Young Writers Society

I put some thought into what Sheila said—about calling my parents Mom and Dad. I don't know. It doesn't sound right, only Mother and Father do. I think I'm just going to continue calling them that. Maybe one day I'll change.

For breakfast that morning I asked Sheila and Jason to let me get to my chair myself. I was walking against our bumpy wall like usual, brushing my hand along it. I bumped into a chair a few feet later. I made my way around it to feel the edge of the table, and I knew it was the end one. The length was very short.

I made my way around the table. I found the two end chairs, which I knew weren't mine. But the other four were hard to determine.

I grunted feriously, and gave up.

"Sheila, which is mine?" I asked softly. I didn't know if she was in the room or not because I didn't here her come in, and she wasn't sitting in one of the chairs yet.

After there was no reply, I yelled,"Sheila!"

I heard feet slap across the floor. "Which chair is mine?" I ask. I wasn't completely sure it was Sheila because I couldn't smell her shampoo, but I knew it was someone.

Sheila walked over to me. Now I knew it was her. I could smell the wonderful citrus fruity smell on her. I wonder if anyone else can. She grasped my hand and led me over to a chair, and tapped it with my finger.

"We're having waffles today," Sheila says as I scoot into the chair. They are very short and wide with a cushiony substance at the bottom.

"I love waffles," I reply, squirming in my chair. Sometimes I get very impatient, especially when it comes to food. Most of the time I can't get it myself unless someone prepares it for me or guides me. Small things like granola bars I can almost get myself. I'm trying to master that. What I will do is walk in the kitchen, then go along the wall where te refrigerator is located. The pantry is right after that, and in the pantry is where we keep snacks. At least, I'm pretty sure. I've heard Jason open it, and a minute later he's snacking on chips.

Sheila laughs softly then sits next to me. "We should add something special to your chair so you'll be able to get to it," she says.

That would be a great idea! It could be like my pillow, the one with all the fuzzy strings attached to it. It would be amazing if I could be able to recognize my own chair.

"Yeah, we should," I reply, sighing. I wish I wasn't blind. I wish I was normal, like my friends and Sheila and Jason. But clearly that can't happen.

~~~

On Sunday we didn't do anything. Mostly we did what we do everyday: Mother doing laundry and Father washing the dishes. Jason is always playing his video games. Sometimes I like listening to it, but other times I don't. He says one of them is a hunting game, and I don't like the sound of the guns shooting then colliding with the animal. It's cruel.

Sheila did her normal thing. She went on her laptop, which is something I can't use. It has little buttons that if you tap end up on the screen. Sheila also read her historical fiction book which I long to read. She said once she finishes the story she'll tell it to me. I hope she does. The other thing Sheila does—and again I can't do—is use modeling clay. It's called polymer clay and I like to squish it but I can't make anything out of it. Sometimes it's very soft and other times it's as hard as a rock, which I believe is the hardest thing on Earth. I'm not positive though.

What I do on weekends is listen to music. It's the number one thing I love to do. My favorite song is Counting Stars by OneRepublic and I don't think it'll ever change unless a miracle song pops up.

My earliest memory of myself is when I was four. I was trying to walk up the stairs but each time I either couldn't find the railing or I would trip on the next step up. When I'm in a sad mood I remember this memory and I laugh to myself. It cheers me up.

Father says I was born blind. I don't have any memory of color, or how things look exactly or what blonde looks like. So I believe him when he says that, because I think it's true. Jason tells me it is recorded on my birth certificate. But I can't read so there isn't any point in telling me that.

Once a song finished on my iPod I turn it off. Sheila showed me how to use it. You just put the earbuds in your ears, scroll down and click a song. I don't know where any of the songs are, though, so I pick randomly. All of them on there I like. Sheila did tell me, though, that if I go down four times I'll get to Counting Stars. Sometimes it is very good to have a sister who can see for you.

I went out of my room and down the hall—being sure to skim my hand across the wall—to ask Mother what time it was. I understand time, as long as people say if it's in the morning or afternoon.

"3:20 p.m." Mother replies. I did the math in my head. We usually go to bed at about 8:30 p.m. on school days. Sunday counts as a school day because the next day we have school. I had five hours and twenty minutes until bedtime. To me, that was forever.

I wondered if tomorrow Mother would talk to me about real school.