It wasn’t that she was blind, or anything like that. No, it was that she simply had nothing where her eyes should be.
My sister had told me about her, one evening, after playing faeries in our backyard. We were standing on our porch, in the last golden rays of the sun when she leaned over to me, and I could tell she was going to be serious for a moment. I always felt special when she did this – told me secrets and all – since I was nearly four years younger, and it made me feel so much more mature talking to her.
“There’s a girl, she’s new at school,” she confided in me, her voice hushed, “her name is Ashley, and she simply has no eyes.”
“She was born without them”, she interjected, somehow knowin