Blindspot

CW: Suicide or self harm, Mental health

If only someone had told me that my life would change forever on the 14th of August 1989, I would have told my mother what I found in Alan’s car.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of tires screeching along a brittle, wet road and the distinct screams of a young boy. A familiar sound I had grown accustomed to with my repeated nightmares.

I have been seeing them for quite a while now. On the worst of those nights I would see myself being dragged along a stretcher with a dark red stream of blood flowing from the side of my head, until I blackout and wake up to the warmth of my bed. Gasping for breath while I recover from it.

I keep telling myself it’s just a dream. But isn’t life also the same thing?

There’s no doubt why I saw it today.

Of course it has to be today.

I jumped out of bed and went into the living room where my mother was already making waffles. I gaze at the calendar, hanging on the wall. It’s a Saturday, the 27th of March of 1996, and it is circled with a bright red marker. I stare at it for a while in silence.

“You’re up early today”, my mother broke the silence.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep you know. I want chocolate on my waffles”, I took a long sip of black coffee as I watched her pour the wet batter into the mold.

“Sure you do. By the way, can you drop me at church at 2 for mass?", she asked eagerly.

I don’t know the last time I went to church or confessed my sins, but I do know one thing. No God or prayer would be able to forgive me.

“I don’t think so, I have to go and meet Noah for lunch today.”

“Ohh.”, she nodded as her eyes spoke instead.

* * *

I dreaded seeing Noah as much I dreaded dreaming of him.

In the first few months following what happened , it had been a punishment to visit him. I only went because I was forced to, a pathetic way to say sorry in the least. Or maybe to ask for forgiveness, which I don’t think I will ever get or deserve.

I pulled up at the driveway of his house he shares with his father. I take a deep breath as I knock on the hardwood door. A warm face welcomes me in, it’s Noah’s father.

“He’s in his room, he’s been waiting for you all morning.", he adds as he leads me into the small room at the corner of the house, just like how you keep your used clothes tucked away in a far corner of an attic. There’s no doubt his father loves him, but a part of me can sense his despair for him, his hostility towards Noah, and somehow, it’s all because of me.

Noah is lying to one side of the corner of his bed. Every month I come to visit, when I see him like this, I can’t help but remember the first time I came to see him in Westminster Hospital. Strapped onto a bed with machines all around, doctors taking rounds of blood, and of course I can’t forget, when the doctor told me the gravity of my actions.

He’s starting to look a lot like his brother, Alan. Alan. .Which doesn’t help me go through this day any easier.

“Melissa?”, he said, getting out of bed. A smile curving on the side of his cheeks.

“How did you know?", I asked out of curiosity.

“You brought waffles, I could smell them.”, he says, holding his hand out to me.

He picked up his white cane and made his way to me and give me a tight hug. He was almost seventeen now, I wondered if he thought about what he was missing out on his life as much as I did.

“Did you dye your hair black again?, it’s gotten brittle”, he asked.

“I’m blonde.”, My smile disappears as a frail thought fades into me.

Noah hasn’t seen me since the accident. He hasn’t seen anything since the accident.

I wonder if he still remembers me the way he did when he was ten years old. A shiver of grief and guilt runs down my spine, cutting me off words.

On most of the sleepless nights when my thoughts won’t stop flooding my mind, I think about how unfair life has been to Noah.

Everything has been cruelly unfair lately. I hate to use the word, but he wasn’t disabled when he was born . It’s something to be born blind, and it’s something else to be blind after an accident. Not just by the pain of getting in an accident itself, but also the pain of losing something you already had before. It’s like telling you that you won a lottery and then realizing the last two numbers were mismatched . I think taking away something you had is worse than never having it at all.

You can’t miss something that didn’t exist.

But no, He can’t relate to that.

We spent that evening together describing the sunset to each other, and he summarized everything thing that happened in ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’, a copy I got for him in braille when I visited last week. He loved to read and paint, that was for sure. It hurt me every time I had to think of what I had cost him.

As I was about to call it a night and leave for home when he called out my name in a rather rushed tone.

