2. Abbey

2

ABBEY

In the morning, the shrill beeping of Abbey's alarm clock woke her just moments before she heard Aunt Rose calling for her to get up.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and sat up in bed. The morning sun was streaming through her window—she could tell by the way all the colorful blurs and blobs in her room were illuminated by its light.

Many people with Abbey's form of blindness lost not only their fine vision but their color vision as well, but somehow, though everything had been reduced to a blurry mess, the colors remained for her. Abbey was grateful for that—she was legally blind and her vision was extremely limited, but what she did have was still quite useful to her.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her iPhone which she had placed on her night table as always. Many blind and sight limited people used the iPhone because of its many accessibility apps. Abbey flipped hers on now and listened as her phone read her some of the day's headlines in its stilted, mechanical voice.

But she flipped it off just as quickly, making a face.

"Ugh—political news!"

There was nothing she wanted to hear less. She walked from her bedroom to the bathroom easily—everything in her environment was familiar. Placing the iPhone on her bathroom counter in the special holder she had there just for that purpose, she walked exactly three steps forward, turned to her left and pushed open the door of her shower stall.

Everything in Abbey's world was ordered and precise. She didn't ever have to worry about tripping because there was never anything on the floor that shouldn't be there. Also, all the throw rugs had been taped down with special double-sided tape to keep them from becoming tripping hazards.

As she reached in to turn on the water, feeling with long practice for the knob, Abbey thought to herself that this was another reason she hesitated to move out on her own. Everything in Aunt Rose's house was already set up for a blind person.

There were no obstacles on the floors, there were accessibility buttons on all the appliances, and everyday objects were labeled in Braille. Abbey could function in this house almost as easily as a sighted person—simply because there was a place for everything and everything was always in its place. It was hard to leave that kind of security and safety—even if it came at the cost of privacy.

"Hey, Abbs, you up and at ‘em?" Aunt Rose's voice floated through the bedroom and into the bathroom.

"Yes, Aunt Rose—just getting in the shower," Abbey called back.

She sighed as she stepped under the warm spray of water. She loved her aunt more than she could say, even if she did wish for some privacy sometimes.

After her mom had passed, Aunt Rose had stepped up and taken her in. And when Abby had started losing her vision at the age of sixteen, the loyal old lady had taken her to every specialist she could find—even though she could barely afford it.

But all the specialists had said the same thing—that Abbey's blindness was incurable and there was nothing to do but teach her Braille and get her a guide dog and a cane. Once again, Aunt Rose had stepped up, transforming their shared house into a place where Abbey never had to be afraid she was going to trip and fall—a place where she knew where everything was at all times.

Of course, there were mishaps. Like the time Abbey had unpacked the groceries and mistaken the tube of toothpaste for the tube of tomato paste. She and Aunt Rose had laughed and laughed at that one when Abbey had complained how strange the new brand of toothpaste tasted and Aunt Rose had discovered the mistake.

Abbey had to have a sense of humor about her situation or she wouldn't have survived and to Aunt Rose's credit, she didn't coddle her niece. She set up the house to accommodate Abbey's disability, but she didn't try to do everything for her.

That was good—Abbey liked feeling self-sufficient. Well, as much as possible. She had plenty of aides and apps which helped her through the day, but as much as she could, she tried to do everything for herself.

She found the shampoo bottle, reading the Braille label she had placed there with her sensitive fingertips, and lathered her long, dark brown hair. She was grateful that it was easy to take care of—if she'd had a mass of curls, her hair routine would have been much more complicated. As it was, she was able to rinse and condition and then wrap her hair in a towel—easy peasy, lemon- squeezy as Aunt Rose would say.

Getting dressed and doing her makeup took a little longer. Abbey had all her clothing arranged in her closet with Braille labels on the hangers which told what blouse and what skirt or pair of jeans or trousers were hanging on them.

The system was a hold-over from when she had first started losing her vision. In her zeal to get everything ready for the dreaded day when not even the thickest glasses would enable Abbey to see fine details, Aunt Rose had gotten a Braille labeler and put labels on literally everything. But now, after over a decade of being legally blind, Abbey could tell what was what just from the color and feel of the fabric.

She pulled on a nice pair of jeans and a long-sleeved maroon top with a deep V-neck. She was working with Aunt Rose in the front of the shop today rather than doing any administrative duties in the back, so she needed to look nice in case she had to interact with any of their customers.

Sliding her feet into comfortable and pretty black ballet flats, Abbey stepped out of the closet, turned to the right, and found herself back in front of the bathroom counter. If she could still see details, she knew she would be seeing her own reflection in the long mirror just behind the sink. But since she couldn't, the only thing visible to her was the maroon blur of her blouse and the tannish blur of her face. There was a dark brown blur around the tan which she knew was her damp hair.

