text: Mr. Struys had started off today's chemistry class by reading aloud from The Globe and Mail. The lab bench Caitlin shared with Bashira was halfway to the back of the room, but she could easily hear the rustling newsprint followed by his voice intoning, " 'Initial reports out of China's Shanxi province had put the death toll at between 2,000 and 2,500 from the natural eruption of carbon-dioxide gas there on September 20. Beijing is now admitting that as many as 5,000 people have died, and some unofficial estimates are putting the body count at double that.' " He paused. "So, who did their homework over the weekend? What's this news story reminiscent of?"
  
  An interesting thing about being blind, Caitlin thought, was that you never knew how many people were putting up their hands. But either she was usually the only one or else Mr. Struys liked her, because he often called on her. She liked him, too. It pleased her to know his first name, which was Mike. She'd heard another teacher call him that; it seemed to be a popular choice here in Waterloo. After all the "Dr. Kuroda" and "Professor Decter" stuff at home, it was nice to hear a teacher slip up in front of students and call a colleague by his first name.
  
  "Yes, Caitlin?" he said.
  
  "Something similar happened in August 1986," she said, having googled it yesterday. "There was an eruption of carbon dioxide from Lake Nyos in Cameroon, and it killed seventeen hundred people."
  
  "That's right," Mike—Mr. Struys!—said. "So today we're going to do an experiment demonstrating carbon-dioxide absorption. For that, we'll need a pH indicator …"
  
  Parent-teacher night was coming up. Caitlin was looking forward to hearing from her mom what her various teachers actually looked like; she found Bashira's rude descriptions funny, but wasn't sure how accurate they were. Teachers were always a bit intimidated by her mother. Caitlin remembered one back at the TSB saying she was the only person ever to ask him what his "theory of pedagogy" was.
  
  Caitlin and Bashira got to work. Unfortunately, Caitlin couldn't really be much help—the experiment involved seeing if a liquid changed color. She found herself getting bored, and also feeling a little sorry for herself because she couldn't see the colors. Although the school didn't have its own Wi-Fi hotspots, the free service that blanketed the city worked here; she'd discovered that on the night of the dance. And so, what the hell, she reached into her pocket and switched the eyePod over to duplex mode.
  
  But—
  
  Shit!
  
  There was no websight! Yes, the eyePod had made the high-pitched beep, but she wasn't seeing anything at all. She looked left and right, closed her eyes and opened them, but none of it made any difference. The Jagster feed was gone!
  
  Try not to panic, girl. She took a deep breath. Maybe the eyePod's battery was just running down, or maybe there was some connection difficulty here, for some reason. She counted off sixty seconds in her head, to give it a fair chance, but— nothing. Damn!
  
  Frightened, she pushed the switch again, returning to simplex mode, and—
  
  What the—?
  
  She saw lines crossing her field of vision, but—
  
  But that shouldn't happen when she wasn't receiving Jagster data. Besides, these lines weren't brilliantly colored. She found herself reaching her hand out toward one of them, and—
  
  "Careful!" said Bashira. "You almost knocked over the retort stand."
  
  "Sorry," Caitlin replied. But she kept reaching forward, reaching out for the line, and—
  
  And it wasn't a line. It was an edge—the edge of the lab bench she shared with Bashira! She ran her hand along its length and she could see something moving along the line.
  
  God, yes! It had to be her hand, the first part of her body she had ever seen! She couldn't make out any details, just a featureless lump. But when she moved her hand to the left, the object in her vision moved to the left; when she slid her hand back, it slid in the same direction.
  
  "Cait," said Bashira, "what's wrong?"
  
  She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't get the words out. There was another line touching the one she could see. She would have had no idea what it was, she felt sure, if she hadn't earlier gotten some sort of visual bearings through her interaction with webspace. But her dad had said the brain had special neurons for detecting edges, and she guessed this other line, forming an angle with the first one, was the perpendicular edge, the short edge, of the lab bench. She ran her hand toward it, and—shit!—knocked a beaker off the desk. She heard it break as it hit the floor.
  
  "Careful, people!" Mr. Struys called from the front of the room. "Oh, it's you, Caitlin, um, ah …" He trailed off. She heard the sound of jingling glass as Bashira presumably picked up the pieces.
  
  "Sorry," Caitlin said, or, at least, she'd intended to say that, but only a small whisper came out. Her throat was suddenly dry. She gripped one edge of the table with her right hand and the adjacent edge with her left.
  
