Everyone was gone. His father. Stick. Matt was alone.
One Sunday in confession, he confided in the priest that he knew he shouldn't be so upset about Stick. His dad had died. His dad had died for him. But Stick had just abandoned him. That wasn't the same thing, and maybe it meant that Stick never deserved Matt's love anyway.
Matt said this, but then also followed it up with what he really felt. That maybe he didn't deserve Stick's love, or his dad's. Maybe he deserved to be blinded, to be cursed with other senses that tormented him. That he must have committed some terrible sin that he couldn't remember, and now he was being punished. He asked if he could be absolved for a sin he didn't understand yet. He didn't want to be alone anymore.
"You're not alone, my child. Never. God is with you," was the response. Matt wished he could find comfort in it, but it only made him angry.
The other children at St. Agnes wouldn't play with him. He wasn't sure if it was because his blindness made them uncomfortable or because they didn't think he could, but they gave him a wide berth. So he sat in his room and studied, listening to them laugh and play outside. He asked the nuns why the other children wouldn't play with him, but they never provided him with an answer. "You're just special," they would say.
"I'm lonely," he would say back.
"You shouldn't be," they told him. "God is always with you, Matthew." He never believed them.
Sometimes he would sit and meditate the way that Stick had told him to and he would try to use his heightened senses to reach out and sense God's presence. He felt like maybe if it were tangible to him, he would feel better. After all, if God had heightened his senses, couldn't that be the reason? Maybe God wanted Matt to know that he was there with him. But no matter how much he focused, no matter how much he reached out, he always just felt an ache in his heart afterwards.
One day, he decided to study in the church instead of his room. He liked the church. It was a solemn, solitary place, but it was also cavernous and sounds echoed in it in a way that Matt found particularly calming.
He hadn't expected anyone else to be there, and was surprised when he heard footsteps, and the sweep of robes along the ground. "Sister?" he asked.
"Matthew!" the nun said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the peace," he replied. "And you?"
"Shattering it for you, most likely," she said. "I was intending on practicing the organ today."
"Oh," said Matt. "That's okay. I don't mind." It was true. He didn't. No matter where he was, he would be able to hear it anyway. If anything, it would block out some of the other noise around him if he stayed. He went back to reading.
She began to play. Matt had heard the organ played many times before, had heard it accompany the choir at Sunday service. But this time, something was different. As the nun began to play, Matt could sense the long deep notes filling the enormous space in a different way. He could sense their vibrations, the way that the air changed with each progression. Without other people filling the room, the instrument rang out joyfully and overwhelmingly, blanketing Matt in sensations he had never felt before.
The sister ended the hymn, but the music seemed to linger in the air.
"Matthew?" he heard her ask. "Are you okay?"
He wondered why she was asking until he felt the tears running down his face. "Yes," he said. "I just..." He didn't know what to say.
"You know you don't need to be able to read sheet music to play," she said. "Would you like me to teach you?"
"Would you?" he asked.
"Of course," she said.
He grabbed his cane and moved towards her and she helped him up the steps. Before she sat him down at the bench, he reached out to touch the organ pipes. She guided his hands and he felt each pipe, then felt his way down the side of the instrument and finally put his fingers on the keys, counting them.
As he sat and pressed one down, a high, beautiful tone came out of one of the pipes. He reached out with his senses to feel the vibrations run through him and tried to place which one it was, tried to feel how the machine worked.
The sister reached out and placed her hand on his. She guided his fingers to other keys and pressed them down to create a chord. Soon, he was playing entire hymns using his senses to memorize how each key felt, how each chord sounded.
And as the music enveloped him, he understood what the priest and sisters had been trying to tell him. He felt it welling up inside of him like a wellspring. He wasn't alone. And what he could do wasn't a curse. Stick was right. It really was a gift.