Like I’d Never Seen Before
by Ian Leach
I woke up one morning and I could not open my eyes. I wondered what was wrong. Why would my eyes not open? In the moments I attempted to prise my eyes open without success I pondered the possibility of blindness. That was only one sense, I told myself. I still have four others.
I still have the sense of touch to stroke Howard’s strapping body, rub my hands over the coarse material of his suit jackets like I do every evening, pulling off the odd long hair. I still have the sense of sound, so I can hear Howard’s deep rumble as he laughs at one of my sister Ingrid’s jokes which I’ve never really found that funny but then her jokes have always been a little smutty, a bit like her really, what with that twinkle in her eye and desire for fun at all costs.
I’d still have the sense of smell, so I could smell the smoke on Howard’s clothes after he’s been to the pub for a sneaky pint after a hard day at the office. I would still have the sense of taste so I could kiss Howard passionately on the lips when he arrives home from work and taste coconut on his lips, which reminds me of lip balm.
It may not be so bad, I told myself, it may not be so horrendous, being blind. I would still have the lovely memories of all the things I’ve seen in my forty two years of living. I’ll still have the image of Howard implanted on my mind, his bulky body, his tanned skin, his blonde hair, his blue twinkling eyes, the way his back arches as he leans over to kiss me. I’d still have the image of our children, Natalie, Tom and Elsie. Natalie with her mobile phone glued to her ear, Tom with his football boots over his shoulder and Elsie with her scuffed knees after falling over in the back garden while playing with her imaginary friend, Stanley. I’d still have the memory of my parent’s gravestones. I’d still have the memory of my sister sitting in a pub in her short skirt, fag in hand as she applied cheap lip balm to her lips, long hair cascading down her back. With my eyes still closed I suddenly could see like I’d never seen before.
Ingrid’s smutty jokes, her fags, her lip balm, her long hair. Howard laughing at Ingrid’s smutty jokes, his clothes smelling of smoke, his lips tasting of coconut, long hairs on his jacket. I put my head back onto my pillow. Howard was beside me sleeping soundly. I realised I could not feel his arm around my body, could not taste his lips on mine, could not hear his heart beating in time with mine, could not smell our sweat combined after passionate love making.
In the silent house, in the darkened room, with my eyes refusing to open I realised two things. One, they would never open again and, two, sometimes people can know things without seeing them and sometimes people don’t want to see the things they know.