Sights Unseen

"Here you go," he said in a voice that was filled with an unusual amount of steel. Foggy is a forgiving guy, but this time it was different. I had blown it big time. I had been a lying and deceiving jerk for years and now I just sat there, waiting for him to hand me the beer he was holding.

"Well, are you going to give it to me?" I asked, knowing that he was just testing me. It had been one month and two days since he found out the truth about me, and just about one week since we had been back working together. Around the office, things had been remarkably okay, all things considered, but nothing was like it was before. There was a huge gulf between us that I wasn't sure we were ever going to be able to close. Now, we were at my place, trying to act all normal and casual about everything, and failing miserably.

"I'm not sure I want to play that game anymore." I knew what he meant. He wanted to put an end to the pretense, that well-rehearsed routine we had had for more than ten years. He was going to make me grab the bottle myself. I could already feel the cold air around it, and with a slight push of my mind, the shape of it was revealed, hovering in mid-air, suspended from the slightly fuzzier shape of Foggy's arm.

"Fair enough," I said as I reached out and grabbed it without hesitation.

"So you care to tell me how you do that?"

"I told you already. I have heightened senses, and I can make out the shape of things." I had told him, though in retrospect I can certainly understand if that was a somewhat meager explanation.

"I just don't get it. All these years… Was any of it real?"

"Foggy, I'm still the same person."

"Are you?" I have to admit, that one hit me like a bowling ball to the stomach. It was a fair enough question though. Maybe that's why it hurt so much.

"Yes, I am. I swear to you." That sounded a little too desperate, like I was begging for some level of understanding I wasn't entitled to.

"Let's see here… You lead a secret life as a costumed superhero for years without telling me, then fake your own death with no regard for how it affects everyone around you. You're not even really blind!"

"Foggy, I'm sorry. Okay?" This probably wasn't the right time to bring up the fact that he never told me his mother wasn't really his mother, so I decided not to. It wasn't anywhere near being on the same level of deceit. "Have I lost you?"

"Maybe." That was actually more than I had hoped for. 'Maybe' was good, I could work with that.

"That's why I never told you. I was afraid of what might happen, and… The more time went by, the harder it got. And as far as my abilities are concerned, I never even told my own father."

"You said that already, and if that's supposed to make me feel better, it's not working. I mean, why didn't you tell him?"

"I don't know. I think I would have, eventually… In the end, I don't think... Look, he died knowing I could take care of myself, that was all that mattered to him." Foggy was standing with his back toward me, by the kitchen sink, as if he couldn't stand to look at me.

"So you do your little charade, day in and day out… I must say it's quite impressive." At this point, he had turned around to look at me, forcing me to raise my head in an imitation of looking back at him. It was so uncharacteristic of Foggy to be angry at anyone, and I'd never heard that amount of sarcasm in his voice before. I almost wanted to crawl out of my skin.

"It's not like that." I could feel the heat rising in my face, feeling a strange mix of shame and something close to defiance. "I really am blind, you know that. I'm just…," this was going to be hard to explain, "not as blind as I appear to be."

"I'm not even sure what that means. That's like saying you're a little pregnant or something!" I couldn't help smiling a little bit at that comment. I could see where he was coming from, but the comparison wasn't entirely valid.

"It's not, actually, but point taken." I took a sip of my beer and put it back down on the counter. I was in for a long explanation of how it is I do the things I do, and what it means to see some things and not others. I'd had similar conversations with Elektra, Karen, Natasha, Ben… even Heather. I don't think I ever told the story the exact same way, because none of it is easy to explain. It's like trying to describe to someone from another planet what grass smells like…

ooooo

So, what do I see? Good question. Depending on how you look at it, the answer could either be "quite a bit," "very little," or "nothing." In the strict, medical sense the simple answer is that I have no vision at all, which – to be blunt – makes me significantly more blind than most. Though I suppose the definition itself is fairly arbitrary. Either way, my eyes are a complete mess. I have corneal scars and cataracts, my retinas detached completely within a couple of days of the radiation exposure, and there was some pretty substantial nerve damage as well. All pretty much the equivalent of smashing up a camera and then removing the film, just for good measure. I have no idea what my eyes actually look like, but since I have my ways of knowing when I'm being lied to, I've been able to get an idea. People who have said that they look perfectly normal are all clearly lying. Most of the ones who've said that they don't look "all that bad" are not. So, I guess that pretty much sums it up. It's not grounds for any kind of complex, though I was significantly more self-conscious about it when I was younger.

