"_______________"

Yep. I know. Crazy title, no? Very random. I rather like it, though. It's because I couldn't think of a proper name for this post. Everything I came up with was rather generic. I need ya'll's help. (Somebody google this for me, is "ya'll's" a word?) (Correct answer: Yes, it is now.)

Anywho.

We have a bridge near our house. I once thought it was an ordinary bridge. It has those metal fingers, like any bridge. It gets icy in the winter. It has road markings on it, even. But then, one day--

It shrunk.

I am serious.

It is now officially a narrow bridge.

Used to be, you could drive right across at 60 mph. Breeze right on through as if the little thing were an ordinary bridge, made for drivers who need to get somewhere in a hurry. (Does that not cover everybody?) The next day, Somebody (who shall remain unnamed) had kindly posted a sign that the bridge had shrunk, and that it was now only safe to drive 40 mph across the bridge. The sign didn't give all the details; what caused the bridge to shrink (feeling small due to an inferiority complex?) or why it didn't warn anybody (revengeful thinking for being trampled without so much as thanks?) The sign really only read "Narrow Bridge."

I was astounded. Really? A shrinking bridge? (Photographers, I'll sell time slots to go over and take pics?!)

I will keep all of you posted as to it's upcoming habits. If there is any growing being done, you'll all be aware of it as soon as I can access my computer.

Oh, and I've totally owned every other bridge story out there, so don't even try. Mwahahahahaha! Jk.

Similes, Metaphors, and Personification.

Today for my Intro. to Lit. class, we had to write our own similes, metaphors and personifications as part of our study of poetry. We were given examples of each and prompters to get us started and the rest was left to our imagination.

Here's are the of examples of a simile we were given. I thought they were too good not to share.

"Glory is like a circle in the water." William Shakespeare.

"Character is like a tree and reputation is like its shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing." Abraham Lincoln.

Then we were told,

"Your Turn"

Some may have gulped, cried, shivered, etc. Not me. *Wicked, indulgent grin.* I'll put the prompters in bold, and my words in green.

Rain on a roof sounds like a multitude of fairy elephants.

Ice-cream on a hot day tastes like a sip of the purest, most tasteful water delivered to one thirsty in the desert.

Jumping into cold water on the first day of summer vacation feels like bursting out of prison gates after monthes of mental imprisonment.

Those were the similes.

Summer is a beautifully wild rainbow, eternally untamed and bursting with the brightest colors of the year.

A fierce thunderstorm is the battle of stupid giants fighting territorially over clouds.

Growing up is a maze full of dead ends, markers that lead the way, pleasant paths, rocky roads and glowing goals.

Those were the metahpors.

These are the personifications.

A(n oak) tree stands strong, too wise and superior to be disturbed by the light breezes that throw the birches into a flutter.

Winter is a crazed and frosty fairy, cold-hearted and enthrallingly beautiful, designing and curel, but invariably worshiped.

Please! Comment! Make up a simile, metaphor or personification of your own, or use one of the prompters. Or share one that you've used in the past! I really really really really really wanna know what y'all got to say, like, in the worstest way! (Pardon me grammar, it's a good clue that I'm desperate to hear from all y'all!)

One perfect day

This is also something I wrote years ago. I don't remember the occasion or circumstance, I just konw I must have been feeling thoughful.

When the suns dancing rays shine down on a beautiful world, when birds are singing purely for joy, when the breeze blows gently as though it knows you already, on such a perfect day as this a wonderful song awakens within us that cannot be put to words. The birds know it and sing it in their delightful dialect of trills and whistles. The leaves know it and whisper it for all who love to listen. And God know is, for it is He who sang it into us and over us when He breathed into us that which is called the breath of life. There it echoes undying until it is fulfilled in Him.

Editing

I think that one of the most painful and rewarding parts of writing is editing. It's painful mostly when others tell you that something's not good and you really should change it. It's rewarding to find errors and make changes. Take out a weakly limping sentence and replace it with one that throws its head proudly, or waves its banner in victory. This time it was painful.

