Logan barked a laugh, looking back at his friends. “Or what? You going to hit me with your stick?” Boredom and cruelty are a volatile mix. For Logan, backing down in front of Britney and Caleb wasn’t an option. His ego was too fragile, entirely dependent on dominating a situation where he held all the cards. And against a blind girl at an empty bus stop, he felt like a god. He reached down and grabbed the shaft of Harper’s cane. “Let’s see how tough you are without this,” he said, yanking it upward.
He expected her to let go. He expected her to gasp, to panic, to reach out with trembling hands into the void, begging for her eyes back. Harper didn’t let go. As he pulled, she allowed her arm to ride the momentum upward for a fraction of a second, then snapped her wrist down and twisted. The torque wrenched the cane violently out of his grip. The sudden change in tension threw Logan off balance. He stumbled forward, his heavy boots scuffing clumsily against the concrete. “What the fuck?” Logan shouted, embarrassed. He recovered quickly, his face burning hot.
“Logan, just leave it,” Britney said, her voice tighter now. The joke was souring. “Shut up,” Logan snapped. He turned back to Harper, his breathing ragged. “You think you’re funny?” He lunged forward and grabbed the cane again, this time with both hands. He didn’t try to pull it away. He drove his weight downward, bending the lightweight graphite over his knee. There was a sharp, sickening crack. The cane splintered in two. The internal bungee cord snapped, whipping the lower half of the cane against Harper’s shin. The sound of the break echoed loud under the plastic roof, cutting through the drumming of the rain.
Silence fell over the shelter. Caleb let out a low, nervous whistle. Harper stood perfectly still. In her right hand, she held the jagged, broken upper half of her cane. To a sighted person, snapping a blind person’s cane is property damage. To a blind person, it is an amputation. It is the severing of the sensory limb that keeps them safe from traffic, from stairs, from the chaotic geometry of the world. It is an act of profound, deliberate violence. “Oops,” Logan mocked, though his voice shook slightly. The adrenaline of the vandalism was hitting him. “Guess you’re not walking home today.”
Harper lowered her hand. She let the broken piece of the cane clatter to the concrete. The world around her shifted into high definition. The rain hitting the roof above was no longer a chaotic noise. It was a baseline rhythm. She filtered it out. She closed her eyes, a useless gesture physically, but mentally it locked her into the dark. She mapped the space. Britney was four feet to her left, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Caleb was to her right, maybe three feet away. His breathing was shallow. Logan was right in front of her, less than an arm’s length. He was breathing through his mouth. His weight was heavily planted on his right foot, leaning forward, chest puffed out in a posture of aggressive dominance. He was incredibly, stupidly open.
