Matthew was pulled into consciousness through a heavy fog that muffled the sounds until they emerged into a tremendous cacophony: Clanging, grinding, grating, whirring, piercing electronic beeps, voices that reverberated inside his head, thumping rhythms.

He wanted to put his hands over his ears to block out the noise, but they didn't seem to be getting the message. He tried to turn his head, to open his eyes, but they were too heavy.

Around him, the room started to come into focus, and yet not into focus. His eyes wouldn't open, but he knew he was in a bed, under rough sheets, in a loose-fitting garment with ties, in a room. In a hospital. The smell… sharply antiseptic over layers of overheated food, latex, burned coffee, blood, vomit, urine, sweat, feces.

The ring of aluminum, the electronic beeps, the layers of human voices that ebbed and flowed as if they were moving toward and then away from him… in a corridor? He could feel cool air moving through a doorway and forced through a vent on the ceiling - the air assaulted him with the odors. A drip of water falls from a faucet - tinged against the metal basin of the sink.

Someone was in the room with him. He didn't need to turn his head or open his eyes to know it - the warmth from a body radiated - the hammering of the heart, breath moving warm air in and out with a raggedness that carried cigarette smoke and whiskey odors.

Sweat tinged with fear clung to a well-worn T-shirt. Dad. He's scared. Dad is scared. And sad. How do I know this? As he focused on his dad, the din became more bearable; the stench lessened. He breathed in his dad's aroma and heard his own heart which had started beating wildly (the monitor in the room emitting more rapid beeps as it sped up) slow down again. Calm.

There was something soft on his face - over his eyes. Bandages. His eyes burned - the skin around them felt tight and raw. His head pounded… both from the almost unbearable noises, but also from a tenderness at the back of his head… a bruise? Something was stuck into the back of his hand… it ached. It smelled of metal, plastic, adhesive, and blood. An I.V. and a plastic bag of liquid (it smelled salty) was making a rhythmic dripping noise near the head of the bed, near the beeping monitor.

A dull pain in his groin and the smell of urine - there was a thin plastic tube taking his pee to a bag hanging under the bed. He realized he was not wearing underwear and felt naked even under the hospital gown, sheets, and blankets.

His feet felt cold, but he couldn't move them either.

Footsteps grew louder outside the door of the room, pounding into him. He breathed in more of Dad to calm himself as she passed and the steps faded away. How did I know it was a woman? The air brought in a fruity, soap smell - perfumey and feminine.

He heard his dad shift - his jeans scratching against the surface of the plastic-covered chair he was sitting on. He heard his dad run his fingers through his hair - fingernails scratching against scalp. He smelled salt and worry. His dad was wiping tears from his eyes. He heard the moisture as he squeezed his nose to capture the drips.

Matt didn't remember ever knowing his dad to cry. Ever.

Outside the window, he heard pigeons cooing - the talons scratching cement. In his mind's eye, he saw the pigeon - imagining the gradations of gray to white and black of the feathers. He heard the feathers rustling against each other as the pigeon moved.

Another woman walked by the door - her footsteps were less even. One step was heavier than the other as the noise bounced off the corridor walls. Papers rustled in her hands and keys jingled by her hip. Her soapy smells were different, less fruity, more like wood and oil.

She passed by and he focused again on his dad and calms his breathing.

On the other side of the wall, he heard a child whimpering. There was a woman next to the child, a man snoring… more people. He pulled his focus back to his dad. Breathe.

This could be a dream. Unlike any dream he'd had before, but still a dream. The fog descended again. The sounds, smells, tastes, temperatures, and sensations of the air became muted as Matthew slipped out of consciousness.

o0OO0oo0OO0oo

Matthew felt like he was coming to the surface - emerging from the depths of nothingness into pain. He expected light, but instead, reverberating noises greeted him again.

This dream was familiar and alien at the same time. He kept drifting in and out of it. This time when he strained to move his head toward his dad and struggled to open his eyes the heaviness was less. He tried again to open his eyes, but his eyelashes only bent against the gauze making a weird squeaky noise. When had I ever heard my eyelashes? This thought was interrupted by an explosion of pain across his eyelids. A moan escaped his throat.

