Category: Mary Ann Rivers

Mary Ann Rivers

For me, there isn’t some miracle cure, this is my life, or my disease will progress and my life will change focus again, and I’ll have another new life.I need C to stay right where he is now because for now, I don’t know enough to move from where I am.My hypothesis is that the light will come back, both outside and inside me.I’m afraid and angry, but the light is a theory I want to prove.Until then, I just have to keep the experiment going with as many controls as possible.One bus, back and forth.One store.One man, his words under glass.

Mary Ann Rivers

I wonder if he practices making awkward and nerdy look sort of cool. Like he fills his house with furniture that is the wrong scale for his tall body and buys plaid shirts in bulk and tells his barber to leave crazy, too-long pieces of hair mixed in with the regularly cut hair so everything always looks messy.Then he runs his hands through his hair and puts on his plaid shirts and uses mirrors to watch himself sit in uncomfortable furniture until comfortable furniture looks like it’s the one with the problem.

Mary Ann Rivers

I look at my snow boots, counting the grommets while I try to name what I’m feeling. This has been a problem lately. It’s never been a problem before—I’ve been happy, and sad, and frustrated.I’ve felt angry and sentimental.I’ve loved. I’ve been loved back.Maintaining long moments of wordless eye contact with the man who is supposed to make me feel okay about going blind, noticing all the exact shades of blue and how I can always tell he’s going to smile before he does, pretending I’m not responding to some tension between us?I’m a little exhausted.