I sent my story, "Sight Unseen" into a magazine that publishes only material provided by youth. The note I received in reply read as follows:

"I have read your story. In one sense, it is well written. But what makes it unfavorable to us is the coincidence of Kari going blind. Nothing can deflate a story more than coincidence. Personally, just having a story with Kari helping Jae realize her potential with "seeing" in other ways was good. That being said, I would be willing to reconsider if you were to submit to me a story without that particular coincidence." (Bold mine)

In one way, that hurt! I don't like having my stories criticized or critiqued, which is why it's so good for me. But on the other hand, he's a writer/editor helping a budding (I hope) writer, and that's wonderful. He showed me how to improve and offered me a second chance. I think I'll take it.

So please re-read my story and let me know if there are any glaring mistakes, anticlimax's or other writing no-no's. Let me know your critiques--but gently--I'm getting used to them.

Thoughtfully-
Storyfingers.

Sunlit Musings

Today as I was looking through my files and folders for an assignment I needed to turn in, I found this lovely bit of writing. I wrote it some time last year I think. I thought it worthy of posting.

As I slipped outside, I felt as though I was leaving behind the bonds of slavery. It was a perfect day. The golden sunbeams were shining brightly, but they only awaited someone to iagine them into laughing, dancing, fairies of light. the air was crisp, to crisp, perhaps, for just a hoodie, but I cared not. The world seemed glad to see me, as though I were its sister. In fact, i felt as though it remained to me but to break the spell, and everything magic would come to life. Perhaps that is why I ran to the pasture to stoke and play with the horses before bringing myself back to the realm of duty, which was indeed my original errand.
It was not long before I heeded the call of my conscience and remembered my first purpose. As I filled the cart with wood, a breeze rustled impatiently throught the trees. It was a young wind, ready to blow my hair into my face and laugh about it, if I would only break the spell and let it. Even as I returned to my bondage of study, the sun seemed to shine gratefully as though I had given it a gift, and the wind blew gently as if to assure me that it knew me and loved me.

Choir Trip

This weekend, the Lincoln High School Concert Choir and the special Swingsations, or "Jazz" group went to the Twin Cities on tour. Yay me! I'm part of Concert Choir, and even with two more tour trips ahead, I think this will be one of the most memorable. Following is a chronological outline of our adventures.





5:00 a.m. Saturday morning: I tumble out of bed to silence the alarm. We were at the high school by six and rolling at 6:30.





11:30 a.m. Sat. We pull into the truck stop in Clearwater, an hour from the cities, and had a fabulously sophisticated lunch. I ordered a scrumptious appetizer, and left the table stuffed.





1:00 p.m. Saturday. Hello Mall of America! I am soooo ready for 4 1/2 hours of shopping and escalators! Roughly 4 hours later, "Choir Friend" Songster and I wandered back down to the buses, having acquired several scrapbooking supplies, a pair of cute jeans (mine), three books (hers), and an amazing journal (mine).





6:30 p.m. Sat. We finally find our hotel room. I kicked my now-smelly, quite-repulsive shoes from the poor exhausted feet and embraced the bed for a few delightful sleepless moments.





6:45 Room 605 of the La Bourget was a bevvy of activity; three smashingly gorgeous girls were in the throws of preparing for dinner. (Yes, I was one of them.)





8:00 p.m. We wend our way through the delightful Old Spagetti Factory to find our reserved room. We were promptly served drinks. The first course was salad. Fresh warm bread followed, but despite the filling proportions, they were appetizers. After an appropriate interval, I was served Chicken Marsala-chicken breast with gravy and mushrooms (which were left on the side of my plate an hour later) and spaghetti with freshly grated cheese and parsley flakes. I could hardly eat fast enough! (I managed to make it look delicate enough, I think.) All this hardly had time to settle before I was presented with a simply ginormous piece of Chocolate Mousse Cake. I was forced to leave half of the delectable dessert on my plate. *Sigh* I don't think I was even hungry the next morning.





9:00 p.m. I once again shed shoes with a vengeance and flopped on the bed for a brief moment. Then the girls and I were joined by another and we had a delightful fellowship together, reading a book, reading the Bible, praying, talking.





12:00 a.m. I made it to bed! Without fainting of weariness! And (horror of horrors) I forced myself to set the alarm for 5 a.m.



1:00 a.m. I fall asleep. My wonderful roommates had the chatter bug.



5:00 My friend's phone goes off. I had to get meself up and roust the other two, who slept through the alarm.



