Alone At Last

So, what was I saying? Ah, yes. Being blind sucks. It's just darkness. I don't know what colour my bedroom is painted. I don't even know what colour looks like - I've only heard about them. Reading is confined to a few special editions which are as big as a house or audio CDs. I write with a Braille writer or, as I am now, by dictating into a microphone. But nothing is secret because someone always has to go back and add all the punctuation and those annoying words like 'there' and 'their' which sound the same to voice recognition software.

Yeah. Sometimes I'd give anything to be a normal teenager.

But now ... now I was alone in the house for the first time in months and it was gloriously liberating. I could do what I wanted, within reason, and that didn't include sitting in my bedroom contemplating all the things that were rubbish abotu my life.

I felt my way along the corridor, though in truth I didn't need to since I'd walked it so many times. It never hurt to be careful: I didn't want to plunge headfirst down the stairwell because I wasn't look where I was going. Well, feeling. You know what I mean. Verbs get a little confusing if you're like me.

We have a piano in our front room. It's a lovely instrument, smooth and cold beneath my fingers, and the keys react easily to my touch. I've never learned to play properly but I can play a few little tunes, just by ear.

It's odd. My parents aren't into Classical music at all, but we have this amazing piano. Mum said it was left to us in her uncle's will, and that's how we ended up with it. I would like to know more music but the radio stations they listen to aren't the sort with piano concertos playing, so I haven't managed to pick it up yet; some day, I shall buy some CDs to listen to. It's this hunger for music that made my ask if I could have a violin. 

I can write my own music though, the tunes I hear running through my head. Mum and Dad say they're lovely and sound 'authentic' but can't give any more feedback than that, on account of the fact that they're not at all musical. Dad and I are trying to learn the piano together, helping each other. He reads the beginner's music and I play it.

When I was done with the piano, I went into the kitchen. We always kept the bread in the same place so that I could find it, and the butter wasn't too far away. It was only a year or so ago that I actually learned to make my own sandwiches, but I got there eventually, and I have to say that I was infinitely grateful for the skill: it made things so much easier when Mum was out, not that that happened very often.

The rest of the afternoon was pretty boring. I found one of my audio books and put it on, but realised pretty quickly that I had heard it so many times I knew it practically by heart, so that was no good.

It would have been easier, or so I've often thought, if I'd had a sibling to talk to, who would understand me. But when I was born and they told Mum that the eye condition I had was genetic and there was a fifty percent chance of her next baby having it, too, she and Dad had a long talk and eventually decided that they couldn't bear the thought of bringing up two blind kids. See, she and Dad are both carriers of the disorder, meaning they don't have it but it's in both their genes. That's one of the few things about Biology that I ever got. 

The End

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