Keith knocked on the hospital room door and gently opened it. A doctor stood next to Tori’s bed, chatting with her. He stopped talking when Keith entered.
“Hey Vic!” Keith tried his best to sound breezy. He’d gotten all his tears out for her on the drive there. It was time to suck it up for her sake. “Is this a bad time?” Keith glanced to the doctor.
“Not at all. I could use your honesty.” Tori’s voice cracked and wavered. Her words were slow and deliberate, but he could actually understand her today.
“Listen to you! I don’t need a translator to talk to you today!” Keith made a lame attempt at a joke. He could tell it almost worked by how her mouth slightly twitched in the corner. His number one goal was to make her laugh today.
“Asshole.”
The dark-haired doctor smiled and motioned for Keith to come on in. “I’m Dr. Burke,” he said, shaking hands with Keith. “I’m the plastic surgeon attending here at the hospital. I was just discussing with Victoria my reconstruction plan.”
“Ooh, can I get in on that? Vic, how do you feel about Michelle Pfeiffer’s nose? You already have that great bone structure like she does.” Keith touched the tip of Tori’s nose. “Just a slight upturn here and a thinning of the bridge…”
Tori slapped his hand away and gave a wry smile, causing her to wince in pain. “I like my old nose, thank you very much.”
Dr. Burke smiled. “I don’t see a need for nasal reconstruction unless you have trouble breathing. What we do need to fix is the orbital fractures.” He pointed to Tori’s brows.
“The fracture on the right eye is resulting in entrapment. The right eye is unable to move upward.” Dr. Burke pried open her swollen, purple lid with gloved hands. Keith cringed at her eye going crooked into the corner. “Now that your head injury is stable, we can put you back under anesthesia, right away, preferably.”
At least she can’t see that. The wreck did a number on her pretty face. The entire right side was swollen, black and blue, with a stitched wound across it. Both her brow bones were sunken, the right side taking most of the hit, and there was a huge gash across her forehead and another in the middle of her nose. How she didn’t lose her teeth or break her jaw was a goddamn miracle.
“But you can fix it?” Tori’s voice cracked. Keith could tell she was trying hard to hold it together, but she was about to lose it.
“I don’t know, Vic. If you keep the crazy eyes, it’s possible nobody will ever mess with you. They’ll be all like, ‘Shit, I’m not going to mess with that blind bitch. She’s crazy.’” Keith tried his best to keep the mood light.
Tori gave Keith a pained laugh, and he hi-fived himself internally.
Dr. Burke chuckled and shook his head and continued, “I’m entirely confident I can repair the brow bone structure and get your eye muscle working normally. This happens a lot to kids that get hit with balls in the face. It’s a standard surgery I’ve done a hundred times. No crazy eyes, I promise.”
“Ok, but how will I look after?” Tori asked. “What about scarring?”
“You’ll be as pretty as ever, I’m certain—minimal scarring, just a little character now.” Dr. Burke patted Tori’s hand. “I’ll monitor you over the next several months to see how the healing goes. We’ll do treatment on the scars, but I don’t think you will need further reconstruction after I finish.” He smiled at Keith and gave him a nod. “Get some rest.” He squeezed her shoulder and left.
“Character?” Tori huffed after the door shut. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tori’s hand went to her brow. “Character is something you say about girls that have huge noses. ‘Oh, it gives her character,’” Tori whined. “I feel like the elephant man. Seriously, Keith. How bad is it?”
Keith sighed and sat on the bed next to her, taking her right hand into his. “You’ve seen Rocky, right? You know just after his fight with Apollo Creed?”
“Oh shit.” Tori’s lip quivered.
“Come on. Give me a ‘Yo Adrienne.’” Keith giggled and lightly punched her shoulder.
“It’s not fucking funny.” Tori started to cry.
“Oh, honey. He said he’d fix you.” Keith cradled her while she sobbed on his shoulder.
“I should’ve gone to see the leaves with you,” she croaked.
Keith sucked in a breath. “We’ll go next year.”
She snorted.
“We’ll jump into a pile of them and feel them against your skin. They’ll crunch under your boots as you walk—”
“I should’ve died, Keith!” She screamed. “I wish I was dead.”
“Victoria Rose Johnson, you stop this instant!”
“I can’t do this, Keith. I feel like I’m suffocating in a world of black. I can’t live like this.”
Keith hugged her as tightly as he could without causing her pain. His heart was shattering into a million pieces for her. He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his own throat. “Yes, you can, and you will. You’re Victoria. Your name says it all. You’ve gone from rags to riches. You’ve fought, clawed, and yes, sometimes slept your way to the top if the mood suits you.”
“You calling me a slut?” She giggled, sniffling.
