Yes, I’m blind. No, I don’t need help crossing the street.

I am sitting in the local Dunkin Donuts, working through a thesis reading, when the manager poses a question: “What happened to your eyes?” I’m legally blind, and it’s obvious. I squint at signs and lean into books. I look different, too, with a right eye blood-shot red with the remnants of a cyst removed in the sixth grade.