Try Looking Out Of My Eyes For A Change

            The automatic doors opened with a whoosh as the heel of my shoes clicked the marble floor one last time, before setting out onto the uneven pavement. Wobbling slightly, my hand gripped a broad forearm.

            “Thank you,” I said, adjusting my skewed sunglasses.

            “No problem,” the woman said in a motherly tone. “Watch your step, the road is pretty crowded.”

            With a wave to my right, I pushed through a sea of bodies. The sweaty air was replaced by freshness as I approached the street corner. Movement ceased, and I bumped into a still body as it stood there waiting for the car honks to cease. I apologized, and the man replied good-naturedly. Our conversation carried on as we crossed the road.           

            “The city is always crowded in the summer,” he said.

            “I wouldn’t know. This is the first time I’ve been outside.”

            “You don’t say? Where do you stay holed up?”

            “Well, I’m not from Toronto.”

            “Ah, that explains it. Where are you from then?”

            “Mississauga.”

            “Oh I lived there for a while. Too dreary for my taste.”

            “You might think that, but it’s lovely and peaceful—and we don’t have to deal with a flood of people every time it’s a holiday.”

            The man chuckled. “Well, I don’t live here either. My wife and I didn’t want to raise kids in a city. Well, nice meeting you. Have a good day.”

            “Goodbye.” Raising an arm in farewell, I turned the corner. The sound of trains hurtling past grew louder and louder.

            “Excuse me, where is the GO station?”

            “Right here,” a childish voice said. Ignoring protests from an older woman, she grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the entrance.

            “There you are!” The familiar voice of my sister rang louder than the din. “You know, I doubted you getting here, but you did. I’m proud of you, Marzia.”

            Thanking the girl, I yanked my arm away just as my sister’s fingers grazed my skin.

            “Momina! I can manage by myself!”

            “Sure…” Despite her skepticism, she did not protest, simply watching as my stick slipped out of my grasp and hit the floor. With a sigh, she moved forward and lifted it up. Hands reaching forward, my fingers curled around the stick. I could still feel her eyes looking pitifully upon my turned figure as I walked ahead.

            It was easy to pretend I was travelling on my own on the train ride home. Momina did not say another word to me. I tuned out her heavy sighs by tapping my stick on the floor repetitively.

            As we got off the train at the Streetsville GO station, Momina gripped my arm so tightly I could not break free. Walking towards my mother, that constant thought entered my mind: strangers spoke to me in what I imagined was a ‘normal’ way, but my sister just could not seem to grasp what it was like seeing out of the eyes of a blind girl.