Clarity (6 page)

“Sure, sure. But maybe this could inspire you! Just let me tell you about the movie I was watching. I promise; it had a really great storyline.”

Liam grunts with exasperation. “Not this again, Owen. Please, she really doesn’t want to hear about…”

“Nonsense! She’ll love it. So there’s this housewife, and she’s all alone at home. And then she notices the pool boy, who is cleaning their pool without his shirt on. His abs are glistening in the sun…”

I let out a large groan. “Please stop. That doesn’t sound like a
great storyline to me.”

“No, no! You only
think
you know what’s going to happen, but there’s a twist! She asks the pool boy if he feels like pizza, and orders delivery. So then the two of them are making out while waiting for the pizza, and when they open the door to see the delivery boy—
he’s
not wearing a shirt! So then the pool boy and the pizza delivery boy…”

“Please kill me now,” I say miserably.

“Only if you kill me first,” Liam responds.

“But if I kill you, then you won’t be able to kill me!” I say frantically.

“We could try to do it at the same time, but it seems technically challenging,” Liam says. “I guess we’re just stuck with listening to Owen.”

“Will you two stop interrupting me?” asks our driver. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah! The pizza delivery boy pulls out his pepperoni sausage…”

I should have brought earplugs. It’s times like these that make me wish I was deaf instead of blind.

This is going to be a very long trip.

Three hours later…

“…but my favorite was when the schoolgirl didn’t complete her homework on time!” Owen was saying enthusiastically. “It was a great piece of filmmaking, because the professor had this dungeon…”

“Hey, buddy,” Liam said, leaning forward. “Looks like there’s a gas station at that exit up ahead. Didn’t you say you were running low? How about we stop and fill up, and maybe grab a bite to eat?”

“But I’m in the middle of my story!” Owen protested. “Don’t you want to hear what happens to the schoolgirl? Helen does! Don’t you, Helen?”

“Get. Gas. Now.” My voice has never been more deadly serious.

“Sheesh,” Owen says sadly, signaling and pulling over to exit. “Fine, Helen; if you insist. I’m disappointed in you. Liam is a spoilsport, but I would have thought that since you’re a writer, you would appreciate a good story.”

“A good story?” I repeat incredulously. “Owen, nothing you’ve said in the past three hours has been anywhere
close
to a good story. Listening to you is making my ears hurt. I think they’re melting—your words are like acid being poured into my ear canals.”

“Hey! That’s not nice,” Owen says in a grumpy tone. It sounds like he might be pouting. “It’s medically impossible to lose your hearing from listening to someone talk about the glorious art of pornography.”

I grumble to myself unhappily. “It’s possible if I buy a popsicle at the gas station, eat the popsicle, and then use the popsicle stick to gouge my own ears out so that I can tolerate the rest of this trip!” Sighing, I lean to press my head against the glass of the car window. It is cold, and I use it like an ice pack to soothe my aching ear and temple. I really do feel like if I need to listen to one more ridiculous tale of sexual depravity for no particular reason, I’m going to lose my mind. I really wouldn’t care if they were
good
stories. “Seriously. I think I’m going deaf. It hurts.”

“Well, that’s a bad problem to have when you’re in the car with two eye doctors!” Owen says cheerfully.

“Jesus, man,” Liam says to his friend in dismay. “It’s been hours. You need to stop talking. Just let me put on the radio… please. What’s the point of us trying to mend her eyesight if you destroy her hearing by talking about bad porn?”

“Bad porn? Bad porn? Haven’t you been listening!” Owen shouts. “I’m discussing the all-time classics of porn! Highly stylized, exotic foreign films! The vintage movies of yore! Indie sensations featuring young, starving artists; endearing and awkward
real
couples who were just trying to pay the rent!”

The vehicle comes to a stop, and I assume that he has pulled up to the gas station pump.

“Honestly,” I tell the doctors. “Can someone look at my ears and tell me if they’re bleeding?”

“Sorry, honey,” Owen says as he unlocks his seatbelt. “We can’t help you there. We’re only ophthalmologists, and you need an o
tolaryngologist. We can recommend you to a few good ENT docs.”

“Just buy me a popsicle,” I command him with a frown.

“Oh!” he exclaims as he exits the car. I feel the vehicle shift with the loss of his weight. “That reminds me of a great porno. I’ll tell you about it once I get back!”

“Get me a popsicle, too,” Liam says weakly. Once the door shuts, Liam turns in his seat to glance back at me. “I’m so sorry about this, Helen. I think he’s doing it on purpose.”

“You should have warned me more,” I say with a fake grimace. Although I’ve been acting horrified, I actually find the whole situation quite hilarious—Dr. Owen Philips is somewhat adorable in a slightly pathetic way. I try very hard to keep myself from smiling at Liam to betray that I am enjoying the eccentric company. “I almost wish I’d spent thousands of dollars on a cab ride,” I tell him teasingly. “At least I wouldn’t be scarred for life.” 

“He means well,” Liam assures me. “He’s a good doctor, and a great friend. He’s also really amazing to his girlfriend.”

“Wow,” I say in surprise. “How does someone like
that
get a girlfriend? Is she human?”

Liam chuckles. “Yes. Oddly enough. He treats her like a princess, but he still makes time to hang out with me.”

“I can see that he cares about you,” I say gently. “It’s been a long time since I had a friend like that…”

“Why?” he asks.

“Can’t say. It’s one of my dark secrets,” I explain cryptically.

“Damn. I wish Owen would stop babbling about porn so that I could actually talk to you for five minutes,” Liam muttered. “You’re such an interesting person.”

“Me?” I ask in confusion. “I’m just your average hermit writer.”

“Exactly,” he says. I hear a smile in his voice. “I don’t know too many of those. You’re part of a very rare species.”