His dad drew in his breath sharply, "Mattie! Oh, God, Mattie."

Matthew flinched as his dad's voice rang through his skull. It was powerful and loud. His dad's heartbeat quickened - sweat burst from the surface of his skin.

Jack grabbed Matthew's hand. He felt callouses scrap across the back of his hand, warmth spreading across his palm, and his father's pulse rhythmically pushed through his fingers.

Matthew felt his own heart speed up in response and felt the sting of perspiration under his arms, on his neck, the small of his back, between his thighs, the backs of his knees. He wanted to fling his arms around his dad's neck, but they didn't move.

"Dad?" His voice cracked and scraped out of his throat. He thought it would be a whisper, barely audible, but it sounded like a megaphone inside his head.

How is everything so impossibly loud?

"Oh, Mattie. I'm so sorry," his dad sobbed - his pain palpable in each beat of his heart.

"Dad… why are you shouting? It hurts. The noise hurts. Can you make it stop?"

"The noise? What noise, Matt?"

"Everything. It's so loud. Stop shouting. Please."

"I'm whispering, Matt. C'mon, son," he implored. "It's quiet in here."

Matt started to whimper but stopped. He heard his dad's heart start to race. Jack was alarmed. Matt didn't want to upset him, but the noise was intolerable.

There was a vibration like the earth under him was moving, pulsing. He realized that the building was rocking as cars and trucks went by on the road outside - the swaying of the building moved in concert with the noises of the traffic.

His dad's chair scraped the floor as he pushed back. It was as grating as fingernails on a chalkboard - metal against linoleum with bits of sand and dirt crushed between the two surfaces. Matt felt his dad's weight shift and knew he was standing now almost as if he had seen the movement.

"I'm going to get the nurse. Hang on, son. I'll be right back."

The sound of Jack's footsteps ricocheted off the walls made Matt feel like he was going to vomit - saliva rose in his mouth, bile scorched his throat, and the room lurched in an oscillating spiral. Vomit burst from his throat in an arch that didn't touch his lips - the splatter as it hit the metal railing, the sheets, the linoleum was akin to the force of a hydrant being opened. The acridity burned his nose - it was pure acid. There was nothing in his stomach.

He could hear his dad barking his plea for help for him as if Jack were right next to him though he knew that Jack had traveled a distance down the corridor from the receding sound of the footsteps… they weren't as painfully loud. Other footsteps were coming back with his dad's and he braced himself for the onslaught as the clatter entered his room.

A sob escaped his lips as he turned his head to heave again.

He heard his dad slip in the vomit and catch himself. The nurse behind Jack brushed up against him as she proceeded to Matt's bedside and jostled the tubes that were attached to his hand.

That hurts!

The needle embedded in his vein moved as liquid entered his bloodstream and the pain began to lessen, the room melted away, the noises faded and he was grateful for the peace at the same time that the questions rose to the surface.

What was going on? Why am I in the hospital?

As he drifted off, he saw a truck barreling down the street toward him…

o0OO0oo0OO0oo

This time as he came to, it didn't feel so alien.

But why was it so loud?

It was as if the volume had been turned up on the world all of the sudden.

When he took deep breaths and focused on his dad's heartbeat (he is here again - Matt realized. He is sleeping. His breath is steady and slow… ) it was easier to bear. He pushed the panic away - desperate to not throw up again.

He could still taste the acridity in his mouth. He could tell that he was in clean sheets and in a new gown… from what?… the smell of laundry detergent and bleach was stronger. What time is it?… wait… what day is it?… he noticed a steady ticking alongside the rolling and thundering of the other noises. A clock? It was coming from beside the bed… on a table. A watch? Matt tried turning his head slowly. He heard his hair against the pillow and the bandages that covered his eyes… my eyes. He still couldn't open them. Still couldn't see.

