Saturday, February 6, 2016

Wait Until Dark

     It was the one movie we all watched together every year, in the dark...on the floor, because it was so scary.
     There was even a part where my mom jumped and squealed, which didn't usually happen when we watched T.V.
     I was little, five maybe, and that big city fascinated me.
     It was scary, too, because it was so different from where I lived.
     The woman was beautiful but not in the same way as my mother. She was more like Marie across the street. They dressed the same, too.
     The movie scared me in a different way than it did my mother. She thought the bad guys were scary, but I didn't, not really.
     I was scared the moment I realized the lady was blind.
     How could she walk around like that, all alone in New York, looking so calm and pretty the whole time, like it didn't really bother her at all that she couldn't see?
     I couldn't take my eyes off her long enough to even be scared of the dead lady hanging in the plastic bag on the door. All I kept thinking was, "How did she do it? How was she not afraid all the time?"
     My mother talked to me during the movie, and that made it more fun. The more she talked, the less afraid I was. She explained the ways the blind lady outsmarted the bad guys, noticing little things they didn't because they were too busy seeing and being mean.
     By the end of the movie, she was the coolest woman on earth, and I wasn't so scared of that kind of darkness.
     It was almost as if she had special powers, but I knew she didn't because my mother explained that, too. All through the movie, she showed me how the blind lady saw things no one else could by using the rest of her senses more.
     To my five-year-old eyes, it was obvious she was using something else more than the others, too:  her brain.