Dave Clark
my world, my way
Dr Farida Singh brushed aside the usual chitchat. ‘I asked you to come today, Robert, because I want you to hear this in person.’
Oh, that’s her good news voice, thought Robbie. Almost shat my dacks for nothing. He leant forward, gingerly, like a praying mantis faltering into the shade. ‘What is it, Doc?’
‘You know how we’ve been developing procedures that help partially blind people see?’ He nodded as her speech picked up pace. ‘Well, it’s at a stage now where it also works for those born blind.’
Robbie’s body flinched. ‘What do you mean?’ His hands started shaking. He heard his doctor step around the desk to sit in a chair next to him. A trail of orange and jasmine followed her movements.
‘Robert, I’m going to help you see.’
‘Get stuffed! Really?’ He grabbed hold of his armrests, for stability. ‘Doc, are you tricking me?’
‘Robert, I’ve always told it to you straight. I’ve already performed the surgery on three patients.’ And? ‘And all three can see.’
See. A delicious word, one Robbie hungered for daily. But his hopes had crashed and burned before, much like his mate’s cheap dirt bike on their last camping trip. Smack bang into a tree and up in flames.
‘For real?’ He tried to wrangle his hopes back in before they sped off again.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t do it if I was less than 100% confident. Here, put your hands in mine.’
Robbie wiped his clammy hands on his trousers and slowly reached out. He let Dr Farida take hold of them.
‘Now Robert, tell me what you’re noticing?’
He felt a steadiness from her thin hands. No sudden rises or falls of temperature in her fingertips. No sweating of her palms. He listened to her breathing. Slow, even. Calm as. He released his grip and heard a single clap of her hands. He bet she was smiling.
‘Doc, you’re not one bit nervous.’
‘Exactly. This isn’t some pipe dream. Bosses said they’d cut our funding if we didn’t get it right. I’m not giving those fat cats the chance to derail me a third time. It’s not just your eyes on the chopping block.’
‘So…?’
‘So, if you want this to happen, we can book the surgery in for three months’ time.’
He felt his posture shoot up. Spain. TAFE. See which girls have their eye on me. ‘Do it! Book it in. And move me up that pecking order. We both know I’m your favourite patient.’
Farida laughed. ‘I thought you’d say yes. There will be a lot of work involved for you though. It won’t be as easy as taking the bandages off and voila!’ He guessed that her hands were twisting through the air like a cheap magician. ‘Parts of your brain have nineteen years of inactivity to overcome. It’ll be like culture shock, except for your vision.’
‘Whatever it takes. You know I’ll do the work.’ Robbie had taken on all her approaches over the past five years. Bonding with his guide dog Betsy. Using the GPS and earpiece like a spy to map out where he was walking.
‘You always have been dedicated.’ A warm coating on her words. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested this for you if I didn’t believe in your ability.’
His grin filled up the whole room. His body felt like it was crowd surfing again at Schoolies, held up by a sea of partying hands. ‘Far out Doc, this is happening, isn’t it?’
‘It is. It’s a lot to take in. That’s why I’m emailing you a voice recording of all the information. Think it over. It’s okay to take your time.’
It’s already been nineteen crawling years. ‘Stuff time. Let’s do it.’
~ ~ ~
The bang-crash of Friday night dinner preparations swirled around Robbie as he sat in the lounge room at home. He picked up the muttering of Dad’s obscenities as a saucepan hit the floor, the clinking of cutlery on wood as Mum set the table. His older brother Michael’s two daughters, Sophie and Kiara, were running amok, playing Princesses and Dragons down the hallway.
The room was warmer than Robbie liked, the air-con spluttering more than operating. Hurry up and get it fixed already, Dad. The TV was turned onto the nightly news, prattling on about a jam and pickle festival. The reporter was saying, ‘As you can see from the footage…’
‘Hey Mum, what can I help with?’ Robbie asked, as he turned down the volume on the TV.
‘Nothing, darl,’ she said, her voice wafery. ‘You just stay comfy right there.’
Dad yelled out from the kitchen. ‘Wash your hands, girls. It’s almost dinner time.’
‘Oh, not fair,’ Sophie and Kiara cried in unison. Robbie heard one of them stomp their foot on the floorboards. Salty princess.
‘We were about to get the dragon. He might get away,’ Sophie complained.
‘It’s okay, Soph,’ said Robbie. ‘I’ve got my eye on it. I won’t let it out of my sight.’
