Black and Blue
c.2001
By Patti
*
I wake up, and I see black. The first morning reminded me of the time Chris and Joey ‘kidnapped’ me. They felt it necessary to blindfold me so the three of us could go on a ‘field trip.’ Some field trip; they dumped me in a porn store saying that we weren’t going to leave until I learned something. I was fourteen then, and the darkness that encompassed me fell easily from my eyes with one gentle tug. Now, I’m twenty, and this darkness won’t fall as effortlessly as the black bandana did six years earlier.
The early days of my darkness weren’t so bad, because it was temporary—or so I thought. The only thing keeping the light out were strips of gauze covering small, oval bandages. Again, or so I thought. The doctors were hopeful at first, all six of them. I didn’t really pay attention to what they said though, even if I had wanted to. They kept me so doped up I really thought I could see; I didn’t understand that the large exaggerated caricatures of the doctors who poked and prodded me, accenting their scribbling with ‘hmm’s’ and ‘huh’s’ that I saw were merely the result of 10,000 cc’s of one thing or another.
I’m grateful for those drugs though. They made damn sure I didn’t know my ass from my elbow, which caused my mother quite a bit of distress. She was there every day in the hospital, trying not to cry. Again, it was like I could see her, I swear that I saw her. But no matter how strong she tried to be, I ended up comforting her, placing my swathed, bandaged hands over hers saying ‘I’ll be ok mom’. And then I’d feel her squeeze them, gently, so as not to disturb the grafts, and whisper words of comfort and encouragement that she needed more than I did.
It was a few weeks before she was able to tell me what happened. When she finally did, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Thanks to those drugs. I really think Nancy Regan wasn’t too informed when she went all gung ho ‘just say no’. I heard everything my mom told me, and processed it in the alternate reality I was living in. I didn’t think about it too much. I confess: in my surplus of time, my thoughts went mostly to you.
Even now, fully and consciously aware of everything that happened, I still think of you. My body, still weak and brittle from seventeen skin graft operations needed to replace the 25% of my body that was covered in burns, still aches for your touch. My eyes, that the doctors once had hope for but who now have to resign themselves to the fact that they aren’t God enough to give a twenty year old man his sight back, these eyes, that will never again see a sunset with you, or a rainbow, or an incredible half court ‘one in a million shot’, these eyes that are forced into blackness for the rest of my life, can still see the blue of your eyes. The pools of cerulean that wrinkle at the corners when you would laugh at something I said, the endless fountain of your soul that twinkles just for me, I can still see all of that.
I can also see the horror of realization in those eyes of yours. Oh god, JC. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, and I can’t ever blame you.
Yes, you slipped. None of us ever put the tops on our water bottles, a spill was inevitable.
Yes, you fell into me, pushing me 7 ¼ inches further upstage that I should have been. I know you remember, as well as I do, how persistent Darren was that we hit that specific mark correctly. “The seven ½ inches between your mark and the pyrotechnic vent is the difference between an encore and your charred remains.” He had us trained better than Pavlov himself could have. I had ¼ of an inch to spare. Because of you.
You reached out and grabbed me Jace. You saved my life.
Lance just left here a little while ago. He told me that you’ve done nothing but cry since that night. I just want you to come and sit with me. I don’t want there to be any rain in the sky of your eyes. Because the only thing that keeps me sane in this world of black, is your blue.
