I SEE YOU. YOU SEE ME.

I was born invisible.

Some may think this is a superpower, but it was really hard on my parents. They could feel me, smell me, hear me, hold me, but they couldn’t see me. 

My disability was unique. Anything inanimate that touched my skin also became invisible. Every diaper, romper, onesie, plush animal, toy, bottle, pacifier, or bib vanished into thin air.  

Growing up, I enjoyed all the same things other children experienced. All the normal baby sounds were present to alert my folks to my fears and needs. I cried, farted, giggled, sulked, yelled, and clapped to my heart’s content.

Bonding, though, was a difficult experience. Looking deep in my parent’s eyes, I willed them to look back into mine, to no avail. It was as if they looked right through me. But it wasn’t until I was about three that I realized I was different. 

You see, even though I was invisible to the world, my eyes could see all of me. Every leg, arm, belly button and eyelash. That is, until I looked in a mirror. 

The first time it happened, my mom was putting on her makeup and getting ready for dinner. I loved watching her get dressed. She had a way of making the simplest things look like they were created just for her. 

With dramatic flair, she would drape a long scarf over a flowing blouse making her look like she could fly. Soft amber earrings added a milky glow to her smile, and a shiny pin with diamonds caressed her collar and winked at me, while a soft-bristle brush turned her cheeks into plump plums. Mom was beautiful. I glanced in the mirror to see if we looked anything alike, but alas, I wasn’t there.

I waved. Nothing. I smiled my biggest smile. Nothing. I got closer. Nothing.

“Mom, why can’t I see myself in the mirror?”

“Well honey,” Mom said, with her hands on my face, “You were born with a very special gift. One that others won’t understand. But the reason will be revealed in your lifetime, I just know it. In the meantime, we just have to create some tools and workarounds.”

I didn’t know what ‘workarounds’ were, but I just nodded. Realizing my nod was for me alone. This was the very first time I understood mom couldn’t see me. The first time it occurred to me no one could.

Being invisible had its moments. I could sneak up on people and scare them, which made me laugh and laugh. Ringing the neighbor’s doorbell over and over, with no one to be seen became a favorite pastime. Sneaking into the kitchen on tiptoe allowed me to raid the cookie jar when no one was looking, especially when dad was supposed to be watching me. 

Mom, though, had a sixth sense. There wasn’t much I could get past her. Her keen sense of listening allowed her to hear me breathing when I entered the room. I would call that her superpower and she just laughed, saying, “I guess we all have one, don’t we.”

There was someone I couldn’t get anything by, though. George. George also always knew when I was present. George was our dog. He would wake me up by slurping on my cheeks, willing me to take him outside and play ball. He didn’t seem to mind at all that I was invisible. George could sense me in the way only animals could. 

So, all in all, I had a pretty normal childhood. Of course, I was homeschooled, but one day, that wasn’t enough. Yes, I had a few neighborhood friends, but they were shallow relationships. Mostly because their parents forced them to play with me. Whispers became rumors. It was said that children had nightmares about me coming into their rooms at night. That wasn’t true. I wasn’t allowed out at night and to be honest, I was scared of the night too!

I asked to go to a ‘normal’ school like all the other kids. So my parents were tasked with finding a school that would accept me. Me and my unique disability. No easy task, that was for sure. Still, they stayed true to their adage: never give up. 

After begging mom to take me clothes shopping for my first day of school, it felt like a swarm of bees were buzzing in my tummy. To say I was nervous would have been a true understatement. In fact, filled with sheer terror was much more appropriate. Would the kids like me? Would they play with me? What would I do if they were afraid of me? Was real school just too hard? And the list went on and on, swirling in my brain like a runaway tornado. 

The night before the first day I couldn’t sleep a wink. I lay there, my eyes unyielding to sleep, willing the sun to hurry up so I could get it over with. Finally, morning came and I climbed out of bed filled with trepidation. What was I thinking? This may have been one of my worst decisions yet!

Thistledown Academy was less than a mile from my home. Mom made me a big breakfast, but I found myself just moving the banana pancakes and strawberries around on my plate. Mom sent a soft, "You'll be fine, dear," my way. Dad reached over to rub my shoulders and told me to ‘just breathe’. Easy for you to say, I thought. People can actually see you breathe. George licked my knee. Okay, maybe they were right, I needed to chill out.

Dad took off work and joined mom in picking me up after school. I got in the car and no one said anything for the next couple of blocks. Mom, with her special gift, starting giggling and said, “Darling, I can hear you smiling back there.” She wasn’t wrong. My face actually hurt from smiling all day long. I let out a big laugh and my rendition of the day just poured out. 

