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Chapter One: Bat Girl

"It's like you're a bat" That's what my mum always told me. I liked it. It made me feel special like I had a superpower. I was Bat Girl! Not like the DC superhero, I'm afraid. And definitely not in the way of defeating bad guys or saving people from danger. More like living, moving, everyday tasks.
"You use the clicker and listen for the echo. It will tell you how far away something is. We don't want you running into any walls do we?" she said with forced compassion.
It was always quite patronising the way my mum spoke to me. She seemed to think that just because I was blind, that I became a vegetable. That I lost all of my common sense and had to be heavily reliant on others. I was still me, but I just couldn't see myself growing up. I couldn't see how bad my hair looked in the morning, or what questionable food my little brother had forced me to eat. I just couldn't see. And to some extent, that was okay, because it's all I've ever known. It was difficult for me to remember when I went blind. It was so long ago, that looking up at the blue sky is just a distant memory. I vaguely remember colours, so when someone says I'm wearing a red dress; I usually get what they mean. I always liked to imagine what I look like now. I guess that I have brown hair, hazel eyes and at least a decently good looking face. I always hear "Oh isn't she just the prettiest girl!" or "Look how much she has grown" All of those comments were clearly directed at my mother who mindlessly agreed, probably to make herself feel better. She always felt like she was to blame for what happened to me. As if she had failed as a mother. Sometimes, I can hear her in the corner when everything's gone quiet. And she will just weep to herself. I pretend I can't hear her for her own sake, but I can tell how much it affects her.
"Is that okay sweetie? Can you do that? I know it's going to take some practice but I know you'll get the hang of it" my mother waited impatiently for a response while I tried to understand the situation. You click and listen. It sounded easy enough. But what if there are loads of people around and I can't hear. What if I can't find my clicker? What if it stops working? Oh god. My thoughts were becoming overflowed, irrational. It happens a lot but I just tend to ignore it. Yes, as well as being blind, I've been given the gift of paranoia. It doesn't affect me as much as the obvious would. But when I'm alone and can't see, my mind tends to go somewhere dark. Darker than usual. I took a deep breath for a second to try and hide the mental breakdown going on inside my head and managed to spit out a few words.
"Yeah, I think I can do it." I didn't. I heard the doctor mumble a few words to my mother. His voice was raspy and deep. Not being able to recognise people by their faces, I listen a lot to people's voices. I notice their change in tone and that generally helps to understand where a conversation is going. I'm better at it than most people think. But before I knew it, we got up, mum signed a few papers and we left the hospital. Mum always says the last appointment will be the last appointment. But it never is. This time, she insisted that I use my new clicker to get to the car instead of my cane. The cane was always so faithful to me. It got me through most of my childhood, saved me from walking off a curb while my mother was talking to the neighbour. It helped me feel safe. Now I had to use this tiny thing that relied on me being silent. Maybe it's mum's way of shutting me up. I am very talkative. Right, focus Evelyn. Focus. CLICK. I tried my best to listen for an echo. CLICK. It's very faint but I could just make it out. CLICK. I walked forward cautiously. Both of my hands were out, I kept clicking every step to see if I could actually hear anything. I was relying on my muscle memory to walk to where mum usually parks, and the way we walked to get to the hospital. It's not as bad as I thought. I can hear when something is close to me, and I know when to stop. Maybe mum was right. I got to the car safely and shut the door with a considerable amount of force. And breathe.

I remember that day so vividly. I was 8 when it happened, the day I became reliant on a tiny device for my survival. The day I learned to listen and focus. It was after a few weeks of using the clicker that I finally adapted and got used to it. We slowly went from enemies to acquaintances. And I became better at clearing my mind. Which was kind of important seeing as my mental well being was at stake as well as my physical safety? I even attached the clicker to a string which was tied to my wrist at all times. Just in case I ever dropped or lost it. I still used my cane every now and again, mainly when I was in public so I didn't have to wait until it was quiet before taking a step. For that very reason, I avoided using the cane. Public situations weren't my forte. Mum says I need to meet more people like me, that I need to socialise more and "get out there". But the last thing I wanted was more people to disappoint and annoy. I'm 16 now. I've never been in a relationship and the closest thing to a friend is my doctor Dr Maurice and even he only gave me a lollipop half of the time. Well, there is someone. Sally. She walks with me to school sometimes and tells the bullies to "fuck off and go home" her words, not mine. She's lovely. I'm turning 17 tomorrow. I should be happier but birthdays aren't always the best for blind people.
"Wow! Look at that cake!" "Oh look how nicely it's been wrapped" "what a pretty necklace". I can't tell whether they're being ignorant, rude or if I'm just overthinking things. Either way, I always get hugs off my 4 family members that show up and a few bites of chocolate cake before going to bed with the thought that I'm another year older. This birthday seemed different though. A few days ago, my mum was on the phone to a woman whose voice I'd never heard before. She sounded sweet and unusually excited to be speaking to the woman who once sat through all of 'The Inbetweeners' without cracking a smile. I tried my best to listen to what they were saying but mum shut the door after she heard my damned clicker. That night I got little to no sleep. It was 3 AM, I'd been staring at the ceiling for hours, not that I knew what was there, but I was laying there thinking about that phone call. Who was she? Why did she sound so excited? Those are the sort of things I usually overlook but something felt different. CLICK... CLICK... that wasn't me. I checked my wrists. Nothing. I reached my hand out of bed to feel the bedside table. Nothing. "MUM?" it had to be mum. What else could it be? But why on earth was she using my clicker at 3 AM?. CLICK. "MUM?!" I yell louder. There's a low rumbling sound coming from outside my door CLICK CLICK I realise there's no use of screaming. And I can't see to run away. I sit there helplessly waiting. Waiting as my heart rate quickens. CLICK. The door begins to slowly creak open. I hide underneath my covers, the grumbling gets louder and louder, closer and closer—