❀ The Daisy ❀ The park’s full of many sounds and feelings. The tingle of excitement you get when you hear the sound of other kids laughing. The warmth of the sunshine on your arms. The crunch of the grass as kids run around, playing soccer. The out-of-tune ice cream truck, circling the park like a hamster running in its wheel. And darkness. Complete, total darkness. Black as the night sky, though I’ve never seen the night sky before. I’ve never seen anything before. I’m blind. I was born that way. It sucks. You can’t see any colors. You can’t see a shooting star, or a big fluffy dog, or a sunset, streaked with whatever colors sunsets are. You can’t see evergreen trees, towering sturdily. You can’t see rainbows, bright and bold. You can’t see anything. It’s just black. All day, every day. Meals like breakfast, lunch, and dinner are annoying because your mother has to treat the dining room table like a clock, saying stuff like “Fork and knife at 3 o’clock” and “Cup of milk at 11 o’clock”. People are annoying, because they always ask “What’s it like to be blind?” Are they idiots? Don’t they know what blind is? If not, they should try keeping their eyes closed for the entire day. See how they like it. And most of all, parks are annoying. You hear all of the fun people are having. You feel excitement traveling throughout the air, as unbearably fun and euphoria-triggering as laughing gas. You feel the sun on your arm. People always say ‘Never look at the sun’. Well, I definitley don’t have to worry about that. Today the park is especially annoying, because there’s kids who are in the middle of some game of tag, and I can hear them racing by me, screaming and laughing. I don’t know what it feels like to have fun. I’m interuppted in the middle of my sulking by a hand on my shoulder. I jump in my wheelchair, and I hear a girl’s voice say, “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her voice is soft and pretty. I bet she’s the kind of girl with long eyelashes and long, wavy hair. I don’t reply. “Can you talk?” she asks. “Yeah,” I snap, annoyed. I hate it when people think that just because I’m blind, I can’t do ANYTHING. It’s supper annoying. “Sorry.” Her voice gets softer. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” “It’s fine,” I reply. Her fingers slowly remove themselves from my shoulder, and I hear the sound of her walking away. Great. I scared her off. Tears start to form in my incredibly light eyes. I don’t have any friends, and I was probably just about to get one. But I scared her off. I grab my wheels with both hands and start to wheel away. Mom’s nearby, sitting on a bench a few feet away and reading a book. “Mom?” I call. I’m ready to go. I don’t have anything to stay for. That’s when I hear the girl’s voice. “Wait!” She slips something into my hand—something long and soft. “I picked you a daisy,” she whispers. “Uh…thank you.” The daisy feels magical in my hands. An opportunity. A new friendship. I can hear Mom walking over. “Yes, love?” she says. “Can we stay for a few more minutes?” I ask. There’s silence for a minute. Then Mom says, “Of course. We can stay as long as you like.” She walks off, leaving me and the girl. I finger the daisy in my hands, and she breathes lightly. Words are not needed.
