Seafood; See Food

When I go to the grocery store with Lewis, we always make our way to the seafood section. "We're not here to buy anything, just to look" I explain to the confused butcher at the counter. Lewis can't get enough of the seafood section; he pours over each item like we're in a museum. In what has quickly become our custom, Lewis asks me to "take a picture to send to Mom" on his favorite displays. I used to send them to Ellie, but I've stopped; there's a limit to the monotony I'm willing to transmit. Instead, the photos collect on my phone and I'm sure there's a sentient algorithm somewhere reviewing my profile who just created a new category: "Kansan, big into seafood."

Last time we went, Ford joined us and Lewis showed him the ropes.

I wish I could see what Lewis sees. I wish I wanted to press my face against the glass of a grocery store seafood counter and teach my brothers to do the same. Somewhere along the way, I lost my sight. If I ever regain my vision, I'll be glad to finally understand these pictures. Or better yet, maybe Lewis will take me to the grocery store and hold my hand the way he holds Ford's and he'll show me everything I've missed all these years.