‘But you’re blind!’ said Kiara, the youngest of them. She plonked herself on his lap. Almost knackered me there, K. ‘Can’t see how many fingers I’m holding up, can you?’ Her words softened at the end, like ice cream left out of the freezer.
Easy. People always hold up two fingers. Robbie rubbed his chin, pretending he was solving a complex equation. ‘Is it two?’
‘What? You can see!’ Kiara hopped up. Robbie heard her little feet scurry to the kitchen. ‘Pop, Uncle Bobby’s not blind at all.’
‘Well love, he is. But not for long. A doctor is going to help him see. Now up to the table, Missy Moo.’
Michael called out to Robbie, his voice coming from about four metres away. ‘Grub’s on. Need a hand up, bro?’
Robbie flicked him the bird. Michael meant well, but irritation flared anyway. I haven’t escaped this prison like you have, choofing off to Ballarat. I know this house better than anyone. Three steps forward from the couch, a ninety degree turn to the left, two steps before the floorboards turned to tiling. Then four more large steps or six small steps forward to reach the head of the table. It had been in that same spot since he first started primary school.
Robbie felt the edge of the table and shimmied around to his chair on the right. He sat down, Kiara chattering away next to him about dinosaur stickers. Dad and Mum sat at opposite ends, like sentinels, and Michael and Sophie were on the other side.
Robbie could smell the mountain of parmesan that Dad had grated. Keeping the cheese industry afloat. Robbie felt the steam off the pasta tickle under his chin.
‘Dig in,’ said Dad. Bowls were passed back and forwards as they loaded up for their end of week feast.
‘What would you like, dear?’ Mum directed at Robbie.
‘He’ll sort himself out, love,’ said Dad.
‘I don’t mind,’ replied Mum.
Yeah, but I do. ‘I’ll dish up my own,’ Robbie said, hoping he’d covered the frustration in his voice with enough false sincerity. ‘You go first.’
Her tongue clicked. ‘Nonsense, dear. How much pasta do you want?’
Even Soph dishes up her own food. And she’s six.
‘Pile it on. Thanks, Mum.’
She began humming, happily. She’s gonna hate it when I can see. No one to fuss over.
‘So, Robbie,’ Dad said with what sounded like a very full mouth, ‘what are you looking forward to seeing once the surgery is done?’
‘Frozen!’ called out Sophie.
‘Yes. Yes. Or Frozen 2,’ said Kiara.
Michael jumped in. ‘Those movies will make you want to reverse the procedure, bro.’
The girls, oblivious to their dad’s comment, continued their suggestions. ‘Rainbows. All of the colours, Uncle Bobby.’
‘I only know one colour, girls,’ Robbie said. ‘Black.’
‘Not even blue?’ asked Sophie.
‘Not even blue. I don’t even know what colours are.’
‘What? Well, imagine a blue curve. And it’s like that, but in the sky. With other pretty colours.’
‘Sounds amazing, Soph. Can’t wait to see it.’
‘Could we see one together?’
‘Sure! That would be fun.’ It really would. He beamed her way. ‘And we’ll eat all that rubbish that Dad won’t usually let you have. Gummy bears. Chips. The works.’
Giggles spilled from both Sophie and Kiara. He felt Kiara’s affectionate hand on his forearm. ‘And we could wear our favourite dresses!’
‘Well, you wear the dresses, and I’ll bring the dragon on a leash. Don’t worry, I can still see him over there.’ Robbie flicked his head towards the lounge room.
‘I knew you weren’t really blind,’ she whispered.
Soon, Princess K, I won’t be.
~ ~ ~
The following Monday, Robbie walked into one of the city’s parks. After sweeping his cane over a bench, to make sure he wouldn’t sit on anyone, he eased onto it. A soft wind skimmed over his face, bringing with it traces of pine.
He could hear raspy cries behind him. Birds? He tilted his head to the right. A musical string of notes floated up and down, a song to attract a partner. Then the loud snapping of a beak. You gotta ask for consent, mate.
He folded up his cane and slipped it into his backpack. He pulled out his mobile and earphones to continue listening to the notes from Dr Singh:
After the surgery, you will see swirls of colours, not clear shapes or objects. It will take time for the brain’s visual pathways to come online and strengthen, as they have withered from a lack of use since birth.
Since birth. His parents hadn’t known he was blind until he started crawling and bumping into things. Bumpy Bobby.
