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babysitter and I was fine at night. There was no need for her to wake up whenever I did, which was a lot these days.
    I didn't move my chair. Hardly moved at all. I stayed right there, listening to the sounds of the house. The sound of my own breathing gave me a headache, but it was all I could do these days, and I heard everything . They didn't mention that my hearing would improve as well as my sense of touch. Of course, I'm sure they assumed I would already know that, but when you find out you're blind and there is nothing anyone can do, you don't think about the positives. You think about all the shit you went through before, and you think about all the things you'll never see again. And everything ... everything gets blurry until it is consumed and forgotten.
    I knew it was late by the time I finally moved from my spot by the window. The new clock Mom picked up for me, announced the time every hour. All I had to do was push a button to hear the exact time. It was annoying as hell, but helpful. Funny thing is, I don't remember ever thanking her for it.
    "That's because you're an asshole," I said to myself, grumbling every word.
    I was exhausted and wanted to slip into the oblivion that was sleep. An oblivion that could somehow turn into a nightmare when my subconscious decided to hate me. Every sound woke me, no matter how small. The creak of the house sent a spike in my blood pressure, making me wonder if someone was breaking in. The screech of tires from a car made me sweat bullets. The slam of a car door. The clanging sound of a train passing through town.
    All of it was a reminder. How does one accept so many reminders all at once?
    They don't. They just have to suffer through them.
    Before I left my room, I thought once more of that voice. Why would she sing that song? Why would she sing at all, knowing that I could hear her?
    I rolled my chair right back to the window, thumping into the wall and bed a few times, before I reached out and groped for the handle on the blinds. The smooth plastic felt so fragile in my hand. How effortless would it be for me to rip the whole thing down? I wouldn't see it fall, but I would hear it and feel it. Funny how that just wasn't enough.
    I twisted the handle and only opened the blinds a tiny bit, or at least I hoped I did. I lifted the window until only a small crack was opened, and I listened.
    The heat of summer in Morgan, Utah, was nothing compared to the scorching heat of that desert overseas. No matter how much I wanted to shut out the rest of the world, I couldn't bring myself to keep this window shut. Not when the warm breeze blowing into my room felt so invigorating. Safe.
    I didn't hear anything for a while. Just the sound of a car passing by and birds chirping in the trees. Were those trees taller than I remembered?
    I'd never know.
    When there was nothing else, I finally decided to use the bathroom and go to bed. It took a lot longer than it should have, and my anger boiled all over again. I knew I smelled like the dump truck that hauled away the garbage every Thursday. My breath was awful, too, and I had dropped my toothbrush – again – and couldn't bend down to find it with my leg stuck in a ridiculous immobilizer. If it wasn't for the pillow my mom strapped to my foot, I would be crying out in pain every time I bumped into a wall. The damn leg was up and straight, for now, since my knee repair had been recent. No way bending over to find my toothbrush would be worth the pain.
    I rolled back into my room, ignoring the rancid taste in my mouth. In sleep, I wouldn't register the lingering spices from the steak Mom cooked for me. I could deal with waiting until morning no matter how much it irked me. I'd dealt with a lot worse just a few months ago. You get used to sleeping in a box and smelling your sweat and grime. You get used to not having much more than what you could carry.
    And you learn to appreciate the fact that you are even alive.
    I finally found the window