By the time Orenda came over that next Saturday, the snow had hardened into a kind of unbreakable ice, and I found myself slipping everytime I tried to step foot outside. Of course, there was a good part to that, because Barry was also quite blind (in fact, he didn't even have light perception, unlike me) so he couldn't make his way over to my little bungalow to scream at me that week.

        My mom had offered to go over and drive him to our house for my lesson, but my dad wasn't down for that. Honestly, I don't think my parents really liked Barry, for a number of reasons. Nevertheless, each week they insisted on him staying with me in a confined room and talking to me about the 'Great Blind Ones', which was supposed to make me feel better about my differences or something like that. He had talked about Helen Keller's life story for a good three months in third grade, telling me how she was able to accomplish so much with only a few of her senses. I could do that too, apparently, but only if I strived to be a Great Blind One. I'd hate to admit it, but I had dreams every night about being the first blind person to beat all the video games, the first one to win a motorbike race, the first one to be remembered whenever someone brought up the topic of great people.

        In fact, I did just that. I ran outside one day, stole my dad's huge, bulky mountain bike and started riding it. My small feet failed terribly at reaching the pedal bars and I crashed into a complete stranger's backyard fence. It toppled over and fell on my face, which is why I have tiny, bumpy scars on the right side of my cheek.

        The stranger that picked me up and brought me inside to clean me up was actually Egan's mom. She had a strong Japanese accent and her house smelt of sweet incense.

        She set me down on the couch and started getting medical things, I believe.

        "Your face has blood," I heard a little Japanese accented voice saying to me, his (or her, I couldn't really tell what gender Egan was in grade three) breathing sounded like he had just ran ten marathons.

        "I know, dumbo." I spat back, touching the part that hurt, and cringing.

        "What is a dumbo?" He asked, sitting down on the couch next to me. 

        "It's you." 

        "Your glasses is broken."

        "Okay."

        "I'm Egan."

        "Hi, I'm Finnegan." I recited. My mom had always told me to say that whenever I met a new person.

        "Why are you looking at the window?"

        I snapped my head over to where his voice was coming from and said, "no reason."

        "You're strange."

        "That's mean!"

And by that time, Egan and I were tossing around the best insults our young minds could think of, which included, "you're fat!" and "I'm going to tell your mom!" and the rare, "YOU'RE HURTING MY FEELINGS!" Anyway, I left Egan's house in my mom's arms, her fawning over my cheek, and my scraped shin as well. Bu,t I went back to Egan's house a few weeks after that, because we had bombarded our parents with play-date requests; maybe so we could trade insults for the second time.

-----/////-----

Right at the strike of 1 (I had set an alarm clock, for my desperate and pathetic Orenda May Castellano obsession) Orenda burst through my window and slammed it shut.

        "Hey, Finn!" She said, cheerily.

        "Hi, Orenda."

        "Where are we going today?"

        I sat there and bit my lip. "What?"

        "I said, where are we going today?"

        "Uh..."

        "Like, what place?"

        "Is this a trick question?"

        "No."

I continued sitting on my bed in utter confusion, trying to think of every single thing she had said to me before, but I couldn't remember her telling me what we were going to do that week.

        "I-"

        "You're choosing, Finnegan!" she cleared her throat, "Finn."

        "I'm so confused." I exhaled and fixed my glasses, my brain getting squished all over again.

        "I've showed you one of my favourite places in this tiny town. It's about time you showed me one of yours, right?" Her words never skipped a beat, but my heart was skipping them all.

        "Um," I kept biting my lip. "There is this tree, about a ten minute walk from here. I like it, in a way."

        "Grab your jacket, and let's go!"

I did as I was told, but the only thing that kept pounding against the common sense part of my brain was the fact that my dad would kill me. Or at least surprise me in my room again. Orenda handed me my cane and took my hand as she slid through the window and broke the thin ice layer of the snow below. I tried to slide through gracefully, but I fell again. At least it made her laugh and touch my hair.

I think that Orenda was only doing this to benefit me. She knew that I spent the majority of my time sitting in my room and doing homework or hanging out with Egan killing zombies. My life was a calm lake and hers was a thunderstorm; and with each raindrop I rippled more and more until I was flowing with the rain and flying up with her to free others that were the same.

        "Do you know the way?"

        "Down the street, right, left ten steps, right, right, and straight forward for about sixty more steps."

        "Wow, you're quite the expert."

        "Thanks, memorizing the number of steps is my specialty."

        She laughed again.

I've always been sure how to describe laughs. I found them to be the easiest to describe, either choppy and breathless (like Egan's) or smooth and mellifluous (like my mom's) or deep and hearty (like my dad's). But Orenda's laugh was different. A bit of everything I suppose; the sun, rain and stars. It was bright, but dim, yet it illuminated everything that it touched. 