He had been born seeing nothing. Even his dreams had no images in them. He smiled to himself as he remembered explaining it to one condescending teacher, ‘What can you see out of your butt? Nothing, yeah? Well, that’s what I can see.’
Was so worth getting detention for that.
…Simply seeing colours for the first time will be intense enough. Your brain won’t have the visual language to understand what it’s experiencing.
His shoulders dropped. It’s gonna be like learning a new language. I sucked at French. Je suis un blind as a bat.
…Early on, your brain won’t understand depth perception. Objects will be flat, in 2-D. Everything will seem close to you, even things that are far away…
He pressed stop on the audio file, feeling gut-punched. Why is my life so bloody hard?
Something soft brushed his left arm, startling him. He took out his earphones.
‘Sorry Robbie, didn’t mean to sneak up.’ A voice dripping with honey. Emily. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting too.’ He felt her sit next to him on the bench, her leg briefly brushing his. ‘Uni lecture dragged on. Then the line-up for coffees was out the door. Worth it though. I’ve already had a sip of mine. It’s divine.’
He sensed her holding out something to him and reached for it. A rippled cardboard cup, still warm. He lifted it to his nose. A rich, chocolatey aroma.
‘Sneak up on me anytime, Em, if you’re bringing drinks.’ He drank from the cup. The perfect blend of bitter and sweet. ‘Beats the iced coffees we used to knock back after Maths. That’s a ripper!’
‘Much like this park. I’ve never sat here before. It’s stunning. Do you want the play-by-play?’
‘Sure do. What’s happening?’
Em began detailing the park; lush grass bordered by tall grevilleas, not yet in bloom. Kids throwing frisbees, their parents lounging on picnic rugs. Most people wearing summer clothes, a few in suits and pencil skirts. Her words rocketed along, and even though Robbie couldn’t picture what she was reporting, he relished everything she said. Robbie usually hated his reliance on others to describe places. Most people only described the larger scene. A handful zoomed in to the patterns and intricate details. They either went macro or micro. Emily was one of the few people who did both.
‘One of workmen near the fountain has the greasiest mullet, Robbie.’ She rolled her r’s as she said his name. ‘I can’t wait for you to see things like this.’
And I can’t wait to see your face. I’m sure it’s perfection. ‘Call him over and ask if I can rub my hands through his hair.’
He felt her playful slap on his shoulder. ‘No way! How embarrassing. Nope, this mullet must be seen to be believed. And oh, there’s Trevor right behind them.’ Robbie felt a pang of disappointment. Emily continued. ‘We should hide from him, yeah? Give him a taste of what it’s like for you.’
Hide and seek. That’s my jam. Robbie had always been good at the game. He listened for where people went. The creaking of floorboards. Footsteps that turned left. The faster, louder breathing. The opening of wardrobe doors. Tiny giggles, the cracking of knee joints.
‘Em. Robert.’ Damn it. Spotted us before we even got off the bench. A firm mitt grabbed Robbie’s right hand and shook it. The smell of sandalwood floated by. ‘Sucks you can’t see how good this day is!’ Trev’s breath was minty, cool.
‘Yeah, it’s lovely,’ Em said. ‘Pity I gotta scoot back to Uni after this.’
‘Just pull a sickie. Plenty of people do it in first year,’ encouraged Trev as he moved to the other side of Em and sat down. Robbie felt the bench vibrate underneath them.
‘Not today,’ said Em, ‘but I will for a week next term if Robbie likes our plan.’
‘What plan?’ Robbie asked. People deciding stuff for me. Again.
Trev spoke up. ‘Mate, to celebrate your surgery, Em and I want to drive you to Uluru the week after it. Our shout. You deserve it.’
Robbie felt thrown, like he was playing catch-up. ‘Hey? What are you talking about?’
‘Just say yes,’ said Trev. ‘Trust me, it’ll blow your freaking mind.’
‘I think that seeing anything will be mind-blowing.’ He felt heavy in his stomach, for poking holes in their plans. Well, to Em’s part in it, anyway.
Em said, ‘Sorry Robbie, that’s probably a bit much to dump on you with everything that’s going on. We should’ve run it by you first.’
‘No, no Em, it’s more than fine. In fact, it’s lovely for you to think of it. Both of you.’ Good save. ‘It’s a great idea. Seriously. One day. No, it’s just…’ He held up his earphones. ‘My Doc said it’ll be ages before I can make sense of colours and shapes. Uluru would just look like a blob.’