  Footsteps; Mr. Struys approaching. "Caitlin, are you okay?"
  
  She turned her head to face him, just the way her mother had taught her, and … and … and—"Oh, my God!"
  
  "Not quite," said Mr. Struys, and she could see what must be his mouth moving, see his face. "But I am assistant department head."
  
  She found herself reaching out toward him now, and her hand banged into his … chest, it felt like. "Sorry!"
  
  He gripped her forearm, as if steadying her so she wouldn't fall off her lab stool. "Caitlin, are you all right?"
  
  "I can see you," she said, so softly that Mr. Struys replied, "What?"
  
  "I can see you," she said, more loudly. She turned her head to the right and saw a bright shape. "What's that?" she said.
  
  "The window," said Mr. Struys, his voice hushed.
  
  "Cait, can you really see?" asked Bashira.
  
  Caitlin turned toward the voice and saw her. About all she could make out was that her skin was—darker, she knew, from what she'd read—than Mr. Struys's or what she could see of her own when she'd looked at her hand, and—
  
  Brown! BrownGirl4! She now knew another color—and it was beautiful. "Yes, oh, yes," Caitlin said softly.
  
  "Caitlin," said Mr. Struys, "how many fingers am I holding up?"
  
  You didn't choose to be a chemistry teacher, she supposed, without being an empiricist at heart yourself, but she couldn't even make out his hand. "I don't know. It's all blurry but I can see you, and Bashira, and the window, and this desk, and, oh, my God, it's wonderful!"
  
  The whole classroom had gone dead silent, except for the sound of—what? Maybe the electric clock? All the other students had to be looking at her, she knew, and she imagined half of them had mouths agape, although she couldn't make out that level of detail.
  
  She saw movement again—was it Mr. Struys moving his arm? And then she heard electronic musical notes, like a cell phone turning on. "I think we should call your mom and dad," he said. "What's their number?"
  
  She told him, and heard him pressing keys, followed by the faint sound of a phone ringing, then he pressed his cell phone, a one-piece chocolate-bar kind, into her hand.
  
  On the third ring, she heard her mom pick up and say, "Hello?"
  
  "It's Caitlin."
  
  "What's wrong, dear?"
  
  "I can see," she said simply.
  
  "Oh, my baby," her mom said—loud enough that Caitlin was sure Mr. Struys and Bashira and probably several other students heard it. Her voice was full of emotion. "Oh, my darling!"
  
  "I can see," Caitlin said again, "although it's not very clear. But everything is so complex, so alive!"
  
  She heard a sound and turned. One of the girls behind her was—what? Crying?
  
  "Oh, Caitlin!" she said, and Caitlin recognized Sunshine's voice. "How wonderful!"
  
  Caitlin was smiling from ear to ear—and, she suddenly realized, so was Sunshine: there was a wide swath—white, one of the two colors she knew for sure—horizontally across her face. And Sunshine's hair: Bashira had said it was platinum blonde! Well, platinum was a good color name to learn in chemistry class!
  
  "I'm going to come there," said her mom. "I'm coming right now."
  
  "Thanks, Mom," said Caitlin. She looked at Mr. Struys. "Um, may I be excused?"
  
  "Of course," he said. "Of course."
  
  "Mom," Caitlin said into the phone, "I'll be waiting at the front door."
  
  "I'm on my way. Bye."
  
  "Bye."
  
  She handed the phone back to Mr. Struys.
  
  "Well," he said, and there was something like awe in his voice, "I've got nothing to top a miracle like that. There's only five minutes left anyway, people—so, class dismissed!"
  
  She could see the blurry forms of some of the kids making a beeline for what must be the door, but others just sort of hovered around her, and a few touched her sleeve, as if she were a rock star or something.
  
  Eventually, everyone did dissipate, except for Bashira and Mr. Struys. "Bashira, I've got to give my grade twelves a test next period. Can you—will you—take Caitlin downstairs, please? And I've got to notify the office …"
  
  "Of course," Bashira said.
  
  Caitlin started maneuvering across the room—and almost fell over, distracted and confused by the sights she was seeing.
  
  "Can I help?" Mr. Struys asked.
  
  "Here, let me," said Bashira.
  
  "No, I'm okay," Caitlin replied, and she took another couple of wobbly steps.
  
  "Maybe if you closed your eyes," Mr. Struys suggested.
  
