Out of Sight, Out of Mind

“Immanuel, are you watching this?” the teacher asks sharply,” You of all people should be worried about this.” I had been drawing on my desk, and she must have heard the scratching of the pencil. Her hearing is amazing, but then again, it must be fine-tuned from years of blindness. I return my attention to the shaky projection on the board. “The operation has been performed for 73 years now with no accidents,” drones the narrator of the movie, “ the operation is performed with the steady hands of a trained professional. Every surgeon spends seven years studying his craft, so as to guarantee a completely painless operation.” After almost 14 years of watching this video, I can deliver most of the lines verbatim. The movie’s dialogue continues, and I mouth the lines along with it,” Patients are sedated with Tribomoenthanol, and the surgeons will remove the eye’s pupil, cornea, and iris. This blinds the patient with a 100% success rate. For the 73 years without war, the nation can thank the effectiveness of this operation.” An American Eagle is projected on to the screen, and we are dismissed by the teacher. “ Have a good weekend everybody, and good luck with the operation tomorrow, Immanuel. Remember it’s painless!” she manages to squeeze in as I exit the room.

Five steps to the door. “One, two, three, four, five,” I count. 17 steps to the end of the hallway. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” I count as I drew to the door. 23 steps to the street corner, the lights change every 30 seconds. 10 quick steps across the intersection, 23 more steps to the next intersection, 30 more seconds for the light to change, 10 more quick steps. I began to count my steps several years ago because I know it will help me feel my way around a dark, new world after the operation. As my counting continues, I gaze around at the dull, colorless world around me. Color is unnecessary in a country of blind citizens, so factories never bothered to create dyes or paints of previous centuries. The only spot of color in the world is the clear, blue sky. This wild blue yonder is a welcome contrast to the endless monotony of grey that permeates my world. On this particular day, I stop to stare at this beautiful expanse for several minutes before continuing on my way.
I return to my home on the 23rd floor of 423 36th Street. My mother left me dinner before she went to her night job as a nurse. I sit somberly eating as I recall another day three years ago. It was another day with a clear, blue sky. It was another day where I stopped to look at that sky. It was my last day that was free of hatred. I will never know how long I stood staring at the sky that day; it may have been only a minute, or possibly as long as half of an hour, but the next thing I knew, a voice interrupted my musings,” Watch where you're going.” I was brought back down to earth and into the white eyes of a man returning home. I still shudder to remember how his completely white, blind eyes seemed to look straight at me as he passed by.
His eyes were only the first, all of the other blinded eyes in the street seemed to watch me too as I passed by. I knew that it was impossible for them to be seeing anything, but I quickened my pace anyways to avoid these eyes that seemed to examine my every move. I felt like a caged animal, wherever I turned, I was greeted by these white orbs, and there was nowhere to hide. I took a deep breath and focused on counting my steps. 23 steps to the next intersection, they're watching me, 30 seconds for the light to change, they’re watching me, 10 quick steps across the intersection, still watching. I turned left and charged into 423 36th Street. I entered the elevator and waited for it to climb to the 23rd floor. I caught my breath and tried to tell myself that I was being silly and foolish, but I knew in my heart that I was still on edge.
Ever since that day, I’ve harbored deep-seated hatred of the blank, white stares of everyone who has undergone the operation. At this exact moment, my ruminations are interrupted by the clock to my right chiming 7:00 PM. I stand and recite the pledge of allegiance,” I, as a citizen of America, pledge that I will never feel anger or hatred towards another person or thing, I will not judge a person based on his appearance, and furthermore, I will turn myself or others in if any of these behaviors are exhibited.” I sit back down to my meal. As usual, I feel a searing guilt fill my soul after saying these words. I have felt anger and hatred upon seeing a person with white eyes for three entire years. The guilt has been eating my insides for this same amount of time. Hatred was forbidden, and hatred was a crime, but I still refuse to turn myself in. It is the very nature of secrets to reveal themselves over time, and I know that somebody at some point would realize my hatred, realize my sins, and once I was reported, there would be no Immanuel Holter. My own mother would be told to forget my name.
