I heard distant, cheerful chirping: so sweet and reminding me of the summers of my childhood, where my bedroom window was just steps from the woods and I would hear a chorus of songbirds seemingly trying to wake me every morning from my deep, dreamless sleep. As I listened more intently, I noticed the chirping was closer, and from one bird. Chirp, pause, chirp, pause. It was almost rhythmic and…digital. I looked out the window into the feathery canopy, swaying in the breeze, and my consciousness started to awaken. Where is this bird? How are you looking out a window that’s long been destroyed? How are you looking at leaves? How are you looking? How are you seeing?

I shot up in bed, sweating in the heat. I was panting, then coughing. I heard Riley barking incessantly. And I heard the chirping, which wasn’t chirping at all: it was beeping. It was the fire alarm. I stumbled out of bed and called to Riley. In the hot confusion of the moment, I didn’t realize Riley was at my bedside until I tripped over him, tumbling to the hardwood floor. I instinctively put out my hands to cushion the fall, but still hit my chin and banged my right leg against the night stand. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be any pain and, even if there was, I didn’t have time to sort it out. Riley was nipping at my sleeve and the alarm seemed to be getting louder and angrier. I crawled over to the bedroom door and put my hands on the doorknob. Warm, but not hot. 

Smoke stung my eyes and seemed to cloak my lungs in heavy, acrid wool. I hacked and opened the door. I braced myself against the doorframe to stand, but a knife of pain stabbed through my leg and I crumpled to the floor. I felt tears on my cheeks and wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke, the pain, or the fear. I crawled towards the front door and steadily felt hotter. Hoping fire hadn’t engulfed the entire house, I turned around and headed towards the door to the garage. 

Riley barked and pulled. As quickly as I tried to get to the end of the hall, I felt as though I was crawling through setting cement. Finally, I reached the door and groped for the knob. I felt its cool, smooth metal, twisted it, and flung the door open. I pulled myself up enough to reach the automatic garage door’s control panel, on which I pressed anything that felt like a button. At last, I heard the door open and a whoosh of cool air hit my face. 

I fell to the floor, crawled toward the outside, and then, collapsed.

* * * * *

Chirping again. Steady chirping. Or, beeping? Rough sheets. No sense of Riley’s presence anywhere. Antiseptic smells. And an ache that gripped every part of my physical and emotional being. And then, a hand touched mine. Soft skin and soft touch. Who?

“Joel? Joel?” A woman’s voice quietly asked. “Are you awake? It’s me, Tera. Your next-door neighbor.”

I turned my head toward the voice. I vaguely recognized the name. I think she had tried to strike up conversations with me a few times over the years during my daily walks with Riley. She squeezed my hand.

“What…?” My voice was raspy and my throat stung as I spoke.

“There was a fire at your house. They think it started in the kitchen. Your house needs some major renovations, but thankfully, it’s still standing. And you’re alive!”

“Ri—”

“What?”

“Riley...”

“Oh, your dog. He’s fine—“

I gasped and felt my throat tighten. I couldn’t stop the tears from sliding from my eyes.

“He’s staying with me.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“He sure misses you. I bought him some toys, treats. He seems uninterested. He’s just…waiting for you, I think.”

I wiped my eyes and sighed, thinking about Riley and desperately wanting to reassure him.

“The Association of the Blind and Visually Impaired has been here, trying to work out some initial details on housing arrangements for you. I’m sure it’s going to take some time before insurance, reconstruction, et cetera… you know.” She paused. “Seems like a great organization.”

“Yeah.” 

“Um, Joel, if you would like, you could stay with me. I have the room, and…Riley. Looks like you may be in a wheelchair awhile with your leg injury.”

I furrowed my brow, trying to sort out memories churning in my brain. Oh, yes, the fall.

“Well, think about it. You don’t have to decide right now. My late husband was in a wheelchair after a car accident...and we had the place remodeled to accommodate.” Tera fell silent. She let go of my hand and I heard her chair scrape the floor as she pushed it away from the bed.

“I—” I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

“I have to get work, but I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Take care.” She patted my hand and left.

My house was destroyed. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that: My house was destroyed. And now, I was going to be in a wheelchair. My life was in upheaval. The quiet routine I had worked so hard to establish over the last seven years; the routine that had pushed away the reality of my situation—the loneliness, the blindness, the isolation—was a smoldering heap.

I had no family, except for Riley. I had a few friends I had made through the Association and from when I worked, but no one close. And, generally, I was fine with that…until today, when I helplessly, hopelessly laid in a hospital bed with no routine, no home, and no backup plan.

Footsteps approached the bed. 

“Good morning, Joel. I’m Miriam. I’ve been taking care of you. Good to see you awake!” I heard some scratching on paper. “How are you feeling?”

“Achy. Confused.”

“Yep, you’ve been through a lot. We’ve got you on some mild painkiller, but we can increase it a bit.”

“O.K.”

“I’ll be right back.”

As I heard Miriam walk out of the room, there was a knock on the door.

“Joel?” 

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s David, from ABVI.”

“Oh, yes. Hi.”

“Just wanted to check in on you. I’m so glad to see you up! I don’t know if your friend Tera filled you in, but we’re looking into some housing arrangements for you while things get sorted out with your house. I think we have an apartment north of town available. Should be ready in a few days. It’s not the best neighborhood, but…given the unexpected circumstances…Anyway, we’re just so glad you’re alive.”

“Me too.” I said, surprising myself by how hollow my response sounded.

“We’ll give you call once we have more details. The doc said you’d be here for at least a few more days, so I think we’ll be ready by then. That Tera seems like a nice person. She’s apparently been here every day visiting with you. It’s good to have friends like that. See you later, Joel.”

Friends? I barely knew Tera. I thought about my options: living alone in an unfamiliar apartment in a questionable part of town or living with a stranger next door to my destroyed house. My chest tightened. Thoughts and questions bounced off the walls of my mind until sleep, at last, took over.

* * * * *

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. The automatic doors of the hospital lobby opened with a whoosh and Tera wheeled me out into the cool autumn afternoon. A short van ride later, we were at her house. I felt restless, nervous, and vulnerable, still questioning my decision to accept Tera’s invitation. 

“Well, you’re home, er, at my house.” Tera said as she exited the van. 

As she pushed me down the van’s ramp, I felt the sun on my face; the first time I’d felt it in weeks. And, I heard an ensemble of birds chitter. I had to smile. I was a little bruised and broken, but I was alive. My house was a disaster, but not destroyed. My sweet dog, just a few feet away, was awaiting a reunion with me. And I had friend—a new friend—who had been by my side without asking for anything in return.

“I’ve got some stew in the Crock-Pot, if you’re hungry. Thought it would be a nice change after all that hospital food. Sound good?” Tera asked.

“Yes!” And it did.

“Now, let’s get you inside. I know Riley can’t wait to say hello!”

Tera and I went up the walkway to her home. 

* * * * *

A year later, Tera pounded the sign into the ground with a mallet. 

“All set,” she said with a smile in her voice.

She grabbed my hand, and she, Riley, and I walked down the driveway of my old house, turned right, and headed up the pathway to our home. 

Sometimes fire destroys. Sometimes fire restores. Sometimes friends are strangers. Sometimes strangers are friends. And sometimes sight isn’t about seeing. Sometimes sight is about looking.

Author’s note: This story was created using prompts from Storymatic cards: blind person, person in wheelchair, burning house, invitation from a stranger.