Reaching for the hairdryer, which was hung on a hook right beside the toothbrush holder on the wall, Abbey pulled it out and began to dry her hair. A few minutes later she returned it to its holster, opened the cabinet under the sink, and pulled out her makeup bag.

Putting on makeup wasn't easy as a legally blind person, but it had been one thing Abbey was determined not to give up as she lost her vision. She had always loved makeup—it made her feel put-together and polished—and she refused to relinquish that feeling just because she was losing her sight.

Luckily, she had good skin and didn't need very much of it. Working by touch, she rubbed a thin layer of concealer under her eyes and an even thinner layer of foundation over the rest of her face. She felt through her makeup brushes until she found the one with the puffiest and largest end and used it to apply powder.

The brush with the angled tip was for blush—Abbey spread a bit over her cheekbones, leaning far forward to see the pinkish blurs on either side of the tan blur that was her face. Again she felt grateful that she could still see colors.

Of course, the condition that had stolen her detailed vision might still decide to take the colors as well and leave her in a dull gray world, but she hoped that it wouldn't. So far she'd been lucky—well, as lucky as she could be considering the circumstances. She chose to believe that her luck would hold and she would continue to see the colorful blurs that filled her field of vision.

"Always choose the positive over the negative," Aunt Rose often told her. "Always choose hope." And Abbey did.

Lip-liner and lipstick were the trickiest part. Using her fingers, Abbey followed the contours of her lips as she traced on a brownish-pink lip-liner. She then filled it in with a similar colored lipstick. The hardest part was the points of her upper lip—she had a mouth shaped like a Cupid's bow—at least according to Aunt Rose. And of course it was impossible to see if she was getting it exactly right or not.

Back when she was sighted, Abbey would have finished her makeup routine with a spray of perfume on her pulse points. However, now that her sense of smell had gotten so acute, she found most of the fragrances she'd loved when she was younger were simply too strong. Even the deodorant she wore was unscented. Besides, she was going to be dealing with the strong scent of the flowers in the shop all day, so she didn't wear any perfume.

Turning to the left, Abbey walked straight ahead. Leaving the bathroom behind, she counted twelve steps down the hallway until she came to the kitchen. Turning right, she stepped in and found herself in front of the stove.

To her left was the Keurig coffee maker and a mug rack. Abbey chose her favorite mug—a bright yellow one that showed the contrast between the mug and the dark brown coffee she was going to drink from it. It was much easier to see how much coffee she had left in a lighter and brighter mug.

She started a cup of coffee, feeling for the accessibility buttons or "bump dots" she'd placed on the important buttons of the Keurig, and then turned back to the stove.

"Aunt Rose, do you want eggs this morning?" she called. "I'm making one for myself."

"Sure, honey—I'll take one," her aunt called back from somewhere else in the house.

"Scrambled okay?" Abbey asked. She preferred scrambled eggs herself—not because she loved the taste but because they were much easier to make than any style of egg where you didn't break the yoke.

Also, sunny side up eggs were so easy to get wrong—it was hard to tell if the whites were cooked all the way through. And even if she did get them perfect, eating them was messy. It was too easy to get yoke all down her front when she had a difficult time seeing what she was putting in her mouth. Everything she ate just looked like a colorful blob.

For that same reason, she preferred to eat dry foods, without too many condiments or gravies or sauces. She always wanted to look neat and put together—that was difficult if she had spilled sauce on herself and couldn't tell it.

"Scrambled is fine. Can you make some toast too?" Aunt Rose called.

"Sure."

Abbey bent down and reached for the cabinet to the right of the stove. She already knew what she would find before she opened it because she had memorized the exact content of all the kitchen cabinets. By touch she found the pan rack which had all the frying pans they used stacked in order. Above that was a shelf which held two sauce pots—one large and one small.

Feeling down the line of pans, Abbey chose the middle one which was medium sized and pulled it out. Holding it in one hand, she felt for the bump dots on the stove and pressed the one for the right lower corner burner.

The stove top was black but when the burner began to glow red, Molly was able to distinguish the color change. Carefully, she placed the frying pan down on the burner and turned to the refrigerator.

The inside of the fridge was as meticulously organized as everything else in the house. Abbey found the egg holder and took out two, which she placed in a bowl that she took from the left-hand cabinet beside the stove. Then she found the butter holder and took it out to place on the counter beside the bowl. It was bright pink and was easy to distinguish against the white countertop.

She closed the fridge, opened the drawer to her left, and pulled out a butter knife, her fingertips skating delicately along its serrated edge. She lifted the lid of the butter holder—(Aunt Rose refused to use anything but real butter)—and, measuring with the index finger of her left hand, cut off a chunk that was about half an inch wide.