For most people, there are some obvious limitations, or let's just call them "obstacles," that come with being totally blind. Most of these limitations are ones that I don't have. That's not to say that I'm not familiar with them, given the fact that it took months of rigorous training to be able to use my radar sense effectively (and that's not even counting the months that passed before I even met Stick), but for the most part I've essentially forgotten what it's like to not be able to easily perceive those parts of your environment you're not physically touching.

I know how to use a white cane. I don't know what it's like to actually have to rely on it every time you step outside. I'd be lying if I said I did. And, yes, I suppose I've done my fair share of lying. In order to keep my senses secret, I've had to exaggerate the extent and implications of my disability. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's always been a necessity. If only for the reason that all of my "enhancements" don't actually fully compensate for the simple fact that I see about as much out of my forehead as I do out of my eyes. I sometimes like to think they do, and as far as my extra-curricular activities go, they more than deliver. But if I were to say that being blind isn't an inconvenience, or that I didn't ever so occasionally feel a pang of regret that I can't see certain things, that would be a lie as well. Although, I should add that in the larger scope of things, the loss of my sight was nothing compared to all the people I've lost in my life. I'd give anything to have my dad back, to have Karen back. I really can't say the same for my vision. Not by a long shot.

When I do that thing I do, when I go out, there are no limitations. As much pain as that life has caused me, I know that I need it almost as much as I need air and food. This need I have for setting things right – no matter how futile that might seem in the long run – is a big part of why I do it. The other part is the sense of power it gives me, knowing that I'm in my element, almost unbeatable. When I'm Daredevil, my blindness is irrelevant. It's of no consequence whatsoever. The rest of my life isn't always like that. I can't see. Most of the time, that doesn't matter. Sometimes it does. After the accident, I had to get used to the idea of there always being something about me that had to be addressed, related to, and considered. To this day, people look at me, talk about me (obviously unaware of the fact that I can hear them quite well), and sometimes treat me like I just came in on a space ship. You do get used to it, but cultivating a sense of humor about it really helps. I learned early on that there were two kinds of "special." The bad kind, as in "special needs," and the good kind of special; the way I felt with dad, Stick… even Foggy.

For the first couple of days after we met, Foggy was really freaked out by the idea of rooming with someone who was – picking a ridiculous label at random – "differently abled." I don't think he'd deny it if I ever brought it up, but I really see no reason to. I'm sure I wouldn't have acted differently if the roles were reversed. He was worried about saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, and even inadvertently killing me by forgetting to close a drawer or leaving something out of place. After we got used to each other, he was great. I was one hundred percent comfortable around him. He didn't care that I was blind, and he never made a big deal about it. Come to think of it, that might actually be one of the reasons I never really felt a need to tell him about my powers. With Elektra, and even Karen, I felt like I had to impress them, that I wouldn't be good enough without my abilities. Foggy was impressed with me anyway. And no, not like those people who are impressed by the fact that blind people can dress themselves, but genuinely impressed with who I was as a person. Way to remind myself of just how much I don't deserve his friendship…

But, I know that what makes me really special, one of a kind, isn't so much who I am or what I appear to be, but what I can do – because of that childhood accident, and in spite of it. I don't know why I have my powers, all I know is that I still wouldn't know how to use them to their full potential if it weren't for Stick. Here was this mysterious, and not altogether pleasant man who found me and promised me the world back. It was mine for the taking, all I had to do was to reach out and touch it. I had been given a new sense, one I wasn't even aware of, and he would show me how to use it to do some amazing things.

The very first lesson Stick taught me was about space. He took me to an empty garage a couple of blocks from my apartment and asked me to describe its dimensions to him. This wasn't particularly hard, since I could tell fairly well from the echoes where the walls were, a trick I still use for very large open spaces. But I wasn't allowed to listen for the echoes. Stick wanted me to feel the walls, and for several minutes we just stood there quietly. I had no idea what I was doing, and the suspicion that I was dealing with a madman started weighing heavy on my mind. Next, he took me to a smaller storage space nearby. We did the same thing again. This time, he wanted me to feel the difference between the two locations. We kept this up for two weeks, going from one place to the next, and I was almost ready to give up when I gradually started noticing a difference. There was a kind of… I'm not sure how to describe it really, but I suppose "pressure" comes close enough. The smaller the space, the tighter the room felt around me, as if I could sense something outside my own body. After that, I had complete faith in Stick; even though there would be many times when I made very little progress.