6:00 a.m. We are downstairs, dressed, and walking to Perkins for breakfast. In the dark! Relative dark, I guess. I don't think it ever gets dark in the cities.



7:00 a.m. We've finished breakfast, and we're waiting to load the buses.



9:00 a.m. The first service at First Covenant Church in Downtown Minneapolis is just starting. It's right next to the Metrodome, so when we walked in, I poked a little fun at the proud Viking banners on display.



9:10 We're singing some of our classical pieces for the church. The average age of the audiance right then was about 65, and I think we outnumbered them about 3 to 1.



10:00 The second service begins. In this service there is a sermon and we'll be performing our Gospel music. During the first song, everybody stood up and started clapping with us! I must confess I dozed just a little during the actual sermon.



11:15 The service ends and we're invited to enjoy a small lunch with the church. Tasted great! During this time, I realized I'd lost my favorite mittens, the ones from my Grandma.



11:45 a.m. We're back on the bus, bound for the La Bourget. We have to be out of our rooms by 12:30, but our next concert isn't until 3 so we're headed back to the mall for a few hours.

11:47 Mittens relocated!

1:00 Songster and I are rushing around, trying to find a cheaper pair of jeans for me so that I can take back the expensive pair I'd purchased and buy some books instead. I found a pair of Aero jeans for half of what my others had cost. Yay! And we headed down to Barnes & Noble. They had an amazing sale, buy two get one free, for a specific rack of books. I chose (drum roll please!) Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift, and The Arabian Nights. All for only $17! I know that for my thrift-shopping friends (I'm usually one of you!) that's a bit expensive, but if you haven't realized already, this was my weekend to be extravagant.



3:00 The choir's re-assembled and ready to sing for Friendship Village, a retirement home/assisted living center for the few fortunate rich. There were about three times as many people there as us. We presented several songs, a few a Capella jazz pieces (by swingsations only) and a fantastic soloist.



5:00 p.m. We finally left Friendship Village, headed for the truck stop/diner in Clearwater, intended to be our last brief stop on the homeward journey.



6:00 p.m. I ordered and enjoyed the same appetizer I'd selected the last time, a chicken wrap filled with cheese and some delightful gravy or cheese sauce. *Sigh of delight*



10:00 p.m. We've been here for four hours. It started like this. One girl on the other buss got sick. Her friend and roommate freaked out and got sick also. They couldn't stop...so we isolated them in the bathroom. For and hour. Then more kids got sick. I think the grand total was five, or somewheres in there. We finally loaded the buses and took them to a hotel in St. Cloud.



11:00 p.m. We finally hit the open highway.



2:00 a.m. I've been drifting in and out of sleep for the last three hours. We finally make our way through Erskine.



3:30 p.m. Thief River Falls! Was I ever happier to see my small-town home? Or my Dad? I grabbed my bags and headed for the car.



What I took home with me:
Three Scrapbooking papers.
A velum quote sticker book.
Tons of memories.
Words--to share.
Jeans.
Full stomach.
Anticipation. For.
Books!
Need of sleep.
*Yawn*
Goodnight.

Sight Unseen part 2

“But Now I See”

With Kari's first question, and internal battle had begun. About half of me sided with Kari: I knew I could discern things and I wanted to stop pitying myself and start living. The rest of me wasn't ready to change: I didn't want to wake up and realize that blindness wasn't a severe handicap to all I wanted to be. Each day was a little different, sometimes I woke up feeling bold and ready “see” everything I could, other days I sulked and pretended that life without sight was nothing.

Kari and I managed to keep in touch through email. I could type, and Mom printed off Kari's emails and read them to me. I began to see Kari in a new light through the emails. She'd obviously been telling the truth when she said she didn't do fake. Kari was just as real with me as she'd asked me to be with her. I began to look forward to every email I received. Kari was the kind of friend I couldn't find in high school.

One day as Mom was reading another of Kari's emails, her voice trailed off and from her murmuring breath, I could tell that she was reading ahead.

“What?” I demanded.

