Holt Barlow

Holt pushed up his glasses as he walked down the local streets of his neighborhood in northern California. He breathed in the cool air, relieved to be outside again. There was something about it that was so liberating compared to the confines of his room. A voice in the back of his head started nagging about how his mom was going to have a fit when he got home, but he pushed it aside; he would deal with that when he came to it. Right now all he had to worry about was making this last as long as possible.
  
  Two men sat on the steps of a house across the street, watching Holt go down the street during a lull in their conversation. The 15 year old boy casually walked with his hand slipped into his pockets. He was wearing a blue button up shirt with sleeves that rolled up to just above his elbows and open to reveal a plain red shirt underneath. His faded blue jeans were rolled up at the bottom so that they were just resting on the top of his yellow converse sneakers. His poorly matched outfit stood out like a beacon against the dull colors of the houses. The boy's pitch-black sunglasses were the same dark shade of black as his hair, which looked like it was due to be cut soon. The bangs of his hair reached over his eyes at some parts of his face.

  The sunglasses were what triggered the first man's memory. He lived on the same street as the boy. What was his name again…? Right, Barlow. Holt Barlow. He hadn't seen him much in the last few years. He made a face in the summer heat as he remembered more and more about the boy. What was he doing out here, four streets away from his house, with no one accompanying him? He frowned.

  "Eh," his friend said quietly, leaning over. "Isn't that that blind kid from your street?" The first man glanced over at his friend before both of their eyes locked onto Holt as he kept going down the street.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is," He replied distractedly.

  "Should we do somethin'? I thought ya told me that his mom doesn't like him being out by himself." The first man thought about it for a minute.     

  "Yeah, I guess we should go and take him back to his house. S'the right thing to do… right?"

  "Yeah, it is," his friend said with a sigh as he got up off the step. The first man followed his friend as they walked towards Holt. Holt was at the corner of the street by now, walking across the street to the next block. "Hey! Hey, kid!" The man's friend called out. Holt stopped as he stepped onto the curb and turned towards their direction. The first man jogged past his friend to reach him first.

  "It's Holt, right?" He said as he reached him. Holt nodded, hands sliding out of his pockets. "It's Mr. Conners. What are 'ya doing out by yourself?"
  
  "I wanted to take a walk," he said simply.

  "Did you tell your mom?"

  "What does it matter?" He said, then turned to walk away. Mr. Conners grabbed him genly by the arm.

  "Hey, I don't know what's goin' on in your head, but your mom loves you and is probably worrying about you right now, so how 'bout I take you home." He mentally cringed. That had sounded do sappy; if someone had tried to tell him that when he was a teenager, he wouldn't have listened. He had never been good at these sorta things.

  "It's not like I'm planning on running away or anything; I'm just out for a walk. I'll be back by Five at the latest, and I can find my way back. So thanks, but no thanks." He wrenched his arm out of Mr. Conner's grip and continued down the sidewalk. Mr. Conner rushed in front of him and gently made him stop, afraid that the blind boy would run into him or get startled. Holt stopped and crossed his arms in annoyance. "Will you just let me go?"

  "Nope. I won't hear the end of it if your mother finds out that I let you go wandering off by yourself. You're comin' with me."

  "You can't make me."

  "Can't I?" Mr. Conners was glad that he knew Holt well enough that he could do what he was thinking of doing. And that he had worked out at the gym in the past few weeks. He grabbed Holt and hoisted him over his shoulder in one swift move, during which he caught Holt's expression of surprise and outrage. He then started walking swiftly towards their street, struggling slightly as Holt tried to get off his shoulder any way he could. Mr. Conners's friend watched with amusement and followed from behind, listening to Holt's yells of outrage. Mr. Conners ignored all of the angry demands that spewed from the mouth of the blind boy. The occasional neighbor that was outside on that nice summer's day stopped what they were doing to look at the odd sight.