Trev’s voice lifted. ‘So, we just need to start you off with mundane things and then build our way up once your eyes are rocking and rolling, yeah? Maybe kick off with Em’s taste in shoes?’
‘Nothing wrong with my boots,’ said Em, her voice slightly wounded. ‘Maybe you’re the blind one.’
Robbie wanted to smack Trev. He clasped his hands over his stomach, pressure building in his fingertips. ‘Hey look, that trip sounds good. Really. I can’t wait to see Uluru with you two.’ We can always leave Trev by the side of the road as dingo fodder.
‘And don’t forget that filthy mullet, Robbie.’ Em place her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. ‘It really is magnificent.’
Your touch is magnificent, Em. You can keep your hand there forever.
~ ~ ~
Friends and family became obsessed with telling Robbie all the things he should see after the surgery.
‘Ballet. It’s such majestic movement.’
‘Expiry dates on milk.’ I can still smell things, you muppet.
‘You must go to the art gallery.’
‘You have to see my backyard. I’ve landscaped the daylights out of it.’
‘Gotta see your own name, written down.’ I have wondered what it looks like.
Even the checkout guy at the local fruit and veg shop had an opinion. ‘Your own eyes, in the mirror. Or stare at your balls. Whichever’s more interesting to ya!’
Shut. Up. All of you.
His mates continued peppering him with ideas as they sat on the sidelines of a suburban oval a few Saturdays later.
Every summer weekend, over the past four years, they’d played blind cricket together. He’d loved listening to cricket on the radio as a kid and felt jubilant when he was selected to play for the Division 1 blind team down the road from his place.
The ball they used was a cane ball, a rib cage with a bell in it. Like my chest when I’m around Em. They had some helpers from the local club, who told them where the ball was once it stopped moving. Robbie’s team knew when one of the sighted helpers was new, as they’d be telling the batters to take their time and get their eye in.
We see with our ears, knobhead.
The bowler yells out, ‘Play,’ then delivers the ball. It had to bounce at least twice, giving the batter time to hear it. Robbie had smacked a few shots around that day, before getting clean bowled.
‘Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?’ sledged the bowler as he walked off.
‘Nope. I was too distracted by your ugly mug!’
They both laughed. The stuff we get away with.
Robbie sat down on the grass, on the sidelines. It was soft beneath him. He untwisted the cap off a sports drink, and his teammates kicked on with the conversation about what he should do after surgery.
‘Rob-Dog,’ said Pete, one of the sighted coaches, wearing enough aftershave to knock out a cat, ‘I was just telling the lads that you gotta see this chick at my work. If you only see one thing in this life, let it be her.’
‘I won’t be able to see the details of her face.’
‘Her face? Trust me, you won’t be looking at her face.’ Howls and hoots from some of the younger lads.
‘You’re a sick man, Pete.’
‘Forget that chick,’ said Steven, another of the helpers. His voice came from the middle of the group and sounded like boots trampling on gravel. ‘Wait ‘til you hop in my Tucson. One drive of it and you’ll want the same car for yourself.’
‘You reckon they’ll let me behind the wheel straight up? Dream on, Steve-O.’
Some of Robbie’s frustration tempered as the blind players took over the conversation, their suggestions quieter, more personal.
‘Gotta tell me if the missus smiles when she’s around me. Does she still give a toss, or have I become her charity case since my accident?’
‘If there’s ever food around my mouth, let me know. I’m sick of looking stupid.’
‘Enjoy a sunset. Every day finishes with something beautiful, so I’m told. Make the most of what the rest of us can’t do.’
After fifteen minutes of being hounded, Robbie was getting pins and needles in his legs. Felt like it in his head too, from all the badgering. He hopped up and went for a brief walk without a cane, counting his paces. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. He turned around when he sensed someone following him, hearing their deft steps on the grass. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Macca.’ Their best bowler and their worst batter. Cooked a mean burger at their annual team BBQ.
‘You stalking me? What if I’m taking a slash?’
‘Are ya?’
‘Nah. Just moving about. My legs were stiff.’
‘Fair enough. The best trees for a slash are the other direction.’
‘Good to know. Probably would’ve just gone on Steve-O’s tyres anyway.’ Only a grunt from Macca. C’mon man, that was gold. ‘You’re not here to tell me some other thing I gotta look at?’
‘Well, kind of. Robbie, this might sound a bit weird.’ Macca stopped talking, a rare thing.
‘Go on mate.’
‘You’re going to come and see us play after your surgery, yeah?’