“Uh,” She checked herself and found her place again. “Kari says...she went to the doctor today. Nothing very important apparently, just a sort of check up or something. She says she's fine, and not to worry about her. And she's planning to call you sometime this week. That's about it.” Mom handed me the email which I tucked into a folder saved for that purpose. Something didn't sound right. Vagueness wasn't Kari's way of doing things. It wouldn't be any good asking Mom to read the email again, she'd only say the same thing. I groaned and fell back on my bed, feeling again the misery my blindness brought—it didn't seem fair that anybody could take advantage of me as my mother had just done. I rolled over and pounded my fist in my pillow. Finally I sighed. At least Kari had promised to come to our home for the latter half of Christmas break. Ian was already home; Kari was supposed to arrive at the end of the week.

I kept trying to rid myself of the uneasy feeling that something wasn't right with Kari. The rest of my family anticipated Kari's coming in their particular ways. Dad didn't say anything about Kari, but he began to grow more humorous. Mom chatted about her almost unceasingly, and continually asked all of us if were excited to see her. She also kept busy decorating everything specially for Kari. Whenever I'd ask for help with something, she'd say “Sorry Jae, I'm a little rushed,” but I heard “Sorry Jae, I'm getting ready for Kari.” Ian was as excited as anybody else, but his charade was indifference. I made no effort to hide my excitement; I had no need to. My uneasiness masked any other emotions I felt. Finally on Thursday Ian's aftershave ushered him into my room.

“Telephone.” He was excited, “Kari. “Guess she couldn't wait another 48 hours to talk to you.” I felt my way the coziest corner of my bed and a knot gathered in my stomach.

“Kari?”

“Hey Jae. What's up?”

“Nothing doing. What's wrong?”

“What?” Kari either hadn't expected the question or didn't want to answer.

“Come on Kari. I need to know.”

“Didn't you get my email?” Kari sounded nervous.

“Mom didn't read it to me. She skimmed ahead, and just gave me the gist of things. I have no idea what you wrote, except that you went to the doctor.”

“Oh.” Kari paused. “I...Jae? Can you please keep this a secret? I don't even want Ian to know.”

“You know me Kari.”

“Ok. I guess the Doc says that I'm not quite as well off as I thought I was. I have to stay in the city for some sort of treatments so I'm not able to come down for Christmas.” Kari kept talking, but I didn't hear what she said. Not coming down? Something was definitely wrong.

“Kari, what is it?” It was more of a demand than a question. Kari was silent for a minute.

“I can't tell you right now.” It was my turn to be silent.

“Why?” I heard Kari sniff. So she was crying?!

“Jae? Can you please let me work through this myself first? I promise I'll tell you first, I just need some time.”

“First? Nobody else knows?”

“I haven't told anybody anything yet. I can't.” Kari sighed brokenly.

“I'm sorry to ask, Jae, but could you tell your family I won't be coming? I can't face up to that right now.”

“OK Kari. Call me soon?”

“As soon as I can. Promise.” We hung up. I dropped my head against the wall; I couldn't stop wondering and worrying about Kari. What on earth had happened? I stayed in my room until it was time for dinner.

That Christmas almost lost it's holiday cheer. Mom and Dad tried to throw off their disappointment, Ian bravely attempted to maintain his near-stoicism. I didn't bother to hide my confusion, but I determined to enjoy our Christmas to its fullest—for Kari's sake.

Two days before New Year's I was brushing Rusty on the living room floor when the phone rang. Ian picked up in the kitchen. I listened intently to his end of the conversation.

“Hello? Kari? What happened? I know, Jae told us. But why...please Kari? OK. She's right here.” I heard Ian's footsteps and he gently took my hand and placed the phone in my palm.

“Kari,” he whispered to me.

“Hey,” I said softly into the phone, “Just a minute.” I followed Rusty to my bedroom.

“OK, safe. What-up?”

“I'm s to scared you this Jae. You'll be disappointed in me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I'm...blind.” Kari's voice cracked.

“Oh, Kari...What happened?” I swallowed back tears.

“It started so slowly Jae! I thought for sure I just needed glasses or something. It actually happened before Thanksgiving, I just wasn't worried about it, I figured it would go away or something. Then overnight it got way worse, so I rescheduled my eye appointment for the next day.” Kari choked up and I heard her blow her nose. “That was the first week of December. Ever since then, I've been able to see less and less. The doctor said there was nothing that anyone could do. Now I can't see anything.” Kari broke down completely. I sat amazed.

“Kari?”

“Mmm?”

“Has somebody helped you? Do you have a way to get around?”

