciate you helping me. I’m Alissa Theeland and I’m seventeen years old.” She could feel his energy grow in front of her. “Theventeen?! Wow you’re OLD!” he was obviously in absolute awe over this. Alissa acts shocked “Well, I never,” she exclaims with a dramatic sniffle. Rider laughs and she hears the low rumble of a bus pulling up on the road in front of them. It screeches as the driver presses the break and the massive machine hisses as it lugs itself to a stop. The doors squeak as they open. Rider and Alissa say goodbye as the swarm of humid bodies floods onto the sidewalk. He trots up the steps after they disperse and the bus groans as the doors close and it pulls its heavy body to the next stop. It carries away that little boy with a lisp, and he wishes she could see his wave through the window.

To be continued...