Senseless

Anna

The day that it happened was an early rise for me. I love my sleep but in summer you need to decide which you love more, an extra few hours in bed or catching the sunrise.

On this day the sunrise had won and I was on the 5:30 bus heading into the city with a travel mug filled with coffee in one hand, and a fully charged camera in the other.

I’ve never been known as a morning person but it didn’t matter, there was no one else on board and even if there was I had my headphones in to prevent any attempts at conversation.

For some reason, which is probably my selective memory trying to block it all out of my mind, I can’t remember what I was playing. I also don’t know what I had hurriedly eaten before leaving and not even what I was wearing, all I know is that I had my glasses on.

This was my usual accessory and they were the circular, wirey ones made of gold that really brought out the red in my hair and the freckles on my face.

There was a whole collection of glasses on my shelf at home but these were my favourite and it would be an odd day for me not to wear them in favour of some other style.

I still remember my old job begging for me to get rid of them because it made my face seem so young when talking to clients. But naturally, I refused and it was as if they became a part of me and my stubborn personality from that point onwards.

It wasn’t long until we were crossing the bridge taking us from Gateshead and into Newcastle. Every damn time that view took my breath away and I can recall the rhythmic click click click of my camera as I rushed to try and get something, even though I knew it’d be worth nothing in the end from the moving vehicles going past the window.

I was here to try and get a picture of that same bridge but from the ground, and in the distance I could see the sun waking up and making its way into the clouds. My heart raced and every second that passed by was like agony as I silently begged the bus driver to put his foot down already.

Looking back on it now, I wonder if I’m the one to blame. If it’s my fault for praying for him to go faster and maybe if I had learned to maintain my patience we wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d probably feel guilty if anyone other than myself was hurt, but it was just me.

I didn’t read the report and I’m not sure if I ever will but from the force of the collision and the sound that exploded around us, I think that they had run the red light rather than just losing control.

I mean, from the amount of money that they had to pay out I’d like to think it wasn’t just a cruel trick of fate that caused it all, or I’d have to feel sorry for them rather than anger.

My dad always used to make jokes about how terrible BMW drivers are on the road and it used to be something to laugh at when they forgot something as simple as an indicator, but on that morning this driver wanted to take it to the next level it seems.

I was snapping pictures of the architecture while trying to keep my impatience at bay and I remember that in one second I was looking at a window ledge, and in the next, the world has been removed from under my legs.

That feeling of weightlessness still bothers me, even now and unless you’ve gone through something similar it’s hard to understand. I’ve never done a bungee jump but if someone was to push you off unexpectedly, I’d think that would be close enough to fit.

It was the glasses that had done the most damage. As I flew from my high-raised seat and out through the window, my camera rocketed straight back into my face, breaking my cheekbones and my lenses in the process. The shards of glass propelled into my eyes and the last thing I ever saw was the sky above me.

It was starting to lighten with the sunrise that I was so anxious not to miss... Little did I know that from that point onwards, I would miss them all.

I woke up four days later in the hospital wondering if my lids had been glued shut and why I wasn’t able to just open them to see my mother in front of me as she called out my name.

The pain and fear in her voice as so prominent and I remember how urgent it felt for me to be able to look at her and asses how deep it was rooted. She’s usually such a calm and soothing presence which is why it was so strange for me to hear her upset.

After living with her for 18 years at that point it was ingrained in me to take my mother’s reactions seriously and I hated how I was unable to rely on my sight to find out more.

After a few seconds, I became frantic. I was screaming for someone to help me open my eyes and to remove all of the bandages covering my face. I think I was sedated at that point because when I came around again it smelt different.

It was no longer a room filled with the scent of morning coffee, but of dinner time and I think it ended up being cottage pie or something else that was equally as disappointing.

The pain registered more this time around and it was probably from my nails clawing at my newly set face. Of course, at this point, I didn’t know my cheekbones were broken and couldn’t remember anything other than being on the bus.

When it was assessed that I was in a calm enough condition, a doctor sat down between me and my mum to let me know that the blindness would be permanent. I wept like a baby and still do on most nights. My sight was my life, my joy and my passion and in the space of a morning, it was all gone.

It wasn’t just my photography that I had to say goodbye to or my love of beauty in this world, but being able to do the most simple of things. I couldn’t brush my teeth, text, write, or drive. It was like being born again into a darker, less welcoming world.