Come close your eyes

Today is March 17, 2014, and I have been having dreams of blindness. They are dreams in which I cannot open my eyes no matter how hard I try. I think the dreams are mutations of fear – of my inability to see the future. So today when I walk to my place, I sit on the bench, pull my booted feet up and rest my spine against the solid back. I close my eyes to the darkness and try for solace without sight.

A cool wind whips my hair like thin tassels against my forehead, while the thick sweet smell of cigarillo smoke affronts my nostrils, and they flare involuntarily - opening to take in fresh air still holding a faint hint of snow. A squeak of bird to my upper left; I know there is a tree there. A siren whirl pulls at my right ear, far down where I imagine the Southside slopes to be. The clank of metal reminds me of a boat dock, as the flag clip hits against the pole. Cars slide and race past not ten feet behind me; miles in front, down near the river, they make a different noise – one that sounds like a whisper from the far end of a tunnel. Then I hear footsteps and hasten to open my eyes.

A man is walking by in an oversized green jacket and after we exchange pleasantries betrayed by the sadness of his tone, I think about the way we make connections as people – how we speak to each other of hopeful things, even when we don’t feel them. I fold my hands and look out across the city. It’s the same city I always see, but different. There are little changes I don’t notice and can’t see. There are little people in little rooms making little bits of difference in the world all around me.

I look for the PNC tower now because my dad asked me the other day if I’d noticed the progress of it going up, and I admittedly hadn’t. I search for the outline of an unfinished building among so many whole. And I find it – its top baggy with huge white tarps protecting the incomplete upper floors. It’s settled right next to an enormous 25-story crane that sits like a fishing pole in the center of the city. With all of my looking at the city, I had spent less time seeking the detail and more about studying the amalgamation.

The new PNC tower is supposed to be the greenest building in the world when it is finished. This news is both exciting and unique. It instills a sense of pride in me – both for my city and for the earnestness of humanity. I see us wanting to make good.

I close my eyes again and try to feel the moment of this place – a cold river of air runs along my face. My heart palpitates my chest and moves me slowly like a rocking boat tied to a dock. I can hear wind chimes – a low bass that ricochets against itself and through to me. I think about how sometimes, when I am walking, I close my eyes for long moments as I move and wish that I could guide myself continually without sight – that I could feel safe letting my body move me through the world without always having to rely on sight.

When I open my eyes this time, there is a man a hundred yards down and leaning against the railing, he gazes through a telescopic camera lens. He must be trying to find something small – something beautiful – in the bigger picture that is this city. I understand this notion. I wonder if I will keep having dreams of blindness. If I might be missing some enormous building, and I simply have yet to notice. And to be honest, it wasn’t really the inability to see that made the dreams so terrible, but the frustration of wanting to despite it. So maybe my place here on top of this mountain holds some answers. Because it’s clear that even when our eyes are open, there are certain things we don’t see. Maybe it’s the same with my future. I’ve been looking at it for far longer than any other place I know, but I could have never foretold all of the beauty that was in store.