        "I think we're almost there. Sixty more steps," I muttered after I finished counting all of the turns. I had slipped a few times, but Orenda'd caught me with ease. Her fingers were still entwined with mine, and everytime there was an obstacle she would squeeze my hand gently, electrifying my entire body. Yes, I was like a blind lightning bolt that was getting electrocuted and I wondered if she felt the same way.

        "I see it!" She exclaimed in awe. "It's truly elysian."

        "Isn't it?" I responded, even though I had no idea what that word meant and I couldn't see how elysian it was. Orenda was the type of person to want equality with words, using the non-used words as frequently as possible.

        "So, why do you like this tree so much?"

        "Well, I don't know. It's kinda like a memory tree." I continued counting. 30, 29, 28...

        "A memory tree?"

        "Some people have teddy bears, some people have pictures. I have this tree."

        "Can I let you in on a secret?"

        "Sure."

        "This is also my memory tree."

I had counted down to 60 in my head and just like always, my fingers brushed against the rough, splintery bark of Willow and the coldness of it kind of made me realize just how soaked my shoes were. Again. I took and deep breath (along with Orenda, who was panting again) and every sound crashed to the ground and it was silent. 

        "Why is she your memory tree?" I asked Orenda. She let go of my hand hesitantly and sat down, the snow crumbling beneath her. I followed and sat with my back brushing against Willow slightly, the bark protruding from the trunk and harshly jabbing my jacket. My body was sinking into the snow ever so slowly, but I didn't really care. Her garden scent mixed in with the crisp air and the musky smell of wood and I kind of wanted to hug her and maybe travel the world or something like that.

        "My mom and I would always take walks around this area while she was pregnant with my little sister, joined with my dad, of course. Basically I walked by this tree every single day and everytime my dad would try and lift me up real high so that I could touch the hanging leaves and I really loved that. And by every single day, I mean every single day. It was like a schedule, really. Wake up, breakfast, television, tree, and the rest of the day goes on. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss that."

        "You have a little sister?" I asked, dumbfounded that I didn't remember anything about that during my mom and Mrs. Castellano's conversation. 

        "Um, not anymore." She sighed. "I never really did. Miscarriage."

        "Oh. Sorry about that." I pushed my glasses up absentmindedly.

        "Nah, don't be." She shifted positions and I could feel her staring at me but I wasn't too sure so I kept facing the way I was facing. "Hey, by the way, I found this little thing at the mall a couple days ago and I thought you'd like it." She grabbed my hand and put a smooth leather case in it.

        "What is it?"

        "Open it, Finnegan."

I felt around the box-like sides and eventually found the flimsy flap and unbuckled it. My fingers were numb and had lost all feeling by that time, so it proved to be quite a challenge; yet the heat from my face was probably enough to roast marshmallows or cook some bacon. The top of the case opened smoothly and I felt a smooth, cold frame.

        "Glasses?" I asked gingerly.

        "Yeah, they're, uh, I thought they'd be a good fit."

        "Hey, thanks." I took my small glasses off while keeping my eyes closed and replaced it with the glasses that Orenda had gotten me. "How do I look?"

        She laughed and said, "I can't see your face, Finn. Turn 'round." 

        I turned around and waited for her to speak, but she didn't until I tapped her knee. It occurred to me that she was also wearing jeans, which kind of took a lot of stress away from me because I though everyone was fooling me with the whole 'jeans are good things' talk.

        "You look very nice." Orenda finally spoke, and I smiled. I placed my old glasses into the case and buckled it up again.

We didn't really say anything after that and to be completely honest, I liked it. Soon kids started streaming into the little nook Willow resided in, and we got up and left. I kept my cane in my frozen hand and followed Orenda's lead. My face collided briefly with a branch and the snow fell down the back of my jacket, sending chills down my back.

        "What colour is the snow?" I asked Orenda, trying to strike up a conversation. She pulled me towards her and I bumped into her shoulder.

        "Sorry, there was a ledge. And...white? It's not really a colour, per se, but people think it is."

        "What?"

        "Like, it's a shade. But no one says that."

        "Oh, alright."

        "It's harder to describe white, admittedly. But the snow surely does look like a new beginning, you know? Everything from fall, summer and spring are piled underneath it like it's some sort of big fat eraser that wiped all the gunk away from the earth. Or maybe when you're out on a real cold day and you're wearing nothing but a sweater, that's quite white. But the paper that you typed those braille markings into, they're white and they're plain. It's like I could take a pencil and scribble anything on it and BAM I've created one heck of a drawing but if you just leave the paper there it's beautiful nonetheless."

        "So white is like waking up on a cold day and feeling pretty dead but knowing that there's still a pencil for you to draw with and create a wonderful masterpiece?"

        She laughed and we tripped on something as a result, making us tumble down into a strikingly cold substance. Snow.

        "Finnegan Annson, all I see right now is white and I've realized that I couldn't have said it better myself."