It is a cold winter day in January. I am late picking up the girls again, another straggling student in my office, so I have to go inside to retrieve them, into the principal’s office where they will be sitting bundled in coats, scarves, and mittens, swinging their feet off too-high chairs. I slam the van door and start walking with quick, impatient steps down the long sidewalk from the parking lot to the school’s entrance.
At the curb, waiting for his ride home, stands the blind man who the school hires to tutor a blind student. he stands nearly motionless, patient to my impatience, his eyes staring at nothing. From a distance, he hears my hurried steps and turns his face in my direction. Quietly, he says, “It’s snowing, isn’t it?” and only then do I notice the delicate flakes sifting down. I have eyes that do not see, bu this cheeks register the feathery Braille that enables sight for him.
I halt, ashamed. I stand beside him on the curb. my face lifted, letting the snow accumulate in my eye sockets, a cold, pure mud that restores my sight.