“Yes. They gave me a cane.” Kari's voice was bitter. Finally she sighed. “And they signed me up to get a guide dog. It's so hard, Jae!”

“You're telling me?”

“I know. I'm ashamed to say it.” Kari sniffed. For an instant I was jealous. After all, Kari had had her sight for nineteen years, what did she have to complain about? But compassion overwhelmed jealousy.

“Kari, do you want to come down here for New Years Eve?”

“Jae, I'm blind! I can't drive!” Kari nearly cried again.

“Kari, stop this,” I said gently. “You know as well as I do that Ian would be more than willing to pick you up.” Kari sniffed again.

“Could you come with him, Jae?” she asked weakly.

* * *

Ian quietly collapsed two white canes and handed one to me in the back seat and one to Kari in front.

“I have to pick something up before we leave the city,” he said as he started the car. “Would you two mind waiting in the car for me? It won't take more than a few minutes.” Kari agreed. We fell silent until Ian re-entered the car. Curiosity concerning his errand consumed me. That he had purchased something was clear; he'd opened his wallet taken out a specific amount of cash before getting out of the car. Whatever it was had to be small, because he didn't open the trunk. In fact, it must have been quite small, because he hadn't set anything down in the car which left only one option; his coat pocket. Kari interrupted my line of thought.

“Jae, the organization that's matching me with a dog called today. Can you guess what they said my puppy's name was?” Kari's attempt at breezy cheerfulness nearly worked, but she still didn't sound like her old self.

“Ah...Rusty?” I knew there was a reason Kari was asking.

“Nope.”

“Ian?” Ian asked hopefully, with an obvious smile.

“No!” Kari sounded almost playful

“Kari?” I guessed?

“Strike-out.”

“Jae?” Ian sounded incredulous.

“Yeah. Isn't that cool?” Kari's spirits were rising, if slowly. I smiled to myself.

“No, not at all,” I teased. Ian chuckled and Kari began to laugh.

“This is something I've never done before,” Kari said suddenly, “Laughing the complete dark. It's almost...fun.” Ian fell silent, as if something bothered him, but I leaned forward and felt for Kari's shoulder. She found my fingers and gave them a squeeze.

At home again, this time with Kari, we gathered for a sort of second-Christmas. All of us had a small something for Kari, and she'd picked out something for each of us. I waited until last to open my gift. I wanted to soak everything in; the scent of hot apple cider, Mom's chatter, the tinkling of Kari's earrings, Dad's jokes, the assumed nonchalance in Ian's voice as he handed Kari what turned out to be a large box of chocolates. Finally everyone turned to me. I slipped my finger under the paper slowly, trying to guess what was in the box. Slowly I pulled out a velvet box and opened it. Kari held her breath next to me. My fingers explored the chain of a delicate necklace, trying to find the pendant. I fingered the strange be-jeweled shape, trying to make it out. Kari's fingers joined mine and she lay the pendant flat in her palm for me to feel.

“It's a pair of glasses, Jae,” she said quietly. I felt the shape again, yes, there were the tiny diamond lenses and the smooth frame. I squeezed Kari's hand in silence.

Later Kari found me alone, on the couch.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked.

“Please?” I asked in return. She settled onto the cushion next to me. Rusty moved off of my feet to avoid endangering his tail. Both of us were quiet for a few minutes. There was a peace that stemmed from the crackling fire in front of us and the warmth it provided that there was little need for words. I heard Kari heave a sigh.

“You know, Jae?” she asked softly. “I'm trying to find things to be grateful for. Not just things in general, but things about blindness that...give me an advantage.” I took a deep breath,

“Yeah...I'm starting to realize the same things also, thanks to you though.”

“But I find myself mentally complaining all the time about the things I can't see. Do you do that often Jae?” I could feel Kari's almost-childlike weakness. Beneath her question I could hear her cry for help. She was begging me to understand her, to prove that she hadn't really lost anything but physical sight.

“Kari, I've done that non-stop for sixteen years. Then I met you. You taught me that sight doesn't come and go with your eyes; you taught me that it is easier to see something if you're not hindered with vision,” I faltered slightly. “Now I guess it's up to me to teach you how to use your real eyes.”

“Jae?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“It's still hard. Sometimes I think I can never...”

“Be perfectly happy again,” I finished for her.