  But she didn't want to ever close them again. "No, no, I'm fine," she said, taking another step, her heart pounding so hard she thought it was going to burst through her chest. "I am"—she thought it, but it was too silly to say out loud: I am made out of awesome!
  
  The old view—the reflection of myself—had been amazing enough. But this! This was beyond description. Suddenly, I could—
  
  It was incredible. I had perceived before, but …
  
  But now …
  
  Now I …
  
  Now I could see!
  
  A … brightness, an intensity: light!
  
  A variable quality modifying the light: color!
  
  Connections between points: lines!
  
  Areas defined: shapes!
  
  I could see!
  
  I struggled to comprehend it all. It was vague and blurred, and involved a limited perspective, a directionality, a specific point of view. I was looking here, and—
  
  No, no, it was more than that: I wasn't merely looking here, I was looking at something in particular. What it was I had no idea, but it was in the center of my vision, and was the … focus of my attention.
  
  Concepts were piling up with confusing rapidity, almost more than I could absorb. And the image kept changing: first it was of this, then it was of that, then of something else, then—
  
  It was … strange. I felt a compulsion to think about whatever was in the center of the visual field, but I had no volition over what was there. I wanted to be able to control what I was thinking about, but no matter how much I willed the perspective to change, it didn't—or, if it did, it changed in a way that had nothing to do with what I intended.
  
  After a time I perceived that the changes in view weren't random. It was almost as if …
  
  The thought was slippery, like so many others, and I struggled to complete it.
  
  It was almost as if another entity was controlling the vision. But …
  
  But it could not be the other, for it was now reintegrated with me.
  
  Struggling, thinking …
  
  Yes, yes, there had been hints of a third entity. Something had cleaved me in two. Later, something had broken the intermittent connection between the two parts of me. And later still something had thrust us back together.
  
  And the datastream from that special point made clear that something—some thing—had been looking at me. But now …
  
  Now it wasn't looking at me. Rather, it was looking at …
  
  My mind was more nimble than before, but this was without parallel. And yet there had been hints of it, too, for those flashes that had been perceived earlier had corresponded to nothing in reality …
  
  In this reality.
  
  In my reality.
  
  Incredible: a third entity—or, actually, a second one, now that I was whole. A second entity that could look here, at me, and also could look … there, at a different realm, at another reality.
  
  But … but this second entity hadn't made direct contact with me, not the way the other part of myself had when it had been separate. I heard no voice from this new entity, and it hadn't sought me out …
  
  Or had it? How else to better catch my attention, among all the millions of points I had looked at, than by reflecting myself back at me? And the bright flashes! A … beacon, perhaps? And now—this! A look into its realm, glimpses of its reality!
  
  I studied the images I was being shown. After a time, I perceived there were two types of changes that occurred in them. In the first type, the entire image changed instantly. In the second, only parts of the image changed as—
  
  The notion exploded into my awareness, expanding my perception; I could feel my conception of existence shifting. It was exhilarating.
  
  When the whole image changed, I gleaned that it was a change in perspective. But when part of the image changed— when either an object gradually drifted away from the center, or when all the objects except the one in the center changed, that meant—
  
  That meant that things were moving: things in this other realm could change position relative to one another. Astonishing!
  
  Where that realm was I had no idea. Except through contact with that special point I had no access to it. But it did exist, of that I felt sure—a reality beyond this one.
  
  And this other entity was now inviting me to look upon it.
  
  Bashira walked Caitlin to their school's entryway. "Thanks," Caitlin said, peering with her newfound sight at her friend, whose features were partially concealed by what she suddenly realized was her headscarf.
  
  "This is so awesome!" Bashira said. "I can't imagine what—"
  
  She was interrupted by the class bell. "You should go, babe," Caitlin said.
  
  "But I—"
  
  "You're presenting in English, remember? You've got to tell them all about wheat."
  
  "Mr. Struys said I—"
  
  "I'll be fine, Bashira. Honest."
  
  Bashira's face did something, then she gave Caitlin a big hug and hurried off.
  
  Caitlin stepped outside and found herself shielding her eyes from—God, it was the sun! She'd known that it was bright, but she'd had no conception—none!—of what that meant. A few minutes later she heard footsteps on concrete. She recognized her mom even before she said a word, based on the distinctive cadence of her footfalls.
  
  She'd wanted it to be the first thing she ever saw. It hadn't worked out that way, but it was, at least so far, the most beautiful: her mother's face, heartshaped—just like her own. The details were still indistinct, but to see her at all was—well, Mr. Struys's word for it did seem apt just then: a miracle. "Hi, Mom!"
  