Lifting the small blob of butter, she dropped it into the frying pan where it began sizzling immediately. Abbey put the butter knife in the left side of the sink—the dirty side—and felt for the roll of paper towels sitting beside it. She tore one off and cleaned the butter off her fingers—cooking as a visually impaired person often meant getting her hands dirty since her fingers were basically her eyes in most instances. Then she turned back to the bowl with the two eggs in it.

Abbey chose one of the eggs and, feeling for the rim of the bowl with her left hand, cracked the shell against it with her right. She was glad again for her color vision as she saw the vague yellow blob fall into the bright blue bowl. Many of their plates and dishes were brightly colored because she relied so much on color contrast. She cracked the second egg and reached back into the silverware drawer, finding a fork by the pricking of its tines against her fingertips.

She whipped the eggs into a froth and then poured them carefully into the pan where they began sizzling as well. Abbey placed the dirty bowl and fork into the sink—clutter was a blind person's worst enemy, so everything had to go where it belonged immediately. Then she reached for the salt and pepper shakers which she knew were located on the countertop directly to the right of the stovetop.

After seasoning the eggs, she reached for the large round utensil holder which housed the spatulas, wooden spoons, whisks, and other cooking implements. Abbey's vision was too bad to distinguish one from another but she was able to feel through the utensils until she found the one she wanted. Holding it firmly in her right hand, she used it to stir the eggs, making sure they were cooking evenly.

After placing the spatula on the counter beside her and mentally noting its place, she reached into the dish cabinet again and got out two bright blue dishes.

At that point, Aunt Rose came into the kitchen.

"Mmm—smells good!" she remarked. "Looks almost done, too."

"Is it?" Abbey picked up the spatula and stirred the eggs again. "Would you mind making the toast? I didn't get around to it yet."

"Sure, honey." Aunt Rose made them both toast and then put butter and a little bit of honey on both pieces—which Abbey didn't find out until she took a bite after they had sat down together in the breakfast nook.

"Oh, Aunt Rose—you know I'm trying to watch my weight!" she exclaimed, putting down the toast. Some of her jeans had been getting tight lately, despite her best efforts. She had always been a curvy girl, but she didn't want to get too curvy.

"Live a little," her aunt advised her. "You're a beautiful girl—you don't need to lose weight to catch a husband."

Abbey stifled a sigh. She wasn't trying to watch her weight to "catch a husband"—she didn't ever intend to trust any man again. Not after what had happened in high school—and then again just a year ago.

People said "not all men" but how could you be sure which ones were good and which ones were horrible? Even sighted girls couldn't tell and Abbey, with her partial blindness, was at even more of a disadvantage. Her disability made her look like easy prey to a certain type of man—which she had found out the hard way, unfortunately.

"I'm not looking for a husband, Aunt Rose," she said shortly. "You know that."

"You should be though, honey," her Aunt said earnestly. "I won't be around forever, you know. I hate to think of you being left all alone when I go. You can't let what happened with Henry ruin?—"

"Please!" Abbey put up a hand to stop her. "You know I don't like to talk about that."

"But honey, it's been over a year! Maybe you should try again," her aunt protested. "Maybe try one of those dating programs they have now and find a nice guy to spend some time with."

"Henry seemed like a nice guy," Abbey reminded her. "For months. And then…" But she trailed off, shaking her head. The memory was still so fresh—so vivid in her mind. Though of course, since she couldn't see very well, it was more tactile than visual.

She remembered Henry's voice getting angry, his hands getting rougher and more insistent, refusing to stop even when she tried to push them away. She remembered the smell of his sweat as he pinned her down, his ugly laughter in her ears. If her guide dog, Major, hadn't still been with her at that time, if he hadn't heard Abbey screaming for help and begging Henry to stop…

No—stop thinking about it! Stop it!

Abbey pushed the traumatic memory away with an effort and took another bite of her scrambled eggs, which were beginning to go cold. She barely noticed as she chewed them. She wasn't interested in men anymore, she told herself. There were too many unknown factors.

In her mind, she likened the dating scene to a scenario where someone had offered her a plate of delicious crispy chicken nuggets…and then told her that three of them were poisoned. Were the rest of the nuggets good enough to risk dying if she got one of the bad ones?

Abbey didn't think so. She would rather be single than try trusting again. It was safer that way and really, she was almost perfectly happy being on her own. She had Aunt Rose for company and a great online community of friends. She didn't need a husband to be happy.

And I especially don't need a huge Monstrum warrior, she thought before she could stop herself.

Then she pushed the thought away and finished her breakfast.