“But you can, Kari. I know from experience.” I remembered the past week, wishing Kari would call me, and trying to be joyful for her sake. Kari shifted slightly.

“Is that Ian, coming down the hall?” she asked.

“Yes...” I trailed off as he came into the living room.

“Kari! Oh, Jae. Am I interrupting something?” Ian sounded almost nervous. I smothered a grin.

“Not any more,” I replied.

“I was just wondering if Kari wanted to go for a walk in the park.” Kari stood up.

“Sure, I'd love to.” Kari sounded as nervous as Ian. I ducked my head into the soft leather couch.

“Enjoy!” I murmured to Kari.

I passed the time brushing Rusty and fingering my new necklace. When more than an hour passed I found a book in braille that Ian had given me. The title was Giver Girl and a friend had recommended it. Finally the front door slammed and Ian and Kari's voices carried down the hall to my position on the couch.

“Jae's probably in bed,” he said quietly. Kari murmured something and for a moment there was a suspicious silence. Then Kari's footsteps went through the kitchen towards my bedroom. I hurried to join her.

“Kari,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“Jae? What?” Kari's voice twinkled.

“You tell me,” I responded, settling onto the cot I used during Kari's visit. Kari said nothing and felt her way to the cot. She sat next to me and found my hand.

“Here,” she said, putting her left hand in mine. I gasped when my fingers felt a smooth band interrupted by a gem.

“Kari!” I threw my arms around her and we held each other for a long moment.

“Jae, you were right. It's possible to be perfectly happy. I am.” I laughed out loud.

“I know Kari, I am too. And guess what else? I can see you smiling”

Sight Unseen (Part 1)

Sight Unseen

I used to think I was blind. That was before I realized that I could see better than most. That is why there are two parts to this story.

“Was Blind”

My name is AnnaJae Anerud and I was born blind 17 years ago. My parents talked to multiple doctors before they finally gave up and tried to resign themselves to my handicap. I say this because I learned to do exactly what they did. I regretted my blindness. I hated my blindness because, in my mind, it became a bad thing, a handicap, a detriment to me and what I could have been. It was ugly and it was harmful; I nearly viewed it as a deformity.

Scholastically, I learned through oral teaching and Braille. I learned to use a cane and I received a guide dog. I grew to love my dog Rusty, but I only put up with the cane. Whenever I met new people I heard, “Oh! I'm so sorry,” and I echoed those words every time in my heart. I was miserable, full of self pity, and I didn't mind letting everybody else pity me too. It wasn't fair, and I wanted the world to know.

My parents tried to help. I can't tell you how many times they told me I looked perfectly normal, that nobody was giving me a funny look or staring at me. What a joke! I could feel people staring at me. And you're saying that dark glasses, a Golden Retriever guide dog, and a long white cane are all invisible? I learned to tune out their protests and comforting statements, along with those of my other relatives and friends who threw the same arguments at me.

Not only was I frustrated, I was frequently embarrassed. Often at school, some offered to sharpen my pencil or to get something out of my backpack. Those who didn't know me well were always offering to help me with things; they tried to be kind but I hated it.

I had learned right from the start, however, that if I wanted to know things, things that any other person could tell just by looking, then I must find another way. I learned to listen—not just to words, but anything that might tell me something. I could tell who was knocking on my bedroom door; I could tell if they were excited or angry by their footsteps; I could know their mood by a tone in their voice. While most of those around me were distracted by what they could see, I could put together the finer details of a situation from what I heard. What friends, family and strangers saw and marveled at, I heard and understood.

All this did nothing to change my attitude towards my handicap, though. I had thoroughly trained myself to only ever view my blindness as a negative thing. This is not to say that I was always pouting, or that I never enjoyed anything. I had simply learned that I could never be fully happy without my sight, and so I never allowed myself to enjoy anything to its fullest.

That was before Kari. We met Kari at Thanksgiving during my older brother, Ian's, sophomore year in college. He'd called and asked in advance if he could invite a friend over for Thanksgiving because his friend had nowhere else to go. My parents readily agreed, and when Ian pulled up in the driveway, I heard Kari close the passenger door. I stood next to my parents in the doorway, half curious, half annoyed that some cute college chic was going to meet her boyfriend's blind tag-along little sister. I assumed this was how she would view me and frankly, the prospect wasn't thrilling.

