ABSTRACT

I believe that in every blind person’s imagination there are landscapes. The world is gray and marine blue, then a clump of brown shingled houses stands revealed by rays of sun, appearing now as bisonshaggy and still. These are the places learned by rote, their multiple effects of colormade stranger by fast-moving clouds. The unknown is worse, an epic terrain that, in the mind’s eye, could prevent a blind person from leaving home. Since I know the miniature world of

Geneva,NewYork, I decide to attend college there. On campus, though, there are sudden skateboards. I wish for a magic necklace

to ward them away. The quadrangle is a world of predatory watching, and so I begin affecting a scowl. I look serious, as if my corpuscles have turned into hot pearls. I’m the angriest-looking boy on earth. The dean’s office knows about my eyes.