It was a cold evening in January. My father, mother, sister and I were on our way home from a late hockey game. I was only 8 years old, but my memory of it is very solid.

'Pilovich played real well tonight,' my dad said.

Mom agreed, but my sister was too fixated on her phone to notice what they were talking about. I pressed my nose against the glass of the window and watched the dark world pass by. A plush polar bear, the mascot of our ice hockey team, was clutched to my chest.

As we drove through an intersection, I saw a big SUV run the red light in the other direction and come soaring at us. My mom let out a scream, but it all happened so suddenly that nobody had a chance to really react at all.

I lost consciousness for a moment and when I came to, my body was hurting all over and the inside of our car was all messed up. I could still see. The air smelled strange and some of the doors were stuck open, filling my ears with that buzz they make. My head was searing with pain, (I later learned that I had suffered a concussion) and there was blood on me from something.

'Logan…' my sister whispered. I looked over at her and saw her bloodied face, twisted by the inside of the door. She did her best to point to her cellphone, which had flown close to me. 'Ca…call 9-11.'

I reached forward and struggled to take her phone in my hands. My head was swimming, swirling and aching, but I managed to grab it. I flipped it open and punched in the emergency numbers. It was difficult for me to tell the dispatcher exactly what had happened, but I did, and they sent the emergency response vehicles for us. I looked at my sister, but it appeared she wasn't breathing anymore. I unhooked my seatbelt and crawled up to the front of the car. My mom was still in her seat, and I shook her shoulder. 'Mama,' I said. 'Mama wake up.' She didn't move. I reached forward to her face and turned it towards me. It was unrecognizable; nothing but smashed up bone and contorted, bloody flesh. I passed out again.

The next thing I remember, I was outside and someone was carrying me. The polar bear was in my hands.

'It's gonna be alright,' a male voice reassured me. 'I'm Officer Drew, and I'm gonna take you over to the EMTs, okay?'

'Ok,' I agreed quietly.

'Can you see me, little dude?'

'No.'

'Always been blind?'

'No…'

'Alright, well you're gonna take this ambulance down to the hospital, alright? They'll have a look at you and it'll be fine.'

'Where is mama?' I asked. He didn't answer and handed me off to the EMTs.

The doorbell rang, just as Logan expected. He ran his finger along the side of the wall, as usual, until he got to the door. He opened it and was greeted by a very friendly voice.

"Mr. Mitchell?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm your new aid. Replacing your old aid. Haha…well, of course. You know."

"Yup, I was expecting you," said Logan. "Come in."

He led the new aid inside and to the living room, where he offered him a seat.

"What's your name?" Logan asked.

"James."

"Oh, okay. It's nice to meet you, James. You can just call me Logan."

"No problem. Hey, the place looks great."

"That's just Martha, my old aid. I think she was doing a good job."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?" James asked. "The basically told me nothing about you, except your name, address, and that you're blind."

"She's moving, that's all. Quit 'cause of moving." Logan took a seat on his sofa and did his best to settle in. "So I guess you have a lot of questions for me?"

"Not a lot, but some, sure." James was surprised at how young Logan was. And handsome. "Could you tell me about yourself? Like, were you born blind?"

"No, it was an accident. Actually, they don't know what made me go blind. I could see after the crash, but then I lost it. I was 8."

"Oh wow. So you've never seen anything after that?" James asked. He was used to hearing sad stories, but it was hard to imagine never seeing yourself grow up.

"Nope, not at all," Logan answered. "I lost my whole family, too."

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry."

"Moved in with my aunt, but then she died."

"Oh no! Oh, gosh Logan. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay. Now I just live in this apartment and take the company of my aids."

"Well I plan on being here for a long time," James said. "I was automatically signed up for a year. How long do they usually last?"

"Yah about a year."

"Good. So what kind of help do you need?"

"Not a whole lot. Mostly basic things. Obviously if I was so incapacitated, I would need more than just three hours a day, right?"

"Haha yeah, that's true!" James agreed.

"I don't leave the house ever," Logan said.

"Not at all?"

"Never ever. I haven't left in ten years. My doctors all make house calls, and other than my blindness I'm very healthy."

"So I'll be going to the store for you."

"Yeah, basically. Groceries, cooking, cleaning. I guess that's about it. I can wash, dress and do all that other stuff on my own. I could probably even go outside if I wanted to. It just scares me. I have a lot of nerve damage, too."

"Oh…"

"So do you want a tour?"

"Sure!"

"You've probably noticed that I have very few decorations," Logan said as he tried to stand up. He carefully walked to the wall and placed his fingertips along the molding in the middle. "Martha put some pictures maybe, but I obviously can't tell. I move around along the walls, so there aren't any tables in the way or nothing. Does it look strange in here?"

"No, I'd say it seems very normal," James said, and he meant it. Of course the apartment was very plain, but it wasn't obviously a blind person's residence. He followed Logan into the hallway.

"Over here is my bedroom, and here is the bathroom," Logan said. "This is a towel closet."

"It's a neat little place," said James.

