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336 pages, Paperback
First published September 4, 2015
That's the one thing about being blind: you see people as they really are.
He moseyed toward his destinations at about half the speed of smell. (What does this even mean???)
I couldn't get any words to transit to my mouth. They slid around in my brain, unable to find an exit. (this is just an awkward sentence)
In my experience, they [healthy foods] tasted like either dirt or air--like something nasty or like nothing at all. (Again... what?)
Dad was the most ho-hum guy on the planet. (Is ho-hum even a word? *looks up in dictionary* okay you got me there, Marci. But seriously.)
Ben was the grand pooh-bah... (Now you're just making up words! Pooh-bah?! What does that even mean?! *finds out it's a real word* OH COME ON!)
For a woman who struggled to pronounce "twelve o'clock," Hilda sure knew how to materialize on my doorstep at exactly twelve o'clock. (Yes, because we all know that people with a foreign accent obviously can't read time)
Her no had two syllables, the first one for the no and the second one for the rest of the story. (I'm no longer sure how to pronounce the word no)
Brothy things were not my cup of tea. Mostly because I didn't like my tea served with wilty vegetables floating around it. (I'm pretty sure tea and soup are not equivalents)
The rough waters of the Estrogen Ocean were not easily navigable. (You have got to be kidding me)
I am not flirting, per se. I cannot help that I am a sexy piece of man-flesh.
Woman, your words wound me greatly.
The thing is, Thera? I just had one of those aha moments. The ones Oprah is always talking about? (Is Ben supposed to be a ten year old, or a middle aged woman?)
I wondered what that sort of ignorance would feel like, wondered what it would be like to not yearn to see the things I loved—the sky and the colors and the life.
I miss those minutes right around twilight, when it isn’t quite daytime, but it isn’t nighttime, either. It feels magical somehow, like you could do something phenomenal without even trying. I miss the scarlet in sunrises. And clouds. Stars. God, I miss stars.
"I dreamed in vivid Technicolor: light, color, texture, and sound, all synchronized into movies in my head. But when my world disappeared, the visual quality of my dreams began to fade with each passing night. The emptiness from my waking hours crept in, and my once-bright images blurred, became nebulous, and then finally blinked away, leaving nothing but random voices, thoughts, and ideas.
But tonight, I dreamed."
"You were wrong, you know," I told him. "Swimming isn’t your Thing. It never was. Not really. Your Thing isn’t just one Thing, but a lot of Things—being part of a bigger whole, letting others have the glory, proving you’re capable and strong and intelligent."
I looked up at the ceiling and blinked several times, trying to clear my vision. "Your Thing is treading carefully through life, refusing to hurt anyone or anything." My voice cracked horribly. I brushed away a tear that was scuttling down my cheek before going on. "Somewhere inside of you, you notice this is good. And so, you swim. You swim to show everyone that, although you don’t always get to choose your circumstances, you can always choose what you notice in them."
"Mason sat on the other side of me, resting his elbow on his propped-up knee while he stared at some unknown point on the horizon. He looked as if he were in a photo shoot for Rolling Stone magazine. The thing I was discovering about Mason was that he didn’t try to be larger than life, and this was what actually made him larger than life. He was so understated and so simple that he was grandiose."