I pivot my head from side to side, tilting my head, trying to get shards of information from the full room full of conversations. I can’t see the people, but I know it’s crowded because I can hear, and actually feel them. Being blind has heightened my senses, and it may surprise you to know that I can feel sounds. Yes, feel them. Feel them like you might feel the beat of a low drum, deep inside your chest. I tilt my head to the left, and pick up the conversation of a little girl and her mother.

“Don’t listen to those boys. You are beautiful.” The mother tells her daughter. I can tell that the daughter shrugs, and looks down at her hands. I would do anything for a chance to really see my hands even though they are probably ugly due to all the biting of my nails I do. It’s not per say a nervous habit, but an uncomfortable habit. I do most of my biting when people around me make remarks like “It’s so beautiful!” or “Look at that. It’s huge!”

When my family went to Seattle I was miserable. Everything was so loud, and confusing that I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I held on to my sister the whole trip. That’s why I come to the mall. I try to get my bearings in unfamiliar, loud places. Today, the Japanese grill is beckoning me with smells of grilled chicken, and asparagus but I don’t dare buy anything from it. I don’t know the prices of anything, or what I will want, or how to explain what I want. Whenever we go to restaurants my sister orders for me, she always knows exactly what I will want. I’m so grateful to have a sister like her. She is so supportive, and being older makes her a little more protective especially since I’m blind. She is also my best friend. I’m lucky to have such a great sister.

Being blind is obviously not fun. I have to be very careful and I cannot play sports, or ride a bike, or drive a car. I feel like such a liability to my family. Out of the crowd I pick up a familiar voice. It’s my sister. Is it 5:00 already? She comes up to me and gives me a hug which would have spooked me except she gave me a warning signal: her welcoming laugh. She walks me out of the mall and helps me get into the car. Now, I tell her all the things I observed today. I tell her about the old man who dropped his glasses, and the young girl the boys called ugly. We get home, and she gives me a big hug as I get out of the car, and I know that I will always have my sister.