The boy started with remarkable eyes, a vision that could skip across bodies of water to distant lands like stones smoothed by waves. His ears were something to be talked about. He could hear the slow heartbeats of beasts hibernating in caves and under rocks across the country. With his hands, he could reach out into the ground and feel the shuddering vibrations of earthworms pulsating in tunnels through the soil beneath his feet.
Then one day, the vision began to fade in his left eye, and it became murky and useless like he was peering through a marble. Many months later, he noticed that a ringing had taken up residence in his left ear resting comfortably in the hammock of his ear canal and sidling up to the drum, until it became a pounding that eventually faded into a deafening white noise. He felt grateful for the feeling in his fingers, but then one day he woke up and his left hand was a tree branch that strained like dry roots when he touched the earth at his feet.
For many days, he walked and walked trying to recover what he had lost or find someone with senses in the left of their bodies to complement his right. Many times a day he rode trains, walked into stores, through parks, and under bridges trying to inquire after people like himself. He reached out his good hand and pushed open door after door. He squinted with his good eye and stored faces in his head. He listened with his good ear to one hundred thousand different words. But each time he started a conversation, he realized that those too, were one-sided.