“Vicky, we’ve already established years ago you’re a dirty, little ho.” He stroked her arm. “Now you’ll be a dirty, little, blind ho, I imagine. Ooh, that would make a great blog title.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m rotten, and you love it.” He kicked his legs onto the bed, leaning back, his eyes glancing at the bedside table and brochures that lay on there. “So, what’s all this paperwork?” He began leafing through them.
“Fuck if I know. Literature, I suppose, for my family to read through since I can’t.” She swallowed hard. “They brought it in earlier when mom and Jane were here, before I kicked them out and called you.”
Keith glanced at the broken vase of flowers against the wall. “Yeah what happened with the vase?”
“Oh, where do I even begin? Jane and Mom came back after the doctor left, trying to baby me, of course, then mom started crying hysterically, calling all the doctors in here, demanding second opinions, making me pretty much a nervous wreck.” Keith knew she’d spent most of her adolescence taking care of her alcoholic mother. “How fucked up is it that I have to console her?” Tori huffed. “I asked her to leave as politely as possible, and she came back an hour later smelling of even more booze than she did before.”
“Oh lord…” Keith had never met the woman, but he knew they had bad blood.
“If anyone needs a damn drink, it’s me. She brought me flowers. Said they were ‘Jasmine and very fragrant,’” Tori said venomously, “so I threw the vase against the wall and told her to get out.”
“Good for you, Vicky.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s see here…” Keith thumbed through the pamphlets. “The Essential Guide to Understanding and Coping with Vision Loss, tagline, we cannot change the direction of the wind, but we can adjust our sails,” he snickered. “There’s a photo of a street sign underneath that directs to either hope or despair. Seems like our Vicky is heading down the trail of despair…”
“Oh stop,” Tori bit.
“What? I’m just reading you the literature,” he said innocently. “People who experience vision loss go through the same grief as those dealing with a terminal illness. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and then, finally, acceptance.” He put the pamphlet down. “I’d say we have anger covered.”
Tori let out a huge breath. “I’m begging you to stop. Please.”
“Now we have bargaining,” Keith teased. “You’re making progress. That’s my girl.” Keith patted her on the leg. He grabbed the next few pamphlets, flipping through them one by one. “Ok, so seriously, there are like five blind schools here to choose from. Do we want to go with the one that has the horrible typography and bad stock photography, or the one who hired a reputable designer? And when I say bad, I mean Papyrus and old black lady with huge sunglasses smiling eerily into the distance.”
Tori snorted. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Yeah it’s pretty bad.” Keith laughed, placing them all back down on the table.
Tori leaned her head onto Keith’s shoulder.
“You’re going to get through this, Vic.”
“Just let me have today to wallow in despair and self-pity.”
“Ok, I’ll give you today, and only today, but tomorrow, you’ll wake up from surgery with a new face and a new look on life. If this is what life is going to be, Vicky, you’ve got to get on with it,” Keith said lovingly. “You sure I can’t convince you on a new nose and some collagen injections while they’re at it…”
“I said no new nose, and definitely no collagen injections.”
“You sure? Your face is like a blank canvas. If you give me free reign, I can turn you into a masterpiece.”
“Or a drag queen, from the sound of it.”
Keith chuckled devilishly.
Thanks to the chemical help from Xanax, the car ride from the hospital wasn’t nearly as bad as Tori expected it would be. Apparently, cars didn’t frighten her, even though she was almost killed by one.
With her sister coming and going from her apartment for some of her belongings the past few weeks, word had gotten around about her, so thankfully, there was no awkwardness of explanation. The doormen and the concierge were kind and friendly, but also ridiculously loud when they said hello.
Seriously, I’m blind, not deaf, people.
“Welcome home,” Jane said as she opened up Tori’s front door.
“So that’s what my house smells like?” Tori chuckled wryly. The scent of her apartment smacked her in the face. It was a mixture of cedar, spices, and driftwood mixed with fruit undertones. It was like returning home from vacation—one can really smell their own scent. Except this was no vacation she was returning from.
“It smells good. Earthy. Like you.” Jane rubbed her arm.
“I bet my plants are all dead.” Tori curled her nose.
“Sis, your plants were dead far before you even went into the hospital.” Jane laughed. “I revived them for you, though.” Yeah, Tori was bad about neglecting her plants. God help her if she ever had kids—not that she actually would.
Tori stood there, in her entryway, afraid to move, not really sure what to do next. Normally, she’d kick off her shoes at the door, drop her purse and belongings next to them, and sit on the sofa and catch up on TV. Now what?
“So, I made you some meals and organized the place. Come here. I’ll show you,” Jane said, picking up on the fact that Tori had no clue what to do with herself. Jane drug her over to the fridge and opened it up. She grabbed Tori’s hand and placed it on a stack of containers. “These are your dinners. Just pull one out and heat it up in the microwave for four minutes.”