I’ve pinned my hopes on the operation to rid me of my hatred. Ever since the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., the U.S. government has blinded children at age 14. A blind person is unable feel prejudice and hatred towards a person based on their appearance because they simply can’t see. Without hatred, there is no war or violence or anger. Without hatred there will be no secrets for me to hide. Without hatred, my gnawing guilt would disappear. Without hatred, I wouldn’t disappear. A warm excitement floods into my bones, chasing away the cold guilt. A life without the burden of worry and guilt seemed almost too good to be true. This excitement still flooding through my bones, I retire to bed drifting into a calm and dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I wake up full of the boundless energy that seems only attainable from a good night’s rest. I waltz into the kitchen, eat a piece of toast, and head for the door. I run all the way to the hospital, and I don’t even bother to count my steps. I can see salvation on the horizon. The chains of guilt and worry are to be broken on this fine day. Nothing can bring me down. All of the blank stares in the world couldn’t dampen my mood. I enter the hospital, nearly skipping, and tell the receptionist my name. “An Immanuel Holter is slated for his operation in a quarter of an hour” I sit down in the seating area. Still full of energy, I am almost beaming at the four other kids, but then I notice that they are all worried and apprehensive-looking. Paranoia crashes down on me and I wonder “What if I look out of place? The only reason a person would be excited about the loss of hatred is if they had hatred in the first place. I no longer have to act worried, I am worried. A quarter of an hour later, the receptionist calls me forward. I am told to enter a door two doors down the hallway. To ease my worry, I count my steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Nine steps to the door. I open the door, One, two. Two steps through the doorway. One, two, three, four. Four steps to the table. One, Two, Three. Three seconds before I am unconscious.
Presumably several hours later, I wake up. An odd pinging noise fills the air every few seconds. At first, I think that this is some strange dream induced by the anesthetics. I lie in the blackness, but several seconds into this odd dream, a doctor’s weary voice splits the darkness and the pinging noise. He regurgitates an obviously well-rehearsed speech. “You are now free from the evils of hatred, and can now live without the weight that is prejudice.” I feel him clip a small strap around my wrist. He explains,” Your ears have been altered to allow for the detection of high frequency electromagnetic pulses or HFEPs as they are more commonly called. These HFEPs are emitted from every object and person in the U.S. HFEPs help you to find your way now that you are blind. It is suggested that you move slowly so as to avoid accidents while you become accustomed to these HFEPs.
Leaving the operation room, I am feeling more elated than I thought a person could feel. Freedom from the guilt and worry make me feel as light as a balloon ready to be lifted into the sky. The HFEPs were slightly irritating, and the omni-present darkness was a bit stifling, but it was a small price to pay for freedom. I get up from the table and walk straight into the door. Feeling a bit silly, I open the door, and listen carefully for the HFEPs, they fill the air every three seconds, so I’m able to clumsily make my way back on to the street. Now on the street, I am much more confident, I know exactly how many steps it takes to get anywhere in the city thanks to years of counting over and over again. I begin to count. One, two PING. I lose my count as the HFEP splits through the darkness, so I start again. One, two PING. I lose my count again. I never lose my count! Exasperated, I look up to the skies, my ever-present comfort, but I see darkness. Everything is darkness. Any deviation from this darkness, even the monotonous grey of everyday life would be welcome at this particular moment, but all I see is darkness, all I hear is PING, and it’s suffocating me as a python suffocates its victims.
After nearly two hours, I am able to find my way back home. I eat my dinner, and at 7:00 I stand to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. “I, as a citizen of America, pledge that I will never feel anger or hatred towards another person or thing, I will not judge a person based on his appearance, and furthermore, I will turn myself or others in if any of these behaviors are exhibited.” For the first time in three whole years, I am able to say those words truthfully, and I don’t feel the nagging guilt that has resided within my soul for the last three years. I go to bed feeling completely satisfied with myself. However, while I lie there, the HFEPs resonate from the walls of my room, from the mattress I am sleeping on, from the floor in my room, from my very person. These pings keep me awake for hours. I lie there, and the darkness shrinks around me to create a cocoon that invokes a sense of claustrophobia. There was no escaping this cocoon, the darkness was inescapable.
I wish for sleep, I pray for sleep, and I become angry at the HFEPs for keeping me awake. Then I realize that I was angry. I am dumbstruck that I have become angry. How am I mad when the operation was touted to remove the ability to be angry? When I realize that I have felt anger and hatred, the feeling of guilt slithers back into my stomach. This guilt is what I had undergone the operation to rid myself of! The operation was unsuccessful! I still felt anger and prejudice and hatred and distaste and loathing, but most of all I still felt guilt. I become angry. I am angry at the pings, angry at the darkness, angry at the doctors who blinded me, angry at the people who had told them to do so, angry at the sky, angry at the receptionist, angry at the pledge, angry at the white, unseeing eyes, angry at the futility of the operation, but most of all, I am angry about the very state of being angry. Anger, punctuated by HFEPs fills my mind. PING, I get out of bed. PING, I put on my shoes. PING, I smash the window. PING, I step into the window. PING, I jump. The pings stop.