Over the next few days, things progressed normally. Peter and I were very careful to make sure we didnít suppress Mike or be overbearing.
"Iím goiní next door," Mike said.
"Okay. Have fun, be careful, and be back by one so we can rehearse before tonightís gig," I murmured from the field where I was curled up, catnapping.
Mike chuckled. "Will do. Donít fall!"
I opened one eye to watch him grab his cane and head out the door.
A few hours later I was still curled up on the field -- with a book now instead of just napping, Peter was cheerfully whistling "Your Auntie Grizelda" while cooking up grilled cheese sandwiches, and Micky and Davy were playing cards when Mike burst in the front door with Isa in tow.
"What is it?" I asked, alarmed.
"I can SEE!" Mike cried.
"What?" Peter cried.
"Light. And movement. Not much else . . . but itís better than darkness!" Mike cried.
We all shouted in delight and swept him up in a group hug.
Two days later, Mike woke Micky and I, shouting, "I can see colours!"
"Groovey man, you can see colours," Micky mumbled, half-asleep. Then he repeated, an octave higher, "You can see COLOURS!?"
"Itís back Mick! ALL the way back!"
Last updated 03 DEC 98
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