Trying to move his eyelids still sent explosions of pain across his face and into his head. He slowed down. Breathed again. Listened again. He slowly reached his left hand toward his dad, making an effort to not shift the blankets… his arm felt like it is made of stone… it is so heavy. He slid his hand under the metal railing that seemed to be radiating cold air. He reached toward his dad's warmth and found his knee.

Jack flinched at the touch, a rattling noise sounded… Matt recognized the familiar (though loud) sound of rosary beads… and his gravelly voice burst into the room - bouncing off the walls.

"Matt?"

"Dad… what happened? What's going on?"

Jack took in his breath sharply. "Oh, son… " he despaired. Matt could hear the rosary beads again.

"God help me… " Jack begged quietly.

Matt could hear the toll of this in his dad's heartbeat. He wanted to soothe, but he also desperately wanted to know. He needed to know. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Mattie… a truck… an old man… you saved him… a barrel… it fell, chemicals splashed across your face… your eh . . ." The word caught.

He tried again, "Your eyes."

Jack's voice filled the room, though Matt knew his dad was trying to speak softly. He could hear the saliva in his mouth, the clicking as his teeth met, his hammering heartbeat, and rumbling from his gut. He could hear the lights humming overhead - he knew they were on by the piercing whine.

Images started to flash in front of Matt, memories of the accident. He started to piece them together. The righteous anger he felt while defending himself, the shame of getting in a fight despite everything his dad had always demanded of him, and then the man with a white stick crossing the street unaware of the careening truck. Matt couldn't remember why he ran and pushed the man out of the way - he just did it. He couldn't watch it happen and not do anything - especially when everyone else seemed frozen.

He remembered the terrible sting of the green liquid as it burned his face… his eyes. And then everything fading to a pinprick of light until that, too, was gone.

"Dad" he whispered, "what about my eyes?"

He knew, but he had to ask. He felt the fear shutting down his gut as it worked its way up to his constricting throat. His mouth flooded with a metallic-tinged saliva again. He willed his bile to stay put. His dad held onto Matt's outstretched hand - the warmth of his large hands surrounding Matt's smaller hand. The rosary beads pressed into Matt's skin.

"Mattie… the doctors… they don't know yet… but . . ." And the "but" hangs in the air.

"But what?" He managed to utter. Not wanting to hear, but needing to hear it.

"But they think… there's really not a chance… that you'll be able to… see again."

Jack let the air he'd been holding in out in a long, ragged sigh and Matt felt his dad's heat spiking out around him in waves of distress. His pulse pushed against Matt's palm unevenly.

He felt distress emanating from his own body, too. His emotions had never been this palpable before… it was like he could feel them in the air. He felt like he was in another body… this couldn't be my body.

"But Dad… I'm not… blind."

The disbelief was more than just fear and anger. Nothing had color or pattern, but he knew where people were. He knew more about them than he's ever noticed before. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet. There were still bandages over them.

"No, Mattie. You're not… "

But Jack couldn't say the word.

Matt felt himself slipping toward a dark hole of fear and confusion and grasped on to the noise at the bedside. "What's that ticking noise?"

Jack seemed surprised. His shirt rustled as he turned his head toward the table and the rhythmic clicks.

"You can hear that? It's a watch. The Lighthouse people brought it."

"Oh… Who?… What time is it?"

"Um."

Scratching noises made Matt think his dad was opening a small cardboard box. "Uh. It's 4:32 pm. But this watch… it… it is for you. They said they'd teach you how to read it. It has bumps.… um. Brah… uh… Braille."

"I'm not blind!" Matt felt a rush of anger. He started to turn his head suddenly but stopped as pain exploded across his eyes and the back of his head.

"Oh, ow," he groaned.

"Mattie, are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" he said it emphatically, but didn't shout.

It hurt too much and he was getting tired. He felt like he was starting to fade out again. He had no energy. But he wanted to know before he goes under again.

"Dad, what day is it? When did all this… happen?"

"It happened three days ago. It's Tuesday."

"Mattie?"