  Only when they had reached Holt's house had Holt stopped struggling. Mr. Conners set him down on the porch just as the front door opened wide. A pair of arms engulfed Holt in a matter of seconds, rousing a surprised yelp from him. His mother whispered something in his ear before turning towards Mr. Conners. "Where was he? I was so worried."

  "Just four blocks down, near Damon's house." He said, jamming a thumb backwards towards his friend, who was waiting on the sidewalk.

  "Oh, thank you so much for bringing him back. Would you like to come in for a glass of tea?" She offered, arms still hung loosely around Holt, to the boy's annoyance.

  "No thanks, but that sounds great. Maybe next time?"

  "All right, then. I'll let you go back; seems like Damon is a little impatient." She whispered the last part, looking back at the man twiddling his thumbs. Mr. Conners smiled at that. "Thanks you so much," she said again.

  "No problem," he replied over his shoulder just as he was leaving. He joined Damon in the front and the two of them went back to headed back the house again.

  Holt was ushered into the house by his mother before she closed and locked the door. "What were you thinking," She demanded, "going off on your own? You could have been hurt! You could have died! You should know by now not to pull theses stunts."

  "Maybe I wouldn't if you didn't keep locking me in the house," he argued.

  "I do that for your own safety," She countered.

  "You do it to hide me from all of your friends," Holt said, arms crossed. They don't fight that often, but when they do, Holt always knows that he is right. There were some days when her friend Mary would drop by, and his mother would always bring her out to their porch, never bringing her inside in fear that she would see her son. There was also the fact that he had never actually met any of her friends, either. Don't get him wrong, he loves his mother and knows that she loves him, but it seemed like she was ashamed of him the slightest bit.  

  "Holt Adrian Barlow!" Holt could imagine that her face was red right now. She made a series of exasperated noises before pointing down the hall. "Go to your room. NOW.  You're grounded."

  "'Till when?" Holt asked as he started walking down the hall.

  "Until Friday." It was Tuesday. Oh well, he thought, I guess I should have expected this. He walked down the hall to his room and closed the door behind him. He hated that his mom was so overprotective of him. It seemed like he was never allowed to anything.
And it's not like she has the reason to be so extremely overprotective of him. If she had paid more attention to him, she would have seen that he wasn't completely blind to his surroundings; the way he could naturally walk around without holding a stick out in front of him, the way he could look directly at a person's face when he talked to them or when they talked to him.  His mother probably assumed that it was from him being blind all his life, but she's wrong. Ever since he was four, he'd been able to see with his mind. His mother had told him that when he was very little, he had claimed that his imaginary friend was teaching him how to see; she laughed it off, thinking it was just his hopeful imagination running off in his four year old head. But Holt certainly didn't laugh it off, since he could actually see after that. He couldn't see in a normal sense, like most people reading this, but could see the outlines of objects in the sea of darkness around him. Once, when he had gone looking for answers of how he could see like this, he had heard the word aura. From what the librarian had described about it, it seemed like it described his sight more or less. Each person he saw was outlined with dark blue light; the same went for objects. He could see no detail inside the outline, but he was able to learn the differences in the outlines he was able to see. Soon he was able to put names to the outlines, learning the shape of each object or person.

  A long time has passed since then, and now Holt could differentiate things like a pro. Of course, there were some things he still could not do, like read, watch TV, or see any kind or electronic screen. He still couldn't draw or look at clouds either; but it was something in itself that he could see his surroundings.

  Holt sat down on his bed before grabbing his old iPod Nano off his night-stand. He felt around on its surface for the circular control pad, pressing one of the buttons randomly to turn it on. His thumb hit the play button on the very bottom of the pad, playing all of the shuffled songs. He was grateful that he had learned how to use an iPod, because without it he would be bored to death in his room. The first song to come on was a Beatles song.

"But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round."

  He sighed and hit the 'next' button. The steady rhythm of Paint It Black came on.

"I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes."

  Holt laid back on his bed and let the music drown out the noises of his mother in the kitchen.