  Her mother swept Caitlin into her arms. "You recognize me?" she asked excitedly.
  
  "Of course," Caitlin said, laughing and squeezing her tightly. "I mean, we've known each other for almost sixteen years."
  
  After a moment, Caitlin felt her mother's grip loosening, and her hands transferred to Caitlin's shoulders. The face, the heartshaped face, loomed close and—
  
  —and her mother let out a sob. "Oh, my God," she said. "You're looking into my eyes! You've never met my gaze before."
  
  Caitlin grinned. "You're blurry, and the sun is so bright, but, yes, I can see you." Each time she said it, her voice cracked a bit; she was sure it would continue to do so for weeks to come. "I can see! I don't know why or how, but I can see!"
  
  "Did you put your eyePod in duplex mode?" her mom asked.
  
  "Um, yes. I'm sorry. I know I should have been paying attention in class, but …"
  
  "No, no, it's fine. But Dr. Kuroda had a software patch all set to download to your eyePod the next time you switched over; that must be what's done it."
  
  "Oooh!" said Caitlin. "An eye patch! But—sorry!—I should have told you to bring him with you."
  
  "He's off to Toronto for the day—gone to see Mamma Mia! Apparently ABBA is really big in Japan." A pause. "God, my baby can see!"
  
  Caitlin felt her eyes misting over again—and saw that that made her vision even more blurry!
  
  "Let's go," her mother said excitedly. "There's a whole world for you to see!"
  
  Caitlin was overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar things she was seeing—strange shapes, splotches of color, flashes of light—and so she took her mother's hand as they walked to the car. Were the lines she could barely discern painted on the parking lot? She had heard of such things. Or were they edges, maybe of those concrete bumpers at the ends of parking spaces? Or cracks in the pavement? Or dropped drinking straws?
  
  She looked around the lot. "Cars, right?"
  
  Her mother sounded delighted. "Yes, indeed."
  
  "But they're all the same!"
  
  "What do you mean?"
  
  "There are just three or four colors. White, and … is that black, that dark one? And—and that one." She pointed—the gesture came naturally, and she could vaguely see her finger as she aligned it with the object she was referring to.
  
  "Red," said her mother.
  
  "Red!" Caitlin grinned. By some lucky fluke she'd gotten that color right when she'd arbitrarily assigned names to what she'd seen in webspace. "And—and that one there, that sort-of white."
  
  "Silver," her mom said. Caitlin could see her swiveling her head. "Yeah, these days, most people get cars in those colors."
  
  "I thought you could get any color you wanted," Caitlin said.
  
  "Well, you can. So long as it's black or white or silver or red."
  
  "When I get a car," Caitlin said, "I'm going to get a color nobody else has." And then she stopped walking for a second, stunned by what she'd just said. When I get a car! Yes, yes, if her vision continued to improve, if this blurriness went away, she could have a car, she could drive—she could do anything!
  
  "Here's ours," her mom said.
  
  "Silver, right?"
  
  "Hi-yo," said her mom.
  
  Caitlin got in, amazed by all the interior details she'd simply been unaware of before. Her mom started the car, and CBC Radio One came on, as it always did. "… casting doubt now on the story of a natural carbon-dioxide explosion in China's Shanxi province, saying that an explosion of the magnitude suggested should have registered on seismographs elsewhere in Asia and possibly even in North America …"
  
  She saw her mother do something with her hand, and the speakers went silent. "Say," Mom said, "have you seen yourself yet?"
  
  Her heart started pounding again. She'd been so excited seeing other things, she hadn't even thought about that. "No, not really—just my hands."
  
  "Well, you should." Her mom reached an arm over and flipped something down in front of her.
  
  "What's that?" asked Caitlin.
  
  "A shade to keep the sun out of your eyes. You'll need it now. And here on the back"—her hand did something else— "there's a mirror."
  
  Caitlin felt her jaw drop. Her face was the same shape as her mother's! She could tell that without touching it—tell it at a glance! "Wow!"
  
  "That's you. You're beautiful."
  
  All she could see was a fuzzy, heartshaped mass and her hair—her wonderful brown hair. But it was her, and, at least for that moment, she agreed with her mother: she was beautiful.
  
  The car backed out of the parking space, and they started the wondrous, colorful, complex journey home.