Page 29 of Sight Unseen

“Just go then. Back to your old lover who threw you out like trash when he grew tired of you. As long as he can ‘appreciate’ you, I guess that’s all that matters, isn’t it? He can see you all dressed up and beautiful. He can pay you compliments about how you look, something I can’t do anymore. I wish you all the best with that.”

The suitcase snapped shut, a wordless reminder of the finality of the drama-ridden scene playing out.

“I’ll be in touch to pick up the rest of my things.” Jon’s voice was clipped. “I’m going to deposit some money in your bank account to cover a few months’ expenses on utilities and stuff. I know you don’t need it but it will make me feel better about moving out. I’ve no doubt Cody will be around to see you once you tell him the news. That way at least I know you’ll be looked after.”

I didn’t tell him Cody was out of town. I’d manage on my own. And with that happy thought, I fumbled for my plastic water glass next to the bed, picked it up and threw it hard in Jon’s direction. I knew it wouldn’t do much but I needed to throw something.

“I don’t need looking after, asshole. And I don’t want your money.” Jon gave a startled yelp as the glass thudded against the wall. “So get the fuck out. Go!” There was a brief silence then the familiar sound of the suitcase being wheeled. The bedroom door opened then slammed shut. I flung myself against the pillows, exhausted.

My chest heaved and I lay down, curling into a fetal ball, pulling the covers over my head.

Angry tears fell freely now, the ache in my chest turning into despair.

As I lay there, my own insecurities and fears ate away at the confidence I’d felt earlier that evening. I had never felt so alone. I wiped my eyes fiercely and made a promise to myself to move on, no matter what. I’d done it when my family had discarded me. Losing my lover wasn’t going to get the better of me.

I’d known this day was coming, but still, it cut me to my core.

***

Two days later I was still bleary-eyed and felt hungover from lack of sleep. I’d been managing okay by myself. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Mobile, but I had plenty of audiobooks to keep me entertained. I’d switched on the television and kept up with the news, and I’d managed to feed myself.

I marveled at the way science and technology had made wonderful advances in assisting the blind. What with talking microwaves, one of which I now owned, kitchen timers and a plethora of other gadgets, I had become quite independent in the kitchen as long as I didn’t have to cook anything too complicated.

More wonders, my phone featured a bar code scanner so online shopping was a breeze. Groceries arrived, I unpacked, scanned each item, and was told what I held in my hand. Everything went into its place, and my world became a lot more organized.

Of course, there was that time I’d messed up and spooned half a can of peas onto my tortilla instead of frijoles. I had no doubt there would be more culinary disasters in my future but I was ready for them.

Another morning alone, I forced my body out of bed, chose something to wear—my wardrobe had been completely reorganized, complete with safety pins that irritated my skin occasionally. It was a small price to pay for not wearing clashing colors, although to be honest, most of my clothes were muted shades anyway so it probably wouldn’t have mattered.

Breakfast was a bowl of cereal with skim milk, a banana and a cup of coffee. I was now replenished and good to go. I wasn’t sure where though. Or how.

I’d made good strides in learning how to wield my cane through countless walks outside plus a lot of training on my own. Fortunately, I’d turned out to be a quick learner but I didn’t yet feel confident or adept enough to go out on my own.

“Huh,” I muttered as I puttered about the kitchen, cleaning up. “Looks like my comfort zone is once again about to be challenged. I suppose I need to be able to get out there on my own quicker than I’d thought.”

On the kitchen countertop I found Jon’s cafétiere. It was something I didn’t want knocking around, as I didn’t use it. No doubt he’d come back for it since it was apparently a special and rather expensive one. In a fit of pique, I opened one of the seldom-used deep kitchen drawers to stash it in there. He could damn well hunt it down if he wanted it.

As I laid it down, my fingers touched a stack of paper. I reached in, fingering the bundle with the elastic band wrapped around it. My heart sank. So this was where I’d put them.

This bundle had to contain all the letters and cards I’d sent to my family. Christmas cards, birthday cards and letters all marked with a bold, black RTS: return to sender. It was a slap in the face from my father. He could have let me believe in all my naïveté that my letters had reached their destination, but no, he had to send them back—his way of telling me I was nothing and was unwanted.

I fingered the bundle, my chest aching as the familiar sense of loss crept in.

I shouldn’t let this affect me anymore but damn, it’s hard not to.

I shoved the package back into the drawer and closed it as the sound of the key in the door had me turning around.

My spirits lifted when I recognized the footsteps. Cody. He breezed in with what I knew would be a smile, the fresh scent of sea, sand and his trademark Davidoff Cool Water.

“Hey, Nate, I’m back. How’ve you been while I was away?” He pulled me in for a hug and I inhaled his familiar scent with a soft sigh of pleasure.

“I’m okay, bud. Kept myself busy while you were gone. How was the exhibition?”

He moved away, opened the fridge and took something out. “God, that trip was a nightmare, but we sold a lot of pieces. It was profitable, so I can’t complain.”

I heard the crunch of an apple or it might have been a pear. He really had a thing for my fruit.

“Of course, it would have been even better to have some of your stuff there as well.” Cody crunched again. “Just saying.”