Logan smiled and walked back to the kitchen. "I don't know where the pots and stuff are kept, so you'll have to figure it out on your own. I just know the fridge and the microwave. I keep the silverware in a caddy on the counter."

"No problem."

"I try to be as tidy as possible. I hate feeling dirty. So I usually even try to do the dishes myself."

"Good job," said James.

"I guess that's about it. The place is small. It's easy."

"Cool. So what do you need?"

"Well, Martha already did the shopping for the week, so you don't need to go to the store or anything. Usually they'll make three meals at a time. Dinner for today, then tomorrow's breakfast and lunch stored in the fridge. Is that reasonable?"

"Definitely," said James. "The last job I did was an elderly man who needed round the clock care. I worked with him from 8 in the morning until 6 at night, Tuesday through Saturday."

"Wow! No, I'm not that complicated!" Logan said with a laugh.

"You've got dimples, you know that?" James asked.

"I do?"

"Yeah. They show up when you laugh."

Logan touched his hand to his own face and smiled. "I guess you're right," he said.

"Should I start cooking?" James offered.

"Sure if you want. Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Go right ahead. I wouldn't want to keep you uncomfortable. What do you want?"

"I basically have the same thing every week. There should be a list on the side of the fridge."

James walked over to the refrigerator and found the paper Logan described. It was a typed up paper which listed each meal for the week. Tonight was pasta. James opened up the cupboards until he found a large pot. He filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil.

"So do you have any friends?" James asked.

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Just my aid."

"You only get three hours of social interaction every day?" James asked. He wasn't trying to sound rude, but Logan's living situation just seemed sad. He felt terrible for him.

"Yeah that's all."

"Do you want more?"

"Kinda, but I don't want to leave."

"Well, alright," James said. He took a box of pasta shells out from a lazy Susan and placed them upon the counter. The water wasn't even warm yet. James was starting to create a plan in his mind; maybe he could eventually persuade Logan into going outside. He was a young guy! He must hunger for a social life.

"What do you do when your aid isn't here?" James asked.

"I listen to a lot of audiobooks."

"Oh, neat! Like what?"

"Right now I'm going through For One More Day by Mitch Albom. It's good."

"I've heard of him, but never read anything."

Now the water was boiling. James poured the pasta into it and stirred. "Do you take sauce or anything with the pasta?"

"Just butter and salt. Literally the list will tell you want goes on it. If it says pasta, it's just pasta."

"Alright, cool. That's easy. Are you ready to eat soon?"

"Yeah. Could you stay and have some with me?"

"Of course. There's still plenty of time." He stayed by the pasta and stirred it occasionally as the water bubbled up around it. Logan was sitting on the sofa, completely content, staring at nothing. After having worked with so many old people, this new guy was a real breath of fresh air for James. He couldn't help but notice how cute he was, too. He wondered if Logan had any sexual preference. Were relationships even something he thought about?

"Here we go," said James. "Where do you like to eat?"

"There are stools along the counter. Do you seem them?" Logan stood up and made his way to the outer wall of the kitchen. He took up a stool and placed himself down on it. James came around and put a plate in front of him.

"Anything to drink?" James asked.

"No thank you. But there's juice and milk if you want anything."

"Thanks." James plopped down beside Logan with a fork in his hand.

"Okay, so tell me about yourself," Logan said.

"Hehe, well, obviously my name is James. James Diamond, actually. I'm 25. I take night classes at the community college, just trying to get a basic degree slowly."

"Cool. You have a family?"

"Mom and dad, yeah, but that's it."

"Must be nice."

"Eh…"

"Girlfriend?"

"No," James said quickly. He took a bite of the pasta and glanced at Logan, who of course didn't see him. Instead, he stared at nothing and ate the food contently.

"Okay," Logan said plainly. "What do you look like?"

"If it matters, I'm white, 6'1", I work out a lot. Brown hair, hazel eyes. I dunno. Why?"

"Just trying to get a good picture of you in my head. What do I look like?"

"You? What do you look like?"

"Uh huh!" Logan smiled real cute and turned to face James.

"You have dark hair. Fairish skin. Kind of a square jawline, nice build." James felt a little awkward describing him, trying his best to not point out the adorable features of Logan's face. "Why?"

"I ask all of my aids how I look. Everyone has a different impression, but most of it is similar."

"You gotta have some idea of what you look like," James said. "I mean, you saw yourself as a kid."

"Yeah but I'm big now. I could have changed a whole lot." Suddenly, Logan sounded sad. He poked at the shells with his fork but didn't eat any.

"Are you okay?" James asked softly.

"Uh huh," Logan sighed. "Sorry, I get depressed a whole lot. It's alright."

"Awww, no, it's not alright." James patted Logan on the shoulder. "You outta be happy with your life."

"Mmmm," the blind boy mumbled. He quickly finished the food and insisted on taking the plate to the sink himself. "I feel better if I can accomplish small tasks on my own."

"That's good. You should feel good about yourself." James took the rest of the dishes and followed him to the kitchen. "So I guess I'll prepare breakfast and lunch then be on my way, right?"