HIS EYES

'What does it look like?' asks the young blond-haired man wearing dark glasses.

'Why don't you wear your device so you can hear it for yourself,' retorts the young dark-skinned man standing by his side. He gazes at the huge copper gate in front of them, trying to control his heart pounding in his chest with deep slow breaths. His friend cannot see it, but the immense building before them is impressive. He worries that Jeremy has already sensed his nervousness and as a result, he may start doubting his ability to take up this challenge. Yet, he believes his friend's courage stronger than the old-fashioned white architecture with immovable straight shapes facing them. The two young people look like cute little cubs at the mercy of a terrifying mythical creature.

'My device can't be frightened by what it can see,' Jeremy replies. He turns a stern face to his friend who immediately pivots his head towards him. They remain silent for a moment, the sighted young man gazing at his own reflection in the dark spectacles.

'Go on Malik! I want to hear it from your mouth,' resumes Jeremy.

As his friend's voice arises gently from the blackness of his inner world, the gate, the structure and their surroundings emerge gradually before Jeremy. First, the shapes and colours appear blurry and faded until they come more and more vivid. The powerful creature seems so familiar to the young man who listens intently with his whole body. The monster may manifest itself in a different form this time, but Jeremy knows that he has defied similar giants throughout his young life: the fear and doubts from within which become palpable once you start believing in them.

Chicago (USA), 2074

'Hey, Jeremy! Where are you going now?' a male voice shouted behind the teenager. It was his best friend, Malik, a dark-skinned teenager his age.

'The guys want to go to the shopping centre, I'm going too. Do you want to come?' he continued.

'Why not,' Jeremy said, taking a few steps towards Malik's voice. The teenager came closer to his friend allowing Jeremy to follow suit.

It had always been like that between them ever since they met on the rink, when they first played together. Although Jeremy couldn't see with his eyes, he could see with his hands and ears instead. Sounds, vibrations, sensations were his sight. However, the teenager also seemed to have another specialty, unfamiliar even to other people with his condition: he was extremely sensitive to body heat. He could identify it and track it down like a predator. His friend always wondered how his friend could do that. On the rink, the pair was remarkable: strength, agility, warmth, complicity and intuition.

When they joined the group at the shopping centre, Malik received a text message telling him to go to the eighth floor for a "very special game". Nobody usually went to the eighth floor unless they wanted to admire the view of the shopping centre from the high walkways.

'Hey, Yellow Hair!' the voice of a teenager called as they came out of the lift. A group of five teenagers stood in front of them defiantly.

Jeremy recognised the voice of the individual, and without saying a word, he started walking towards the group at Malik's pace. Many called him Yellow Hair. He didn't like that name. Some called him the Blind; he didn't like that name either. However, he had grown up to understand that some people had the privilege of choosing their own name as well as the name for everyone else. For everyone else on the other hand, they had to take on whichever name had been chosen for them.

'Do you think you can run to the other end of the high catwalks?' the voice continued mockingly.

'What's that question for?' Malik retorted, but Jeremy stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, 'Take me to the high catwalks.'

'Which one? There are several of them,' his friend replied.

'The one that could be the same length as a rink.'

'You're not going to play their stupid game and get hurt!' Malik exclaimed, staring at him.

'No, but I want to play my game,' the teenager replied with a smirk.

Indeed, Jeremy had always acted fearlessly from the first day they met. Running across an empty catwalk on the eighth floor of a shopping centre definitely sounded like the kind of games Jeremy would play. Malik turned around to look for a catwalk that could be as long as a rink.

'Do you want the distance in length, width, or circumference?' he asked reluctantly.

'Are the catwalks all flat and in straight lines?' Jeremy questioned.

'Straight lines, yes, but they're curvy as well, a bit like flying dragons.'

'Okay, so the distance is even longer than what you can see,' he said, thinking for a moment, 'The distance in length, please, but remember that the distance is going to be longer than what you see.'

Malik turned around again to assess the four catwalks intertwining above the air, the shoppers coming and going, looking so small and insignificant at his feet. It was difficult for him at this moment to appreciate the fact that all these people seen from so high up, seemingly so small and insignificant, had actually the same size, the same features, and the same humanity as him.

'This one should do,' he finally declared aloud, addressing Jeremy. He walked towards his friend before directing him closer to the edge of the catwalk.

'Are there any obstacles on the catwalk?'

'Nope.'

'How about the other side?'

'If you run too far too fast and you don't stop in time you can smash your head against the lift,' Malik replied in a reprimanding tone.

'Are there people walking on the catwalk?' Jeremy probed.

'Nope, no one,' the teenager replied, shaking his head.

'No walls?' Jeremy kept questioning.

'No walls,' his friend confirmed, nodding.

'No ramps?'

'No ramps, either.'

Jeremy slowly walked towards the edge of the catwalk to squats down and estimate the width with his hands. Then, he stood back up and began to do the same with his feet.

'Straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles, correct?' he resumed.

'No obstacle except the lift waiting for you at the end of the line,' the teenager rectified.

'What if you waited for me at the other end?' Jeremy wondered out loud, then he turned his face towards Malik, 'You could tell me when to slow down to stop.'

'That's a good idea,' Malik smiled, admiring his friend's ingenuity.

'Hey... No, that's not in the rules!'a voice rose behind them. Until now, the group of youngsters had been observing the scene silently, amused, and perplexed.

'Shut up Isaac! It's my game now! But you're welcome to watch me play if you want,' Jeremy retorted. He nodded at his partner in crime to instruct him to go to the other end of the catwalk.

'Take my cane too and tell me when you're there,' he added, extending his cane towards the catwalk when he heard the teehager's familiar footsteps stepping on it.