“How am I supposed to even use the microwave?” Tori snarled.
“I took care of that. Feel.” Jane ran her fingers over raised dots on the microwave. “I put a dot on the numbers and then another on the start button. It’s not actually braille, since you don’t know that yet.”
“Jesus Christ.” Tori groaned, realizing she was going to have to learn braille, and she really didn’t want to think about that. “Ok, I got it. I’ll figure it out.” Tori dug into her freezer and rifled around. “Where’s my vodka?”
“I dumped it.”
“You dumped it?” Tori wanted to reach out and choke her. Two and a half weeks holed up in a ten by ten room, drugged up and bored out of her mind. All she wanted was a drink.
“You can’t drink with the medication you’re on,” Jane said. “In fact, I’m taking the Xanax with me and leaving you enough for tomorrow. I’ll refill you each day when I come back.”
Tori let out a large bull-like breath through her nose. “What, you think I’m gonna try and kill myself or something?” Tori pretended to be insulted, but she’d be lying if the thought hadn't crossed her mind. She was not proud of that.
“I just don’t want you to get them mixed up, it’s safer this way,” Jane said, obviously lying.
Jane spent the next thirty minutes showing her everything she’d done in her apartment to organize it and put things where she could find them.
“Listen, I’ll be back in the morning after I drop the kids off at school.” After Jane got married, she popped out Hannah within the first year and Jacob three years later.
“Who has them today?”
“Tori, it’s Sunday, Darren has them. I told you that already.” Jane’s tone dropped an octave, and Tori could tell she was frowning with worry.
“Oh. Yeah.” Tori nodded. Her short-term memory was still shit. She’d lost all track of time completely over the past few weeks.
“Ya know, maybe I should just stay here tonight. I’ll get Darren to drop the kids off in the morning.”
Tori shook her head. “No, you need to get home to your kids.” Jane had spent almost every waking hour she could at the hospital and not nearly enough time with her family. “I’ll be fine.”
“I could call mom and see if she—”
“No!” Tori said adamantly. “I can’t deal with mom right now.” It’s not like her mom would come anyway. She’d only been at the hospital three times in the past two and a half weeks to see Tori. Not that Tori gave a shit. Her mother was no way equipped emotionally to handle a blind daughter. It was best if Tori kept her distance. “Anyhow, Keith is going to stop by later.” This, of course, was a lie.
“Ok.” Jane’s voice waivered. “You remember how to use the phone, right?” She asked as they stood in the entryway.
Jane had set up her iPhone with VoiceOver so she could use it. “Yes, I have that down.” It was her only form of entertainment. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten how to use it.
“Ok, deadbolt the door behind me.” Jane gave her a big hug, then the door clicked open.
“Wait, Jane. What about food?” Tori asked, trying to not crack a smile.
“Tori, I told you it was in the fridge.” The door shut and Jane’s purse flopped back down on the table. “That’s it. I’m staying here.”
Tori started laughing. “I’m messing with you, Jane.”
Jane grunted. “Bitch.”
“One week, Jane. You only have to deal with me one more week, then I’m out of your hair for six months.”
Jane sucked in a heavy breath, almost like she was going to say something, then stopped herself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Door opening, door shutting, and Tori was alone in total darkness, and now also deafening silence. Tori locked the door, leaned her back against it, then slowly slumped down to the floor, tucking her knees into her chest.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she begged herself. She took ten deep breaths, calming herself, then finally stood. She managed to microwave the food Jane had made for her. She didn’t even bother cleaning up her dishes. She tossed them into the sink with a clank for Jane to deal with in the morning.
Well, now what?
A nice, calm bath. Surely, she could handle that as long as she didn’t get her cast wet. She headed to the bedroom, using the furniture as a guide. She made it to the wall. Shit. She traced her hand to the left and reached the doorframe.
Tori turned to her left and undershot the corner. Her dresser hit her smack dab in the gut, right where they’d sliced her open. She doubled over and winced, clutching her abdomen. “Fuck!” she screamed into the silence as warmth seeped through her shirt onto her fingers. God dammit.
She hobbled to the bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and leaned against the wall, catching her breath from the pain. She ran her finger across her stomach as more slippery, warm blood coated her fingertips. Shit. She groped for the sink and turned on the water, letting it heat while she pulled out a washcloth from under the cabinet. She pressed it to the wound and waited a few minutes.
Finally, it seemed that most of the bleeding stopped. She could FaceTime Jane and ask her to look, but Tori was too proud to do that, and Jane would just come running back. No, she’d handle this. She felt the tender, raised skin. Seemed like she just nicked it. It didn’t feel gaped open. There was a little moisture still trickling, but a bandage should do the trick.