‘Of course, I am.’ Damn. Robert hadn’t thought about it. I won’t be one of the Blind Boys anymore.
‘Well, can you do something for me then?’
‘What is it? Sure yeah, whatever you need.’
Robbie could hear that Macca’s words were directed towards the ground. ‘I want you to tell me if I’m as hideous as some people say I am.’
‘What are you talking about...’
Macca cut him off. ‘Let me get this out. I want to know from someone who hasn’t seen colour before. Am I disgusting to look at?’ The air around them stiffened.
‘Is this about what those blokes said last week? Those cruel, racist pricks. We reported them. We all have your back.’
‘I know that. But Robert…’ Robert? Geez, he is serious. ‘I want to hear it from someone who sees me for the very first time. No bull. Just your gut response. I need to know why some people treat me like crap. Can you do that for me?’
Silence stretched out between the two of them. Loud chirping from a flock of birds overhead saturated the space, followed by an audible whoosh, their collective dive towards the ground.
‘I’ll let you know what I see.’
‘Thanks mate.’
‘And Macca? I’m certain that the only thing that will disgust me is your batting technique.’ Chuckles from both men. ‘God, you know the aim of the game is to actually hit the ball, right?’
~ ~ ~
Three months passed. It felt like three years to Robbie.
The day before the surgery, Robbie went to Dr Singh’s office to talk over the final aspects of the procedure. The deets. Farida gave Robbie a braille copy of the paperwork. Robbie was happy to sign anything that gave the go-ahead.
‘Doc, what does my signature look like?’
‘It looks slightly neater than the graffiti in the bathroom stalls.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘It’s messy. But the person who wrote Kellyz a hag scrawls worse than you, so that’s something.’ She tried unsuccessfully to muffle a snort.
Robbie felt glad that he’d stayed with Farida as his doctor, even when his parents pressured him to change to practitioners who had bigger ads in the phone book. She was the one who, after learning that students were mocking Robbie at school for his ‘old man’ cane, helped him order a custom-made one. A gear stick head on top, to show who was in the driver’s seat. His creed carved along the side of it:
[my world, my way]
All those jerks at school wanted to have a go using it after that. From pauper to king, with one wave of my royal sceptre.
Farida was the one who pushed him to trust his other senses. On his second visit to her, she whispered out of earshot of his mum, ‘She babies you,’ then threw his hat across the office, getting him to hear where it landed. One time she took him to a shopping centre he’d never visited before, telling him to find her at the exit without asking for help.
She was the one who helped him adjust to living with his seeing eye dog, Betsy, and was the one who advocated for other technologies when she saw that he couldn’t face losing another Betsy again.
His attention snapped back when she asked, ‘Robert, how are you feeling about the surgery tomorrow?’
Robbie paused. ‘Freaking out. Nervous. Excited. Can’t wait. I don’t really know. Is that weird?’
‘All normal things to be feeling. After tomorrow, your life will change.’ Her last words dropped with the heaviness of Easter Island-sized stones.
‘That didn’t sound positive, Doc.’
‘Every change brings some grief. You’ll lose some of life’s innocence, like seeing people’s faces crumple when they think your ideas aren’t good enough. Your other senses will dull somewhat, as you won’t rely on them as much.’
‘Oh.’ A dam wall broke inside Robbie. Doubts he’d held back flooded in. His eyes watered. Suck it up. Suck it up.
‘Don’t get me wrong. The benefits will far, far outweigh the sad things. I wouldn’t do the surgery if I didn’t believe that. But Robert, it’ll take time to see things clearly, and it may be more frustration in the short term before the good things kick in.’
‘Is it really worth it?’ For the first time in months, fear smacked him in the guts.
‘Every patient who has had the procedure is glad they’ve done it. But the final call is not up to me.’
‘I just signed the paperwork though. I can’t back out now, can I?’
‘Well, I bought a really good shredder recently. It wouldn’t take long to turn your signature into confetti.’
Robbie tried to stop his uncertainties from overflowing. ‘People keep telling me all the amazing things I’m gonna see. You should see this. You should see that. See this. See that. Is sight really that good?’
Farida let out a long, slow breath. ‘Robert, it’s a wonderful feeling being independent and making more decisions for ourselves, but it’s also damn scary. You will gain your sight but lose your safety nets.’ Her voice strengthened. ‘I believe it’s worth doing. But if you want to put off the decision, I’m happy to do so.’