'Yes sir!' the latter replied. He turned to grab the cane. Then, he headed back to the catwalk.

Audacity felt so unfamiliar to the teenager unlike his friend. He admired Jeremy's audacity which always reminded him of the stories of rebellions and fights for justice of people of his skin colour long before he was even born. In his position today, which was very different from theirs, and by the mere fact of the same skin that made them the heirs of human misery, he was unable to identify with audacity the way Jeremy did. Today, he no longer needed to be bold to make his way into the world of others, nor to prove anything to anyone. Everything was normally due to him, with some effort of course.

'I'm there!' Malik shouted from the other end of the catwalk.

His voice confirmed to Jeremy that his friend had correctly estimated the distance from the footbridge. He assessed his position in relation to the catwalk using his feet one more time. He stopped for a moment to listen carefully to the impatient group of teenagers behind him as well as the hubbub of the people crowding at his feet. The air conditioning in the shopping centre was cooler on the eighth floor. Straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles in the distance, reasonable width for someone of his build, but there was no wall or ramp to hold him back if he ever swung a few centimetres too much. Running straight; he had to run straight along a line he couldn't see and his friend on the other side would tell him when to slow down. However, he would have to be careful not to slow down too suddenly otherwise he might lose his balance.

Jeremy took a few deep breaths. Once, twice, three times and....

The teenager started running on the catwalk; straight line, curve, approximate length of a rink, no obstacles in the distance, reasonable width for someone of his build, but there was no wall or ramp to hold him back if he ever swayed a few centimetres too much.

'Jeremy, slow down!' the teenager heard Malik's voice rise ahead of him.

He knew the distance still wasn't short enough for him to slow down without swaying, so he continued to run at the same pace.

'Jeremy, slow down, I'm telling you to slow down!' the voice came out again in front of him. Still too soon.

'Jeremy!' Malik shouted.

'Now,' he thought, suddenly slowing down. As he suspected, he immediately lost his balance. He felt his body sway, but he didn't know where he was or in which direction to go to avoid a fall. Even before he could make a decision for himself, he felt strong hands grab his arm, pulling him.

'Got you!' Malik exclaimed, bursting out laughing in his ears. The teenager was still disoriented and out of breath.

'I need to sit down,' he gasped.

Malik guided his friend towards a bench, still laughing at the top of his lungs.

***

'Mr. Ridley, Mr. Ridley, Jeremy Ridley,'

The young man doesn't react immediately to the call, absorbed by the commercial on the screen in front of him.

'In the US, no crime is left unpunished, let alone a crime against your family, loved ones, or yourself. Yes, justice has a price, but a price that fits your needs and your means. That's why...'

'Yes, sorry,' Jeremy gasps then he turns to the female voice. He guesses that the woman is middle-aged and a little overweight. He lets himself be guided into a corridor by a firm, chubby arm.

'Please be seated,' the woman instructs him as she pulls a chair towards him. He grips the chair with one hand to take a seat.

He hears fingers typing away, people moving on their chairs, followed by two men's footsteps. They stop to stare at him with great interest from a short distance for a moment.

'Good morning,' Jeremy says.

One of the two doctors comes forward, rolling a chair before stopping opposite him.

'Good morning, Jeremy! Take off your glasses, please," says the man.

Jeremy removes his glasses to hand them to the doctor who places them on a counter while another man moves closer. He feels their gaze scrutinising him like a work of art. They are ecstatic over what they see. A minute passes. One sighs, the other rubs his hands. Finally, he addresses him again:

'It happened to you very young, didn't it?' the first man starts to interrogate.

'I was five years-old; one of the doors was left open. My mother found me unconscious outside.'

'And the burns to your face, chest, or arm?' the other man questions.

'I had several reconstruction surgeries, there are no scares, at least from what I'm told.'

'No, there isn't; your skin looks flawless.'

'I still have scars on my back though, my mother could no longer pay for the treatment.'

'Don't worry Mr Ridley, in a few weeks' time, you'll bless the day that did this to you.'

A few hours later, Jeremy comes out through the gate smiling. After his discussion with the doctors, he already feels like a new man. He begins to weave through the crowd of pedestrians around him with confidence when he hears Malik's voice calling behind him. He jumps before turning to his friend.

'You're still here?'

'So, how did it go?' the young man asks.

'Great. They made me undergo a whole series of tests of all kinds, which I obviously passed,' Jeremy explains, his head slightly tilted towards the ground.

'As humble as always,' Malik says, patting him on the shoulder before adding with a knowing grin, 'What will it be like when you've regained your sight?'

'You'll see, unless I make a new group of friends!' Jeremy retorts, laughing, his head still tilted towards the ground.

'Very funny!' Malik replies sarcastically, 'They say it's a company of posh people. Their agents are all children of well-off members of society, very high-ranking, like kids of ministers, future members of the World Assembly... you get the picture...'

'Yeah, that's to say, not my type at all!' Jeremy remarks. He stops for a moment to turn to Malik then he continues with a broad smile, 'Being able to see again won't change who I am, neither in my eyes nor in the eyes of the rest of the world, you and I know that. No one from the ancestral people ends up in the World Parliament unless they're the remote-controlled puppet of the right-thinking elite.'

'And Jeremy Ridley will never be anything like a remote-controlled puppet!' Malik exclaims. He smiles proudly at his friend, but then his gaze darkens for a split second as a breeze of doubt crosses his mind. The young man knows from experience that the tentacles of society have managed to suffocate many before them, forcing them to accept the unacceptable: denying their potential for fear of going against conventions.

'And if I ever forget, I'm counting on you to remind me, OK?' Jeremy says as if he has sensed his friend's fears.

'Okay,' Malik replies pensively. The latter immediately turns around to continue walking guided by his cane and the presence of Malik by his side.