Crashing Through Read Free Page B

travel he told them it was his curiosity, not his cane.
             
    Weeks had passed since May had met Goodman and still he’d given little thought to the doctor’s offer. Every so often, Jennifer would ask her husband for his thinking on the subject of new vision, and it was at these times that May appreciated her most. There was no longing in her question, no subtext of urging him along. May confessed to Jennifer that he hadn’t thought much about Goodman’s offer. He also told her that life already felt good and busy and full. And that’s how they left it as winter turned to spring.
    As the months passed, however, May did not feel that it was responsible to allow the matter of new vision to linger dormant on his to-do list. He respected the import of Goodman’s offer and knew that he should give it the serious consideration it deserved. He began to turn things over in his head.
    He tried to imagine a life with vision. But his thoughts always returned to his current life, his real life. He had risked everything on his business, which was now in its most critical phase and demanded his full attention; a single misstep could tear it from its moorings and drown the project. After two recent close calls during similarly stressful periods, his marriage was now thriving and hopeful. He was focused on raising his boys and being present for the moments in their lives—especially the small ones—which already seemed to fly past too quickly.
    He tried to imagine what vision could offer. He could already go virtually wherever he chose—and loved the adventure of finding his way. He could already do whatever he desired—sometimes better than the sighted. And he continued to believe that he saw Jennifer and his boys in the real sense of the word—the sense that speaks to what it really means to know a person, what it means to connect to another’s soul.
    Vision was not calling to May. He knew that the idea of a blind man refusing sight would strike most of the world as unthinkable. But he thought of it this way: What if a sighted person was offered a new sense? What if he was offered, say, the ability to foretell the future? At first, that prospect might seem thrilling. But if the person was already leading a full and rich life, would he really want it? Might it not disrupt an otherwise wonderful life? And what if it turned out to be something wholly different from what the person had bargained for? May wondered how many happy people would proceed if offered a permanent crystal ball or sonar or the ability to read minds. How many of them would say yes to a new sense? And that is how May felt about vision. His life was already complete without it.
    And yet, during the breaks in his days, May found himself wondering about what it might be like to see. He might be touching one of Jennifer’s fabrics and think, “What would my favorite color be?” Shooting hoops with his sons he might ask, “Would I recognize my boys right away?” At the neighborhood coffee shop where he loved to listen to the lilting conversations and high-heeled clicks of women, he wondered, “Would I still prefer blondes?”
    May continued to focus on his work and his family. This was no time to be distracted from what was most important. Still, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge he might ponder, “What would I find beautiful?” Walking in the park he might ask himself, “What would look familiar to me?” Shaving in the bathroom he thought, “Would I look like myself?”
    And he wondered about the red hat.
    When he was a very young boy, just before his accident, his father had taken him deer hunting, a mystical adventure that had required awakening before dawn, carrying weapons, and wearing a bright red hat for visibility, one that could be seen from distances of forever. This was May’s first memory in life. Since losing his vision, he had felt himself just a whisper from being able to see that red hat in his mind; it was always just a