The idea of delaying jolted through Robbie’s bones. Hell no. ‘Nah, Doc. We’re not delaying. No way.’ He sat up tall. ‘Let’s do it. These eyes have been slacking off for way too long.’
‘Excellent. We’ll get you prepped at nine o’clock tomorrow morning in the surgical room.’
‘Done.’ He felt more strength kick into his arms and legs. ‘Hey, before I head off, could we give that shredder a go?’
Her voice sounded the most joyful it had all appointment. ‘HR dumped some stupid policy about lifting boxes onto my desk, as if I don’t know how to pick up a box! I think it’ll shred nicely.’
~ ~ ~
He could hear Doctor Singh next to his bed. ‘You’re okay, Robert. You’re just waking up after surgery.’
His eyes were stinging as she gently explained that she believed the surgery was a success. Her voice was confident, solid as oak. She told him to rest and keep his fluids up. Over the coming days she would remove his bandages. If I don’t rip them off first.
Robbie was visited by streams of people. Should’ve charged an entrance fee. His parents carried in flowers that smelt sour but felt like the velvet lining of his guitar case. Mum fussed all around him. Dad told her four times to relax. She ignored all four.
Members of his cricket team dropped by. They gave him a ball. He shook it, but there was no rattling sound. Smelled like real leather.
‘This is to help you get your eye in,’ joked Steve-O.
Em brought daily coffees, waving them around the room like incense sticks, trying to cover the stench of hospital bleach. Robbie didn’t want Em to leave each time. Gonna sign up to the same course as her once I’m outta here.
On the third day, it was time to remove the bandages. Robbie asked for his brother to be there for support. He’ll be a less of a pain than Mum. He knew when Michael arrived with the girls, because he felt two bundles of limbs clamber all over him like play equipment.
‘Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up now, Uncle Bobby?’ asked Kiara, her voice more sugary than usual.
‘Girls!’ pleaded Michael. ‘Sorry bro, they’re just so excited you’ll get to see the fairy wings they’re wearing.’
‘I hope you’re wearing some too, Michael!’
‘Always, Robbie, always.’ Michael’s voice broke. ‘I never thought this day would come, bro.’
‘Me neither, hey.’ Robbie’s voice broke too.
Michael cleared his throat. ‘I haven’t always been good to you. Probably treated you like my kid brother too much.’
‘Yeah, you have been a pretty rubbish brother! But I’m glad you’re here for this. And I’ll finally have proof that I’m the better-looking one!’
A punch landed on Robbie’s left shoulder. Deserved that. Robbie could feel happiness radiating off his brother.
Footsteps approached the door of the room, to his right. Flat shoes striking the floor at a medium pace, a waft of jasmine. Doc’s back.
‘Robert, it’s time,’ she said.
His body fully relaxed, then tensed right back up a second later.
‘Here we go,’ said Michael. ‘Let us know how we can help.’
‘You can dim the lights of the room, thanks,’ said Dr Singh. ‘Right down.’ Michael did as he was told, then ushered the girls to the end of the bed.
Robbie felt stuck to the mattress, as though held down by guards.
Farida spoke with a calm reassurance, reminding Robbie of the feeling of having a quilt pulled up to his chin when he was a kid. ‘When your eyes experience light, it may be confusing and overwhelming. That’s okay. It’s normal.’ She unwound the first loop of bandages from his head.
Anticipation filled his whole chest. He heard the echo of his pounding heart. The second and third loop of the bandages came off. He gripped the bars of his bed. One more to go.
‘Robert,’ Farida asked, ‘is everything okay?’
‘So far, so good.’ What if this hasn’t worked?
The last layer of bandage and padding was removed. Robbie lay still, eyes closed. The ticking of the wall clock thudded, each second weighted.
‘Is he okay?’ Sophie eventually whispered. ‘Can he see us?’
‘Robert,’ Farida asked, ‘do you want to slowly open your eyes?’
‘Not yet, Doc.’ His shoulders relaxed. His breathing slowed right down. He kept his eyes shut, savouring the moment. ‘Give me a few minutes, yeah.’
Light and colour and everyone else can wait their flipping turn. For the first time in nineteen years, Robbie chose to see nothing.
Dave Clark is a reliable human with unreliable health. He is a writer-poet with chronic fatigue syndrome, living in Mparntwe (Alice Springs). His writing speaks into grief, illness, justice and how we love and laugh together. Dave works as a counsellor, creating space for stories of significance. Instagram/X: @DaveClarkWriter