“I met a really neat boy. He wasn’t afraid of me at all. We played catch and hide and seek. He saved a seat for me next to him in home room. We ate lunch together and he even sat next to me in chorus. He has such a pretty voice, mom, and he said mine makes him think of a row of glass bells. Mom, dad, I have a great new friend. I absolutely love school!”

As the years passed, the boy and I grew up together. We had playdates, got to know each other’s families, went trick-or-treating (well, he asked for the treats and I did the tricks), we studied together, listened to our favorite music, shared inside jokes, and told each other secrets we trusted no one else to keep. We built forts, caught fireflies, argued over who could cook better cookies, and made plans for the future. The world grew louder as we grew older, but the boy never stopped talking to me. And I never stopped listening and looking at him. Even though the mirror still showed nothing, he always looked right at me and somehow, that made me feel understood. As a matter of fact, somewhere along the way, he stopped being just the boy from school and became my best friend.

As life would have it though, we grew up. College was around the corner. The boy received lots of invites from various schools around the country. Me, not so much. Thistledown Academy was one thing. They had a special program for kids with disabilities and I fit right in. Colleges, though, didn’t trust the fact that I was, in their words,” undetectable, unseen, hidden, concealed,” and one letter even called me “ethereal.”

Those words cut deep. If they just gave me a chance, they would see I was, as dad called me, creative and brilliant. Rejection letter after rejection letter filled my mailbox and then one day, going against the grain of my family motto, I gave up.

The boy and I vowed to keep in touch and wiped each other’s tears. Touching each other’s faces as if trying to remember every nook, cranny, and expression. But the time had come. We had been told we were inseparable and here we were, separating. I tried my best to uplift and encourage him. He was going to school to become a teacher and I knew he would be the best teacher in the world. He was kind, patient, and had a gift for seeing the people everyone else passed by. 

He saw me when the rest of the world looked right through me, and that was a gift I never took for granted. I knew he'd carry that same gift into his classroom, he wouldn't just teach his students; he'd truly see them, each and every one. And even as we stood there saying goodbye, I wasn't afraid. I wasn't losing him. I was just letting him go into the world to do all the good I always knew he would. I couldn't think of anyone better suited to see the ones who felt invisible.

The boy was true to his word. Every week, without fail, I received a letter from him. Regaling me with stories of stuffy professors, tests that took hours and hours of research, amusing stories of experiments gone awry in the lab, captivating renditions of other students and their faux pas and so much more. I read every letter over and over until the ends of the paper started to shred.  

Those letters kept a smile on my face, as I found a space in this world for myself. I had taken to writing short stories and some of them had been published. Mom and dad encouraged me to take some courses online and I pursued a career in writing. Think about it. What’s the perfect job for someone that is invisible? Writing stories that don’t need someone to see the author, they need an author that enables the reader to see the story. 

I would send my drafts to the boy and he would give me honest suggestions. I trusted him and his soft critiques. He would always say, “Every time someone reads your words, they see you.” That always gave me shivers up my spine. He couldn’t have thought of a better line to lift me up. He said he could see my smile across the miles.

We spent all his breaks together. Through the years, I often found myself counting the days until the next one. Fall break, followed by Winter break, then Spring break, and finally, a short Summer break. The hardest times were the days in between. They seemed to stretch further and further. 

I kept myself busy with pen in hand. Creating quite a name for myself. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved my career, but there was always something missing when the boy and I weren’t side by side.

Then the day finally arrived. The boy was coming home. His graduation was over, and he had graduated at the top of his class. I had imagined this moment a hundred times, but somehow, I still wasn’t prepared for what happened when I heard his voice. 

Something shifted in the way I saw him. The boy was gone and in his place was a handsome, confident man, holding a teacher’s diploma in his hand and wearing the biggest smile I had ever heard.

Ok, my heart may have swooned. I wasn’t a particular fan of rom-com’s, but in that moment, I felt I was starring in one of my own. I realized in the blink of an eye that he had held my heart in his hands for quite a while. Running his fingers over my face, I knew he felt the same way. 

On our wedding day, we decided to do things a bit different. Why not? Being a bit different had been our M.O. our entire lives. As the guests turned and watched with admiration and smiles on their faces, we walked down the aisle together, hand in hand. The only sounds in the room were the echo of the click of my heels and the rhythm of his long, white cane sweeping back and forth on the church’s marble floor.