"I'm tired, Dad… I'm sorry," he said softly. A tear slipped out from under the bandage and made a slow passage down his cheek. His dad's rough fingers caught it.

o0OO0oo0OO0o

This time when he came to he felt more prepared for the alien plane he seemed to exist on now. The sounds rushed at him gathering momentum as he came to the surface of consciousness and he knew how to brace himself for the onslaught so that it didn't overpower him.

He noticed his dad wasn't by his bedside this time. Hm. Strange. Where is he? He wondered.

His limbs felt less heavy and when he turned his head carefully, the pain wasn't as great as it had been before. He tried lifting it off the pillow… the muscles in his neck straining. He managed an inch or so and then gently placed it back without serious discomfort.

His fingers brushed against the coarse hospital sheets as he moved his left hand up to his face (his right hand still ached with the IV needle… he could feel liquid moving through the needle one drop at a time) to carefully explore the bandages. He felt the grid pattern of the mesh gauze… overlapping squares of thread in a different pattern and softer than the sheets. The skin around his eyes still felt stretched thin. His face felt swollen. He imagined he looked a mess.

His stomach contracted as his mind was filled with grim thoughts that he might never see his reflection again… would I look more like my dad as I got older? I've been looking forward to that… he realized numbly. Moving his arm, he noticed that there was a bandage on his arm that he hadn't registered before. Maybe the liquid that burned his face and eyes hit his skin there, too. It wasn't as sore as his face, though.

His dad's voice came into his awareness… picked out from the other voices that punctuated the din of noises that seemed to compose his new world. He was down the corridor.

Matt had stopped wondering how he could hear all this so clearly… as if there was a crowd of people in his room… he just could.

His dad was talking to a man who was responding with a lot of big medical terms… he spoke with an faint East Indian accent… a doctor?

Matt heard his name and focused even more intently on what they are saying "… severe alkali chemical burns… grade four… likely severe visual impairment… surgery to repair the eyelids… it's unlikely that there will be any residual vision . . ." Matt's hammering heart made it hard for him to hear much more except some words that broke through: "rehabilitation… social worker… lighthouse for the blind… recovery… reentry into public school… guide dog… cane… braille."

Matt tried to tune it out, but he couldn't block it completely. Not being able to focus on his dad's heartbeat made him feel like he was drowning in noise.

As he struggled to hear Jack's familiar rhythm over his own heartbeat, he realized that he could hear the blood moving through his own heart and he felt nauseous at the thought.

He found the call button on the side of his bed and pressed it, bracing for the piercing beep that sounded in the hallway at the nurses' station. It felt like it took an eternity for the nurse at the station to silence it and notify the nurse on duty that he had called, though Matt knew from the ticking at his bedside from the watch that it was only moments.

He could hear the nurse interrupting his dad and the doctor to tell them that Matt pressed the call button and he heard their footsteps approaching, while the doctor explained to Jack that they would talk to Matt now that he was awake. Matt steeled himself against the tremendous tramping as they entered the room.

"Oh, good! Matt, you're awake," the doctor addressed him as he approached the bed.

Matt grimaced in response to the doctor's loud voice despite bracing himself for it beforehand.

Matt heard his dad go to the other side of the bed and settle into the chair - grabbing Matt's hand as he did so.

"Who are you?" Matt asked, trying to keep his anger and frustration out of his voice, but not really succeeding.

He flushed realizing how rude he had been.

"Oh, yes. I apologize. I'm Doctor Patel. I'm an ophthalmologist, an eye doctor, and you've been under my care since you were brought in on Sunday."

His voice was warm, his breath spicy… curry and cardamom the strongest odors Matt recognized… and he seemed to be a bit shorter and slighter than Jack, his voice giving away his relative height and his step not as heavy as Jack's.

He laid his hand on Matt's shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"What does severe alkali chemical burns mean?" Matt got straight to the point.

"What?… Oh, did the nurse tell you that?" Dr. Patel inquired, pulling his warm hand from Matt's shoulder.

"Um. Yeah." Matt lied. He didn't know why he was compelled to hide his acute hearing from the doctor, but he felt sure that his life would get a lot more complicated if the doctor knew how much he could hear and sense.