At supper that night she chatted with my parents, asking them questions, telling a little about her history. Then as Mom served desert, Kari turned to me and asked,

“So, Jae, what advantages do you find in being blind?” I sat shocked. I wasn't offended; that didn't seem to be an option with Kari. Still, I couldn't understand what she meant. It was obvious she wanted an answer, and “None” didn't seem appropriate. She had asked the question in all sincerity.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean,” I answered slowly, mulling over her question for a possible hidden meaning. Was Kari teasing me? That would be just too cruel! But her tone was understanding, as if she really believed that I had an advantage and she wanted to know what it was and how I felt about it.

“Well, I can tell you're a discerning person. How does your blindness help you see things, say in a different light or from another perspective?” That was too much for me.

“To be honest, I have no idea of what seeing something even means. I've never seen anything. I have no concept of light. I live in the dark. I see nothing. Never have. Never will.” I purposely avoided answering her question in context; it threatened the lifestyle I'd built so carefully over sixteen years.

Uncomfortable silence reined—disturbed only by Ian's elbow bumping the table—until Dad broke the spell by asking Kari what she wanted to major in. At that point, I thought I had sufficiently stopped Kari from asking any more such questions. I was free to remain in my own dark world of imperfect happiness and no joy. Or so I thought.

Strangely, the dinner conversation with Kari left me with no hard feelings. It was impossible to dislike Kari, as all of us soon discovered. Dad found her sense of humor amusing; Mom was delighted with her “style”—whatever that meant. All Ian would say was that he liked her, but so much more was evident, if only to me. I couldn't see if he held her hand, helped her with her jacket, but I still understood how he felt, or at least as much as a high school girl can understand how a college boy feels, to quote Ian.

But as much as I comforted myself that I had managed to stop Kari's questions, I couldn't gain her pity. It simply wasn't there. I guess I shouldn't say it that way exactly. Kari had pity, as became evident in the fact that she pitied me because I couldn't see my own sight. She didn't really say that outright, but I understood what she meant. After less than two days of Kari, I began to count her a friend. She wasn't a friend on the lines of my cohorts from Lincoln High, there was simply no comparison. She liked me for who I was without pitying my blindness or in any way letting me use it as an excuse.

One day Ian excused himself to visit an old friend from grade-school who was also home on break. He promised to only be gone for a few hours, but Kari shooed him away.

“Go!” she said laughing, “Your family is more interesting than you know, if you think that you have to stay with me constantly to keep me entertained. You go have fun. I've got plans of my own.” I sensed her grin—maybe even a wink—and from Ian's flabbergasted half-chuckle, I guessed he walked away blushing but cheerful.

Kari waited til she heard Ian's car back out of the driveway before turning to me.

“Come on. Hot chocolate's on me. Ian pointed out the sweetest little coffee shop, and your Mom gave me the go ahead.” I guessed she had a reason for taking me out; Kari wanted to revive our conversation, so I almost shook my head. But it was Kari, and it was my favorite coffee shop. Ten minutes saw Kari, Rusty and I walking down South Elm towards the Calfiend Cafe—well known in our small town for its fabulous beverages, the general favorite in our family being French Vanilla Cocoa.

Willing or not, I can't remember, but somehow Kari managed to make me talk with her as we walked. But instead of describing the brilliant display of autumn colors, she discussed the refreshing scent of rain on the breeze or the sound of a dog in the background; she even asked me questions about the people in our neighborhood. This kind of conversation surprised me. Nobody had ever tried to talk about things that I understood before. Most just attempted in stumbling words to explain what the color blue was, or how a tree looked, or the expression on somebody's face. Kari seemed to speak my language without even trying.

“French Vanilla?” Kari asked as she opened the door of the Cafe.

“Or would you like to try something new? I personally love a Mocha with a taste of Hazelnut.” I followed Kari up to the counter.

“Mocha with a more-than-a-taste of French Vanilla?” I volunteered.

“Sounds like a delectable combination. I'll try it too.” Kari ordered and we sat down at a small table for two. Rusty settled obediently onto the floor beside me.

“So did I surprise you with my question at dinner two nights ago?” Kari asked unexpectedly.

“Yes.” That was the easiest question she'd asked yet.

“I was serious you know.”

“I thought you were, but I didn't understand you.”