She opened her medicine cabinet and rifled around. Band-Aids. Come on, Band-Aids. She found the cardboard box and pulled it down, ripping a large one open with her right hand and her teeth, and slapped it over the wound. She cleaned up her garbage and shut the medicine cabinet mirror.
She pressed her hand to the glass and then touched her face. She traced the healing wounds on her cheek, forehead, and middle of her nose. How bad were her scars? They felt enormous under her small fingertips. The surgeon promised her that her eye muscles moved normally now. Were they still as blue? Would the color dull after time? Her reflection was taunting her, telling her exactly what she looked like, but her eyes would never get the message.
Never would she see herself grey-haired, older, wrinkled. She would forever be stuck at twenty-nine in her mind, dark red lipstick, staring at herself in the mirror while Nathaniel gazed over her shoulder. It was nauseating that the last image of herself was with that man. Her stomach churned, and she bent over the toilet and emptied the contents of her belly.
Well, there went Jane’s dinner.
She leaned her head back against the wall and wiped the vomit from her mouth.
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. “Text message from Keith Nielsen,” the speaker blared. Tori pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen.
Day twenty. You know the drill. Tell me something beautiful.
This was Keith’s thing he made her do. His attempt to help her find the beauty in life still. He texted her every day asking this question.
Tori snorted and shook her head. “Nothing. Not a damn thing, Keith. It’s all black!” she shouted at her phone, as if it was actually him in front of her. She tossed her phone haphazardly to her side.
The hospital sent a psychiatrist into her room. Therapy. Yeah, that will bring my sight back. Tori recalled the military shrinks that tried to poke into Scott’s head after his injury. Therapy won’t bring my brothers back, or my fucking leg, he’d told her. How weird was it now that they were both disabled? Was this God’s sick, cruel joke or something?
Everything happens for a reason. That’s the excuse she told herself anytime anything bad ever happened to her. Her dad dying had taught her to guard her heart. Her shitty childhood with an alcoholic mom taught her how to take care of herself. But losing her vision? If there was some subliminal message that the universe was trying to tell her, she didn’t want to understand. Fuck the universe.
She sighed and picked her phone back up. Her thumb scrolled across the various apps each speaking aloud. Apple is the shit. She had to hand it to them.
“Text messages.” She double-clicked it and scrolled through the names. “Keith Nielsen, Jane Sullivan,” the list went on for a bit until it spoke “Scott Harris.”
She double-tapped it and ran her fingers over the last text message he’d sent. It was a photo he sent the night of her exhibition, right as she was climbing into the car with Nathaniel. She never even looked at it. Oh, the irony.
She could just text him, say hello, see if he chimes back.
Instead, she scrolled through her phone. “Photos, albums, videos.” Double click. The video she was searching for was sent exactly six years after Scott had lost his leg. Tori had committed the date to memory when they were in Amsterdam. They were in the tattoo parlor, and she’d drawn the tattoo that now adorned his right calf. She dubbed that day Scott’s legiversary, a day that he wouldn’t grieve, but celebrate the loss of his leg by doing something fun and incredible. “Video April 5, two thousand sixteen.” She double-clicked the saved video and turned up the volume. Scott’s voice poured through her speakers.
“Today is my sixth legiversary, and per the promise to you I made, I’m sending you proof of its celebration.” The sound of his smooth, deep voice was like calming music to her ears. “I’m in Greece, specifically, Kalymnos. Behind me, you can see the beast, and I shall climb up it in all its glory, with this.” Tori could recall, on the video, he lifted up some type of special climbing leg. She remembered that damn, crooked grin of his spreading from ear to ear as he showed it off. “Wish me luck, Tori. Aw, hell. You know I don’t need luck. I’ve got this.” His laugh bellowed through the speakers, then the video went silent. Tori smiled and clutched the phone to her chest as a tear trickled down her cheek.
Call him. Tell him.
The one person in the world that could understand her, she couldn’t muster the courage to call. Scott would move heaven and earth to be by her side, and she couldn’t ask him to do that. She didn’t want him there out of obligation or pity. She was too raw, too vulnerable. Just like he was after his injury, when the lines in their “friendship” got blurred.
What she did do was voice text Keith and tell him what she found beautiful today. “Scott’s laugh,” she spoke, then commanded the message to send. Tori straightened her spine and dusted herself up off the bathroom floor.
For the next hour, she walked every path in her home. Bed to bathroom, bathroom to office, office to living, living to kitchen, and so on. She repeated this again and again until she got it perfect. She was certain that her shins were bloody and she was black and blue all over, but it didn’t matter.
She flopped down onto her bed, grabbed her pillow, and curled up in a ball. Tomorrow, she’d do it again.