Lesson number two was about movement, learning to sense things coming toward me, and not just by the sound they made or the displacement of air. I had to learn to feel things happening around me as if my external environment were an extension of my physical body. This was a particularly grueling step, as Stick would throw things at me for me to catch. Needless to say, I took quite a few hits to the head and my dad asked a lot of questions about the cuts on my face and the black eyes. My explanation? Occupational hazard. Based on what I've told people over the years, I've walked into enough half-open doors to give blind people everywhere a bad rap. Interestingly, I don't think anyone has actually seen me do it. It's funny how that works…

Moving objects feel like vibrations to me, the frequency and intensity varying depending on whether they're big or small, dense or loose. The most interesting thing about this sensation is that I experience it happening in its actual location. If there is sudden movement ten feet away to my left, I feel it out there, as if I had long invisible whiskers or strings connecting me to actual locations in space. This creates a constant awareness of movement all around me. And, it saves me the time of having to look. Not that I could if I wanted to.

My ability to actually determine the shape of things took the longest to learn, which probably isn't surprising. By all accounts, it should be impossible. Shapes are a disturbance in space, and so my ability to experience them built on the abilities I'd already acquired. I'll never forget the day, after about two months of what seemed like a hopeless run of trial and error, that I was able to see again. Well, figuratively speaking. When I was a kid, my dad once took me to see one of those 3D movies that you use special glasses for, the ones that have a green and a red filter. What happened to me that day was something similar to that kind of experience. I focused my mind in a very particular way, and suddenly everything jumped out at me. It frightened me a little, and I lost the image immediately, but I tried again. It was amazing. I could see these silhouetted shapes hovering in front of me. Well, it wasn't quite like seeing, because the shapes didn't have any color, which was the most remarkable thing of all. Sighted people see colors and light, so there's a contrast there. The way I see things is very different. But it worked, and I was completely ecstatic.

It was my eureka moment. My water pump. And no, I did not just compare myself to Helen Keller. Really, I didn't. It was just that we had to read her auto-biography our senior year of high school, for English lit, and that particular scene did kind of resonate with me. Everyone else in my class naturally assumed I would have some extra insight (no pun intended), which I didn't. The only thing in that book I could really relate to was the one thing I couldn't talk about. So, I guess I will call it my water pump moment. The kind of moment when a light goes on in your head and you realize something that can't be unlearned. Of course, that wasn't the end of my journey. It was only the beginning.

I guess that pretty much answers the question of how I see. As for what I see? Well, in terms of plain awareness of things around me, I've got almost everyone beat. When it comes to actually seeing things, it's a little more complicated. For one, I don't actually "see" anything when I don't have to. I'm constantly tuned into things around me, true, but that little trick I do when I bring forth the shapes of things actually requires some focus. Usually, I can do it with very little effort. When there's too much stuff going on, I have to work a little harder for it. But under ideal circumstances? I can tell how many fingers someone is holding up from across a room. Not exactly spectacular, but pretty good for a blind guy. I can tell where people begin and end, and their overall shape, but I can't really make out faces. I can pick up the shapes of individual people about a block away, cars a block and a half. Buildings… a little over two blocks. After that? Well, beyond that it thins out and becomes this void. I can hear it and smell it, of course, but nothing more. A lot of nothing. But don't feel bad for me, that's the one thing I could never stand…

ooooo

That evening, I told Foggy all about Stick, and what he taught me, and about my life, about dad… everything. We both finished our beers, then opened up two more. He didn't say much while I talked, he just listened. That was nice, until I was done telling my story and the quiet started to get to me. I can read people really well, but there's something disconcerting about being around someone who doesn't talk. "Say something."

"I don't know what to say. That's quite a story."

"Yeah, I guess it is. My life has been a little weird…"

"No kidding." I could feel him looking at me, studying me. Then he smiled, I was sure of it.

"Do you forgive me?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah, I forgive you." He briefly put his hand on my shoulder as he passed by to go get the bowl of potato chips he had left on the counter an hour earlier. "You want to watch a movie?"

"Sure, but you have to go down to the store and rent something. All Karen's got lying around is Fried Green Tomatoes. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess." Karen had yet to move back in with me after my recent return from the dead, but she had already started leaving her things around the apartment.

"Or we could just talk if you want?"

"Talking is good. Speaking of which… What's the deal with your mother? And by mother, I mean Rosalyn Sharpe. Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

"Oh, that… Well it's a long story, and a guy's got to have his secrets, right?"

"I've got time. Spill!"

And he did. He told me all about the mother who never cared, and about the one who did, and after a while everything felt okay again. We lost Karen not long after that. She and I got one last year together before she left, and then she was taken from me. But I didn't lose Foggy. For some inexplicable reason, he decided to stick around. Yeah, I don't deserve him, and I know it.