Lucas 

I once read somewhere that if you take away one of your senses, the other senses become sharper. I can vouch for that; it’s true. Well, it wasn’t in the beginning, but I hardly remember that time anyway. Now, I can sense everything around me. I can sense myself approaching the zebra crossing in front of my house. I can sense people shuffling along to make way for me, my dark glasses and pale stick telling them exactly what I am. Or shall I say who I am. Being blind, after all, has been my identity. 

I cross the road and approach my house. I climb the three steps that lead to my door and retrieve a bunch of keys from my pocket. As soon as I step inside, I sense it before I physically feel around to realize it.  

Someone has rearranged my furniture. 

*** 
Stacy 

I looked around the house to see if everything was as I intended it to be. All the surfaces were polished. The furniture was aligned. The dishes were done and the apple pie Lucas had left out was safely in the fridge.  

Done, I thought to myself. 

Almost three hours ago, I used my spare key to get into Lucas’ house and surprise him with a meal. When I stepped in, I realized the house needed some scrubbing. The cushions were in place, but most had stains on them. The dining table still had a few scraps of spaghetti that must have gone unnoticed by Lucas. The floor appeared pretty clean until you looked at the corners and under the furniture to find a layer of dust.  

If you peeked in from a window, you would see that the little house was immaculate. But with each approaching step, you would find more blemishes. 

I let out a soft sigh. Although Lucas seemed to be handling everything remarkably well, a close-up had me thinking otherwise. So, I made a slight change in plans. Instead of getting into the kitchen and preparing his favorite chicken lasagna, I brought out a mop from the cupboard and began cleaning.  
It took me well over two hours to ensure the house was spotless. When I was satisfied with the place, I seated myself on the living room sofa and awaited Lucas.  

I looked around once; everything appeared perfect.  

I couldn’t wait until Lucas came home.  

*** 

Lucas 

I take a step to place my keys on the table by the umbrella stand. Except for when I do, I hear the clinking sound as the keys hit the floor. As I reach out to touch the table, I can only feel the sheer cloth of an umbrella.  

My home was my sanctuary. The only place where I could be me. Where my identity was not defined by my condition. Where I was free to do as I please, without curious eyes trying to figure out how a disabled man like me could do it.  

I feel like I am somewhere else; an alternate universe where the address is the same, but the home is different. I take a deep breath to try to calm myself. Someone had cleaned this place. I cannot smell the apple pie that I had left on the table this morning. I cannot smell the Citrus Magic air freshener I use. The small smells that combined to smell like my home was missing. It was overpowered by the strong pungent smell of Pine-Sol.  

For a second, I think I came into another house. My neighbor's, maybe. All the houses in this street were in fact identical, weren't they? Yet the rational part of me knew that wasn’t the case. For one, I had opened the door with my own key.  

Panic, similar to that I felt when I first realized I was blind, grips me. There isn’t much I can remember from that time, but the few things I do remember still haunt my dreams.  

I remember the excitement of a child visiting the mall on Christmas Eve. I remember the stunned fear when the car slipped on the ice. I remember waking after a long time, and being confused. It felt like I was awake, yet it didn’t, because my eyes wouldn’t open. I remember the doctor informing me of my situation; her clinical tone telling me I had a head injury that damaged my optic nerve, causing traumatic optic neuropathy. In plain English, I hit my head and would never be able to see any of the delights that life had to offer.   

After losing my sight, the hardest part of my day wasn’t the evenings, where I did most of my daily activities; it was the mornings. Every morning, when I would wake up and open my eyes, my loss of sight felt worse than ever. In the mornings, the darkness was unexpected. The first few minutes, I would forget, forget that my life had changed, drastically and irrevocably. Then it would all come back at once, the memories blurring like a fast forward-ed scene in a movie. 

Standing here, in the ingress of my own house, the world felt like a menacing stranger. Everything was foreign. There was no familiarity. There was no hope.  

It was like being blinded all again.