I look down to hide my embarrassment. I can feel him staring at me; the tension is beginning to grow thick in our small quarters. He is sitting very close to me, even if we are separated by the back of his seat. When Owen was in the car with us, the atmosphere was light and funny. But now, it’s dark and intense; it’s laced with something I don’t understand and don’t want to discover. I try to think of something to say to take his focus away from me and my life. “It’s just a job,” I say dumbly.

He scoffs. “Just a job? Helen, I work with other doctors every day. We heal people, and it should be glamorous; we should feel like heroes. But in truth, it gets… mechanical. At some point, you start to question how important your work really is. I mean, you can heal a person’s body… but that doesn’t really heal the person.  We aren’t just bodies, you know? That’s where your books come into play.” He pauses, and I can feel him giving me an earnest look. “Books are medicine for the soul. They heal the eternal parts of a person.”

“Liam,” I say in surprise.

“You are a doctor of sorts, too,” he tells me, “except for the fact that your work persists. If a person reads a good book—they become permanently changed. They can’t even help it. They can’t unlearn what they’ve learned. It will always be with them. Our bodies all crumble and fade, and we’ll all eventually lose our eyesight near the end, along with many other basic bodily functions. But I like to think that even when we’re gone, the soul retains some of that wisdom—some of that feeling. What I do is simple science, but what you do is… magic.”

“Stop talking,” I whisper. “Seriously, stop talking right now.”

“Why?” he says, somewhat hurt at the interruption.

“Because I’m pretty sure that if you keep talking like this… I’ll have to marry you, or something,” I explain nervously. “So just zip it.”

“You’ll have to…” Liam is repeating what I said in confusion, when his car door opens.

“Okay!” Owen says. “I filled up the tank, and got popsicles. But Liam, you’re going to have to take the wheel, so I can play games on my phone. It’s very important. And if you don’t want to drive, I’m unwrapping your popsicle and tossing it on the ground.”

“Fine,” Liam says, and there is the sound of crinkling plastic as he grabs the popsicle and gets out of the car.

I am very surprised that this mild level of blackmail is so effective. Liam really is a softie. I feel the car shift as Owen lunges into the seat in front of me. I flinch when a cold plastic item is pressed against my cheek.

“Your popsicle, as requested, milady!” Owen says happily.

Lifting my hand, I take the popsicle away from Owen. I smile as I begin to unwrap the item, so I can press the sweet concoction against my tongue. Just as I taste the frozen sugar-water, the driver’s side door opens and a cold wind blasts into the car. I shiver. “Dammit. I should have thought of something warm, instead. I wish hot chocolate could be converted into a weapon for self-mutilation…”

“I also got us some potato chips,” Owen tells us. “That should keep us going for the rest of the trip!”

“Couldn’t you have gotten something more substantial?” Liam asks him. “Like maybe some sandwiches?”

“But you love potato chips!” Owen says to his friend in astonishment. “They’re your guilty pleasure. You have some tucked away in your office at work, and all over your house… you can never get enough of potato chips. I thought you’d like them.”

“I do,” Liam says in dismay, “but you could have tried to make me seem a little more mature in front of Helen. You could have avoided sharing
my
dirty secrets with the highly respected author that we
just
met.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him gently. “I like potato chips too. I’m just surprised at how… casual you both seem.”

“We work really hard all week,” Owen says, with his mouth full of potato chips. “We need to let loose sometime and just be ourselves.”

Liam starts up the car and begins to drive away from the gas station. I instantly feel safe. A wave of comfort washes over me. Sliding off my boots, I pull my legs up underneath my body and snuggle deeper into the soft fabric of the backseat. I remember the way it felt to be driven around by my father when I was younger. I remember being cozy and warm as I listened to the sound of my father’s laughter, while staring out the glass window and imagining all the things I could not see. I remember my mother describing the landscapes; fields of cows relaxing lazily in the sun, majestic mountains covered in snow at their peaks, and bridges that stretched farther than the horizon out over the ocean. I remember deserts and double rainbows, waterfalls and fire-breathing dragons—well, my mother might have taken some liberties with the landscape. My sister and father would often join in with the fantastic storytelling, but I never minded the fiction too much.

I did become a writer, after all.

Liam’s driving is so calm and solid compared to Owen’s. I can’t help thinking that I wish I could be driving with him forever. Even if we never get to my sister’s wedding, it will have been worth it to me for the trip. I haven’t had this much fun in years, and it’s so nice to be around other human beings. These two doctors are so silly and nice, and I simply love road trips. Liam’s words from earlier come back to me, unbidden, and I try to shut them out. For some reason, the doctor’s words really did make me feel special and important. I had not realized that my work had caused such a great impact on anyone. I am suddenly stricken with the realization of what’s happening.

Am I really doing this? Am I really in a car with two men I just met, heading back to New York? Am I really going to have a chance at getting my vision back? Could it be possible? Am I really going to see my family? For a few minutes, I get lost in thoughts of my mother and father. I remember how much they loved each other. I remember Carmen’s boundless energy and enthusiasm, and how she could never miss an opportunity to insult or tease me. I remember when things were good.

“Tell us a s
tory, Helen.”
My mother’s voice filled my mind.
“You’re such a great storyteller. One day, you’re going to be an illustrious writer. Blind or not, you’re going to take the world by storm. That’s why I named you after Helen Keller. She never let anything stop her! Neither will you.”

The memory is almost too bittersweet to bear. I realize that I have forgotten to lick my popsicle for several seconds, and the juice is dripping down onto my hand.

“Oh, that’s right!” Owen said suddenly. “I was going to tell you two about the popsicle-porno!”

Liam and I groan.

“No, really, this one’s great,” Owen says. “You’ll never guess where they put the popsicle.”