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Whispers: Chapter 16

Shira Hart

“You sound like you’ve had an interesting life,” the instructor said, giving me a look that was a cross between astonishment and pity

Wednesday, November 09, 2016

"H i, welcome to the neighborhood!”

There’s just a touch of smugness in my voice — I’m not the newbie anymore.

“Uh, we met by the Chanukah party, right?

 Nice to see you again.”

Whoops. Chanukah was before eye surgery. My “new” neighbor was literally a blur back then. I walked back up my driveway, blushing, not in the mood of trying to explain that I’m not totally absentminded. Self-confidence flooded back through me as I unlocked the door of my car. Driving, to me, signifies independence: I’m finally able to do what I want, when I want. I ducked as I got into the car, only mildly bruising my head — a year after surgery, I still frequently forget that I am now two inches taller. I pulled out and picked up speed, euphoria coloring the world pink. I’ve done the impossible, achieved what only my husband had believed I could do — I am a sighted, functioning adult.

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the community center and followed the signs to the home management program.

Until now, I’d smilingly accepted visitors’ compliments on my perfectly clean and organized home, happily failing to inform them that it’s all hubby’s doing. But now it was time to take my independence to its final level and take care of my own kitchen. A lifetime of not being able to see the crumbs left me woefully unprepared for the task. I walked into a classroom full of women twice my age, most of whom had homes full of children.

“So, what stops you from achieving your homemaking goals?” the instructor asked.

“I’m so tired from running after the kids,” one woman volunteered. My response: “Uh, I don’t know what crumbs look like.” I had the attention of the whole room.

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