The world was always dark for her. Though she could hear, and taste, and feel, it was the darkness that haunted her most. She knew every contour of every face she had ever studied with her fingertips. She could tell you which of her friends licked their lips too much, and which wore far too much foundation to cover her naturally smooth skin. Mostly though, she could tell you who laughed the loudest, stayed angry the longest, who drove their car much too fast simply for the rush. The important things about people, the things society should notice about them, that’s what she could see. Yet, she couldn’t tell anyone what color their hair was, if their eyes were brown, or blue, or gold, or any of the other colors she couldn’t see. And though she had an amazing gift, to be able to see people for who they were, she was never truly satisfied.

She felt like she was missing out, like everyone she loved knew her more than she knew them. It made her almost self-conscious, knowing that they could see a side of her, of themselves, that she could only dream of seeing. That unsatisfied piece of her ate away at her every day, all day long, until the offer came. There was experimental testing being done on the blind. It had a lot to do with the nerves in the eyes, and there really weren’t any risks; there’s no way to damage already unseeing eyes. The goal of the experiment was to provide sight for three days, only three, and then it was over. If this was accomplished then they would use the results to perhaps create a permanent cure for blindness, and she was definitely taking part.

When she laid down on the table, she could tell that she closed her eyes by the way it felt when her eyelids met. The darkness felt greater to her then, not because her eyes were closed, but because her vision had stayed the same, the blackness there was permanent. She could feel them place the mask on her face, taste the gas that was supposed to make her fall asleep, then . . . nothing.

They always told her that waking up was the worst part of the day. All of her seeing friends complained about how bright the sun was when it shone through their windows at twelve in the afternoon, when they still craved the darkness of sleep. To her, however, the sun was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The moment her eyes flickered open, the soft yellow rays of the evening sunset met her senses, and with a gasp she closed her eyes once more. She could see the colors, orange, pink, red, yellow, even blue where the clouds were gathered over the mountains, and it was phenomenal.
With the hesitance of a baby bird about to fly, she let her eyes open once more. She moved them left and right, taking in her room, the place she knew so well. It was smaller when she could see it, it felt that way anyway. Her bed was a queen sized with simple white sheets, soft just as she remembered, but somehow seeing them took some of the softness away. There weren’t any pictures anywhere, no decorations. There wasn’t a desk, or a mirror, or anything that she found in her friend’s rooms. There wasn’t any need. Her room was bland, a bed and a closet full of simple dresses.

She had never realized how simple she was, how little she really had, how little she really wanted. Not until she could see. Standing up from her bed and nearly falling over she hesitantly took a step. She was off-balance, her eyes not used to seeing the floor, her feet used to being her eyes. Padding slowly to her mother’s bathroom she pushed open the door, the gold knob cold and familiar. After yet another moment of hesitation she stepped inside, seeing herself in the mirror for the first time.

Her eyes, she realized, were blue. Someone had told her that before, but she had never gotten to see for herself. Her lashes were long and thick, fluttering slightly each time she opened or closed her eyes. Reaching up she touched her face, tracing the lines she remembered so well. Her lips were soft and pink, the lower one slightly larger than her upper one, she liked the unevenness. The lines of her face were pronounced and soft at the same time, her jaw defined yet feminine. The pale white of her clear skin was lovely, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. Her eyebrows sat just perfectly over her eyes, naturally shaped and black, just like the hair on her head. She reached up and ran her fingers through it, watching as it tumbled down to reach just passed her waist. The feeling of her hair falling against her wasn’t as pronounced as usual, she noticed that right away. She also barely noticed her clothing. These were things that she couldn’t understand. It was as if her sight was taking away all of her other senses.

That night was the first that she saw her food before she ate it. It didn’t look as appetizing as it smelled, though her mother was making her favorite. Her friends had promised to visit in the morning when she had talked to them on the phone, and she wasn’t sure if she was nervous or not. The more she thought about it, the more she didn’t really want to know what they looked like, just in case it was all wrong. She liked them the way her fingertips showed them to her, beautiful. Seeing them the way everyone else did, their imperfections clearly visible, somehow it didn’t appeal to her.

Sleep wasn’t on the menu that night. She sat up all night watching TV because she didn’t have a lamp in her room . . . Why would she? All of her favorite shows weren’t as charming when she could see what was going on, the characters were all wrong. She’d tried reading to help pass the time, but when she actually looked at her braille books they felt insignificant in comparison to her mother’s books with all the words. Finally she opted for lying down and staring at the ceiling, wondering if that was how the seeing people felt all the time.

Her friends came over early, the normal crunch of their tires in the driveway getting passed her, though she normally could hear it from any room in the house. She was right, about them not being as she pictured. She felt like her illusion was being shattered, watching them laugh and talk and fight, like they always did, but not quite. She watched them carry out all the bad habits she knew they had, getting carsick and throwing up out the truck window when the fast driving was over. Having sight wasn’t what she’d expected, and she often found herself closing her eyes so she could just forget that she had it at all.

At the end of her second day she welcomed sleep, tomorrow she was to go get her sight removed, and that bothered her much less than she thought it would. She just missed how she felt when she couldn’t see, not the emptiness that the darkness had previously brought on deep in her chest, but the obliviousness that not being able to see brought her. She could never see the flaws of others, the cracking paint on the outside of house. In the dark none of her friends had a little extra fat on the sides, never drove too fast. In the dark all the bad things were still there, but she didn’t have to worry about them. Sight just wasn’t for her; she decided as she drifted off, sight was for those who were truly blind.