I can't tell you, as another could, if her eyes danced with pleasure, or even what color they were. But I can tell you how long her legs were, and how soft and supple her curves felt under my hands. I can tell you how cool and silky her long hair was, and about the sweet murmurs of delight she uttered when we touched. And I could go on and on about her delicious scent- a heady mix of vanilla and lavender over the fresh aroma of soap-scrubbed skin. Everything about her left a permanent imprint on my memory, and it's an imprint I am very much looking forward to refreshing.
My golden retriever, Percy, lies quietly at my feet as I sit in a café, waiting for her. She's meeting me here at 4:00. I feel my watch- it's 3:54. I straighten my back and sit up, adjusting the sleeves of my trench coat, hoping not to look slouchy when she arrives. Percy chuffs, sensing my nervous anticipation, and I reach down to scratch behind his ears. He yawns and stretches his neck forward again, resting it on extended paws.
A figure looms a few feet away, as if waiting for me to notice its presence. But I knew who it was well before she got to the table.
"Can I get you another latte?" the waitress's voice thinly disguises a tone of pity. It annoys me, sometimes, when people who notice my condition sound like they feel sorry for me. But today, I'm so excited that I don't care.
"No, thank you. No more caffeine right now," I grin. "I'm just waiting for someone."
"All right. Just holler if you want anything."
I nod, she moves away.
Time is creeping by slowly, and I resist the urge to check my watch again. My thoughts are full of the last time we met… the first time we met.
*************
It was at the library just a few blocks from here. I always go there on Friday evenings, as it's the only one in the city that has a decent amount of selections in Braille. Buying at the bookstores gets a little too spendy for my budget, and there's not much point in buying books anyway. After I've read one, I remember it well enough without having to re-read. Besides, the less clutter in my apartment, the better.
It had been a warm spring day, and I was in the mood for light reading, so I decided on a collection of short essays and quotes from 20th century satirists. Whoever chose to keep the Braille in that area must have assumed that the blind had no use for windows; it was in the stuffiest, hottest corner of the library, and I never stayed there to read what I picked out. Although I could find it myself, Percy led the way straight to my favorite spot by the window in the main study hall, which everyone else used. I cracked it just a little, a breeze carrying in the sound of the city. The traffic several floors below hummed, and the distinct song of two robins drifted in. The leaves of the tree they perched in rustled just outside the window. The warmth of the setting sun poured over me as I settled back contentedly and opened the book, Percy sitting patiently by.
I was thoroughly engrossed in the material until catching that beautiful scent, her feet padding quietly along the marble floor as she approached the table. The chair across and down from me scraped a bit she pulled it out and sat down, her arms releasing a heavy load of books. I heard her unzip a backpack and pull out a pen and a notebook, the pages flapping as she opened it with a beleaguered sigh. Evidently she was not here to read for pleasure.
Percy took no notice of her, his breathing deep and restful as he stretched out in a sunny patch on the floor, as always. But her lovely, delicate scent assaulted me at this close proximity, and I drank it in, my hand coming to a standstill on the book. Her sigh, combined with the quickness of her movements and the apparent nature of her reading gave me to think she might be around my age, perhaps a little younger. I thought for a few moments about introducing myself, but quickly decided not to. For one, she was obviously here to study and probably didn't want the interruption.
Secondly, I was just plain shy. At twenty-five, I'd only had one real girlfriend in my life, a girl named Megan I'd gone to school with. Naturally I'd attended a school for the blind. Megan was seeing, but only barely so. She couldn't see at all out of one eye and the vision of the other was so fuzzy that she could only make out shapes, whereas I can't see at all. But the two of us clicked so well that we practically became attached at the hip. Her family moved away when we were sixteen, and it took a while to get over losing her. I really had loved Megan. Since she'd gone, romance, and everything that went with it, took a back seat in my life. It was a confusing enough struggle just to be on my own at first after graduating, trying to apply everything they'd taught us at school about getting on in the seeing world. To try and involve somebody else in my life in those first years was practically impossible, not to mention inadvisable. It's best, they'd said to us, not to rely on anyone but ourselves.
Eventually, I found my niche, but it was a solitary one. I tried to date once I found my feet, but it never went well. Women liked my appearance well enough, but my condition always made them uncomfortable. And more often than not, I got the feeling that they pitied me, no matter how stable and self-sufficient I was.
Not to mention that some of the ways they treated me were complete turn-offs. For instance, I was once out having dinner and a beer with a guy from one of my jobs, and a girl he knew joined us. I caught on right away that he was trying to set us up, and she seemed pleasant enough. When he got up to use the restroom, she asked about what had happened to my eyes- the scars around them, you understand. Most people don't notice until they're very close up to me. While explaining the cause of my blindness, I felt the movement of air around my face and realized she was waving her hand in front of my eyes, as if to test whether I was lying about not being able to see. I said nothing about it, puzzled by her attitude. After that she seemed amused, like the idea of dating a blind man was merely a novel concept.
Things like that are disheartening, and you might be surprised by how often they occur. People just don't think sometimes.
So I had simply gotten used to being by myself.
And that quiet Friday evening was no different. I went back to reading, trying to put the girl sitting at my table out of mind. Eventually it worked, and I found myself chuckling at the sharp wit of Dorothy Parker.
"What's so funny?" the girl whispered.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"No, it's all right. I could use a distraction."
I smirked. "Not in the mood for homework?"
"Not at all!" a book in front of her being closed. "I'd love to know what you're reading."
"It's just a collection of funny quotes."
"Which one made you laugh?"
"Dorothy Parker. She says here, 'If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at all the people He gave it to.'"
She giggled softly, trying to keep her voice low in the cavernous, hushed room.
"That's a good one."
"Yeah, I thought so, too."
"Have you ever seen that movie, Dorothy Parker and the Vicious Circle?" she asked.
I smirked again, wondering if she would realize her faux pas.
"Oh, shit," she groaned a few moments later. "I'm so sorry. Of course you haven't."
"That's all right. It happens a lot. I listen to movies sometimes, though."
"Are you a student, too?" she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
"No. I work."