“I think you did.” Kari saw that my purposeful confusion was simply a defense, against change. We were silent for a moment. A waitress walked up and set our Mochas on the table. I wrapped my cool fingers around the warm cup. Finally I took a breath. Kari was clearly waiting for me to respond.

“Could you explain?” I asked somewhat meekly.

“Explain...?”

“What advantages do you think I have that are due to my blindness?”

“Well,” Kari paused for a sip, “This is really good! I don't know why I didn't try it earlier. But back to my point. I can see that you hate being blind. I can also see that there's nothing you can do to change the fact that you can't see light or color. But I think that you see more than you realize. Now you go off of that and explain it to me.”

“Oh, you must mean that I can see the color black. Nice. Lovely variety. Clears things right up.” I couldn't help being sarcastic, but I felt a twang of guilt at the same time.

“Jae, be real with me; I don't do fake. Stop pretending that your lack of physical sight has deprived you of a brain.” I felt as if I'd been doused in cold water, dumped over my head in love. I took a scalding sip of Mocha that singed a good portion of my taste buds.

“You are saying that there are ways of seeing things without your eyes,” I continued “You're not talking about physical things.” It was a statement, not a question. I didn't need to ask. “You're saying that you think being deprived of my eyes is an advantage, or that because I'm deprived of physical sight, I've received an advantage. And you're saying that I'm particularly good at seeing things with my brain, or whatever it is you think I see with.” I still wasn't ready to fully admit that she was right. The sound of the doorbell startled me momentarily. I heard a familiar pattern of footsteps. From school? No; somebody from church. I listened as mystery church-goer walked to the counter. Ahhh. Mr. Bauer. He must be wearing his Sunday dress shoes; they squeaked. Why his dress shoes on a Friday? Then I noticed the clipped step of a woman's heels. He was taking his wife out to coffee.

“Tell me more.” Kari broke into my thoughts. I shook my head and tried to remember what I'd said last.

“Ahhh...You're also eager to help me, but you won't because you really want me to help myself. You want me to realize that somehow, I see things that maybe others can't.” This I knew quite well, I just never let myself admit it. I had perceived that others often missed the finer details, but I had been so busy railing about my eyesight that I never allowed myself to believe that there might be benefits to blindness.

“Mm-hmm.” Kari sipped her Mocha for what must have been the twentieth time.

“You're not going to have any taste-buds left if you don't stop and let that cool,” I pointed out.

“Jae, you surprise me at ever turn.”

“Well, anyone could hear that you've been sipping that Mocha non-stop since I started talking.”

“Yes, but it takes you to put those details together without seeing what I'm doing, and without questioning your theories.”

“Mmm?” I took a paradoxical sip of my Mocha and nearly destroyed any remaining buds on my tongue.

“Anybody else would have asked if my Mocha was as hot as theirs.”

“But you were audibly breathing between each sip, I could tell it was way to hot.” I sensed another of Kari's grins. After a moment of pondering, I smiled.

“I begin to see your point.” It was sheer accident that I did not substitute “see” with “understand.” We both held our Mochas in silence for a moment; I was afraid combusting more taste buds, and Kari probably didn't have any left. Rusty sat up, signaling that somebody was near our table. Mr. Bauer again, without his wife. Probably going to ask the waitress for something.

“Would you like to see our park?” I asked suddenly. It occurred to me that for as much as Kari was doing for me, I should reply somewhat in kind.

“Is it beautiful?” Kari pushed back her chair and picked up her Mocha.

“From what I've heard. It's peaceful, if nothing else.” I certainly loved the park. It was one place where I could be alone without people trying to outdo each other helping me.

“The park's on Washington Ave, could you let me know when we're at that intersection?” asked as I grabbed the handle on Rusty's harness.

The smell of burning leaves assaulted me as we left the cafe. I stopped momentarily to inhale deeply. Kari waited for me.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Oh, Herman Kandel is burning his leaves again. He does it every year. To him, it's worthwhile to just get a burning permit, instead of raking his leaves to the sidewalk. He could do that of course, but legally he's not inside city limits, so he burns them anyway.”

“You can hardly smell it though,” Kari commented.

“You can hardly smell it,” I corrected, “But it's stronger in the park. Let's go.”

Kari and Ian left the next day, and close as I was to my brother, I wasn't sure who I'd miss more.