“Melissa, I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me what?”, I said looking concerned.

“Alan and Jenna came over yesterday.” he said, his eyes fixated on me, looking for the slightest reaction.

Alan. Just the sound of his name was enough to trigger something in me.

“They- they said they’re getting married.” My heart skipped a beat as the words left his mouth.

“I thought you should know. ”, he added.

“Ohh. Really? Well good for them.”, I blurted out as I made my way to the car.

And I cried.

* * *

That night I went to sleep and I dreamt the whole night.

I dreamt of the cold morning of August 14th 1989. Alan had come to drop my car which he borrowed the day before. Alan and I were both eighteen and have been dating since church camp two years ago. He was the love of my life and I was his. A match made in heaven, my mother used to say. As most teenagers did, we spent our days in bowling alleys and theaters. We even watched ‘When Harry met Sally', together. ‘Sugar’ was his nickname for me, and I loved the way he smirked when he said it. For as for as I knew, we were going to get married.

The sky was gloomy with a slight fog from time to time that covered the vicinity. There was an eerie howl of wind with unexpected drizzles throughout the day.

After Alan had left, I had some books to collect from the library, so I got into my car and was on my way to the library, when I felt something prickling me on the seat.

As I turned back and pulled out the source of my discomfort, I had unknowingly pulled out the source of my lifelong suffering.

My heart was pounding and my throat, palms shivering as I came to my senses, as I realized what was going on. Alan was cheating on me.

How could he do this to me? After all these years? After everything we had been through? Tears flooded down my cheeks, my eyes all puffy and red. One name came to my head: Jenna. Of course it was her, she had been eyeing him ever since we started dating,

Before I even knew it, I was speeding through the road. The fog was only a mere distraction as my rage flushed through my blood.

But one thing was for sure. I was going to kill Alan.

Alan’s house appeared at the corner of my eye, he was in his car, on the side of the road.

I took three deep breaths.

One…Two…Thr-Three…

I was possessed.

Possessed by love.

Possessed by anger.

Possessed by a murderer.

And so , with all the power in my body, I accelerated into his car. Into him.

The last thing i remember was the faint sound of tires screeching and the heavy thud of the crash.

Then I blacked out.

***

“Melissa?", a voice called out

“Melissa, Can you hear me?”

“It’s alright you’re okay now, you had an accident.”The familiar voice reassured me.

Waking up after two days, it would be an understatement to say that I was shocked to see Alan by my bed. Holding my hand, piercing into my thoughts.

“Can you hear me?”, he was at thirst for a response.

“Yea-.”, I said shakily.

“What ha-happened?“, I whimpered out horrified.

“You had an accident, you lost control over your car and crashed into mine.”, he blurted out, I sensed he was holding out something from me. He had no idea of my intentions, I almost felt pity for him.

“I- I remember you were in the car? Are you okay?”, I whispered out, watching his movements.

He took a pause. I could feel the tension, as if he was about to say something devastating. I had to brace myself.

Little did I know what he would say next would make my life fall apart.

“Melissa, it wasn’t me who was in the car, it was Noah”, he looked triggered.

“O-Oh my god, is your brother, is h-he okay?” My voice gave a way.

“I’m not sure, but he sustained some head damage and the doctor said it might affect his sight”. Alan held my hand tightly.

“No, no , no - what have I done-“.

***

April 3rd, 2004

Many, many years later, on the night when Noah took his life, I stood at the edge of the building and thought about life, mostly death.

I wondered what would have gone through Alan’s mind when he had found Noah hanging off of a rope on the ceiling. Pale and lifeless. Lifeless like me.

Guilt is the death of me. Maybe I can peace in death? Maybe even forgiveness? But I can’t know for sure.

No one realizes this but, mortality is a gift. If you could live forever, you won’t be able to live up to anything.

To be remembered is to die.

To be alive is to be dying.

I took one last glance of what was piercing my clenched fist, what I found in Alan’s car all those years ago : A gold bloodstained earring, Jenna’s earring.