He just wanted to go home. He was tired of this bed and being awoken at all hours of the night to be poked and prodded and drained of blood. He was tempted to yank out the I.V. and the catheter and run home that instant until he really thought about it. He willed himself to calm down.

Dr. Patel continued, unaware of the internal struggle of his patient.

"Well, you see the liquid from the canister from the truck that splashed into your eyes was a highly toxic substance."

"Like acid?" Matt asked.

"Well, actually acid would have been better in this case. This was an alkaline substance.… You've had chemistry in school?"

At the bedside, Jack let out a long sigh, an attempt to calm his racing heart.

"Yes."

"When it comes to the eyes, alkalis can do more damage and sadly that is the case here."

"But you haven't even taken the bandages off my eyes yet. How do you know what the damage is?"

"We have our suspicions based on how your pupils react to light. True, there is swelling that needs to go down before we can know for sure. I'm hopeful that it has gone down."

"When do the bandages come off?"

"Well, we need to change them now, so this is as good a time as any. I'll talk to your nurse about gathering the supplies. I'll be back in a moment."

His steps receded down the hall at a clipped pace.

Jack squeezed Matt's hand. Matt let the silence build between them. He was scared, but he didn't want to let on to his dad; didn't want to add to his burden, his pain. It felt good to feel his strong, calloused hand holding his… feeling his dad's steady pulse.

The nurse and Dr. Patel came back into the room. Matt recognized his favorite nurse Katie by her scent and the sound of her steps. He was glad. He liked the way she smelled… a not too overpowering vanilla and mint that hovered over the more earthy scents of her perspiration and oils. Her voice, too, was easy to listen, too. Sincere and mellow. She seemed younger than some of the other nurses - still, she had a self-confidence that put him at ease. He relaxed a little knowing that it would be Katie's gentle hands that would be taking care of the bandages.

"Hi Matt, it's Katie. I'm going to be assisting Dr. Patel."

He smiled weakly in her direction and heard her gathering the supplies from the drawers in the room and placing them on a steel tray… the clink of metal hitting metal, the crackle of gauze encased in paper wrappers.

He could hear the doctor over at the windows closing the blinds and smell a burst of dust as it was disturbed in the process.

Katie came over to the bed, and he breathed in her scent as she helped him sit up in the bed, placing pillows behind his back for support. The room started to spin around as he sat up and pain radiated from his eyes to the back of his head.

He had let go of his dad's hand when Katie and Dr. Patel came back into the room, and now he reached out for it again and grabbed onto the cool metal railing surrounding his bed with his other hand. He let out an involuntary groan.

"How are you doing, Matt?" Dr. Patel inquired.

"I'm fine," Matt said stiffly.

He wanted desperately to have the bandages off… to know for certain.

"Okay, then we're going to proceed. You let us know if it is too much."

"Okay."

"Okay, Matt, I'm going to start taking the bandages off," Katie said.

Her small warm fingers started working under the adhesive that was holding the bandages to his face, pulling each layer off gently until he could feel the stagnant hospital air on his newly exposed skin.

There were square bandages directly over his eyes that were stuck to his skin by antibiotic cream and fluids that needed a little coaxing to come off, but they did with only a little bit of pain.

He drew in a sharp breath. He was getting used to it. He was hoping for a bit of light to shine through his eyelids even though they were still closed, but he couldn't see any. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were stuck closed.

"Hang on there. I'm going to clean up your eyes a little before you open them, okay? This may sting a little."

Katie pressed a wet, cold piece of gauze against his left eye and then his right, gently wiping away the cream. It stung deeply and he drew in shuddering breaths.

Finally, she was done.

"Okay, Matt. I want you to very slowly open your eyes and tell us what you see."

Jack shifted beside him, still holding his hand, his pulse quickening.

Matt lifted his eyelids with hope but already knowing. It was the same darkness, nothing changed. He squeezed his dad's hand.

"I'm s . s . sorry, Dad," his voice broke. "I can't see anything. It's dark. It's still so dark."