A Memory of Red

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."

"May I ask…?"

"Sure," I smiled. "I'm a translator. I speak Spanish, French and German. My principle work is in the court systems, but I also record audio books into those languages."

"You're quadrilingual? I'm impressed."

"You'd probably be less impressed if you saw my paychecks."

"Hey, as long as you enjoy your work, that's all that counts."

"I agree. And, yes, I enjoy it, especially recording the books, since it helps people with my disability. It's good to know that children who haven't learned to read Braille yet can still enjoy stories."

"I can see why they hire you record them. You have a gorgeous voice."

"No," I corrected with a grin. "You can't see why. But you can hear why. Thank you for the compliment, though." I scooted my chair a bit down the table, knowing that seeing people like to "face" those whom they are talking to, and reached out my hand. "I'm David Getty." Her hand gripped mine immediately in a warm shake that lingered a few moments longer than a normal greeting.

"Sarah Kingston." I could hear the smile in her voice.

Sarah and I bantered for a long while after that. I'd never met someone so easy to talk to. She didn't seem put off by my blindness at all, nor did she have that inevitable tone of misplaced compassion when she spoke to me. I felt like she was an old friend I was just catching up with. She was twenty-one and attending the city university, studying physical therapy. That amazed me just a little. Being a physical therapist is challenging, but her intellect seemed capable of much more. She had been inspired to pursue it because of her father, who had suffered a debilitating stroke and required physical therapy as a part of his treatment. She was warm, bright, funny, and sounded lovely. I was completely enchanted, and so was Percy, I might add. Sensing the potential of a new companion, he got up and sniffed Sarah inquisitively, and she petted him, cooing at him about what a good dog he was.

It was a disappointment when I felt my watch and realized the library was about to close.

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee or something?" I asked, desperately not wanting to part with her company yet.

"Thanks, but I ought to be getting home."

"Oh, okay."

An uncomfortable silence ensued as she collected her books from the table and put them away in her backpack. I thought about asking for her phone number, but after my invitation getting shot down, I assumed that she wasn't interested. Oh, well, I thought, getting ready to leave, taking up Percy's leash. At least we had a great conversation.

"Do you walk home or take a cab?" she asked.

"I walk."

"Me too. I have to go north for the first leg. Do you live out that way?"

As a matter of fact, I did.

"We can walk together, if you like."

"I'd like that very much." I grinned.

We chattered nonstop as we weaved through the city streets. There seemed to be nothing we couldn't talk about easily, disagree about amicably, or find humor in: books, politics, music- anything and everything. I'd never laughed so much with anybody before. And, I happily noted, for someone who had to be home soon, Sarah was certainly taking her time, not hurrying our leisurely pace.

As we strolled through a park on our way, an unusual thing happened; something that I'd never shared with anyone before- a comfortable silence. The three of us simply walked along, enjoying the night together. The traffic on the periphery of the park grounds was muffled by the pleasing noise of chirping crickets, and there didn't seem to be that many people in this section of the park tonight. A concert going on at the other end of it that had attracted most of them, and we could hear the music of acoustic guitars and soft voices singing folk melodies in the distance.

I could feel the warmth of her body close to me as we meandered along, and still smelled that exquisite vanilla-lavender perfume about her. Taking a chance, my hand wandered over to where I thought Sarah's would be, and found it. Tentatively, I laced my fingers through hers, hoping she wouldn't draw her hand away. She didn't. Instead, she clasped on and squeezed responsively. I smiled, my heart flooding, and wondered if it was just possible… I halted.

"Sarah?"

"Hm?"

"Can I kiss you?"

There was no answer. The silence tied my stomach in knots of anxiousness, and I began to think I'd crossed the line.

But then I felt her breath graze against my face, her body leaning into mine. Relieved and excited all at once, I wrapped my free hand around her slim waist and leaned down, our mouths greeting each other with damp softness. She embraced me in turn, drawing herself against me, our kiss lingering and deepening. Her tongue lashed out slightly, prompting me to open my mouth. When our tongues met, I shivered involuntarily.

I had never been kissed like that, not even by Megan. She and I had kissed, but it was only closed-mouthed, and we'd never ventured further than a little timid fondling. But this was a woman who kissed me now; a woman with a sensual, firm body pressed against mine, and she was expressing more than affection. The sweet taste of her hot mouth electrified my body, making it respond with more than I thought was decent; my blood rushed hot through my veins, heart pumping fast, and I was horrified to feel my cock getting hard. Sarah's body was against mine so tightly that she no doubt felt it.

"Sarah…" I breathed raggedly, tearing my mouth away from hers while I still possessed some measure of control.

"Shhh," she soothed, tracing cool fingertips over my face. She kissed me again, this time on my neck, leaving cool wet spots behind, making me shudder even more.

She drew away, hand still firmly in mine, and guided me off the concrete path, our whispering footsteps crushing the grass. Percy whined, protesting the diversion. After about fifty paces or so, Sarah stopped, releasing my hand and taking Percy's leash to walk a small distance away.

"I'm tying Percy to this tree. He'll be all right for a while, won't you, boy?" He settled with a sigh, evidently resigned to staying put.

"Where are we?" I heard the rustling of leaves all around us, overhead as well.

"Just somewhere no one else can see us." Her footsteps approached, the gentle breeze washing her scent up to me deliciously.

I heard her slide off her backpack, and wasn't quite sure of what was going on. Maybe she just wanted to continue our kiss, away from the view of others.

"I thought you had to get home."

"It's okay," she took my hands in hers again and pulled me down to the grass so we sat close together, facing each other. "I said that because I was starting to feel tired back at the library, but I'm not anymore."

I contentedly when Sarah brought my hands to her face, urging me to explore so I could "see" her. Running my hands slowly over her warm, smooth skin, I traced the sweep of thin eyebrows over high cheekbones and a delicate jaw line. The shape of her nose was aquiline, slender. She kept her hands over mine as they wandered, and closed her eyelids. I cupped the whole of her oval face and ran my thumbs gently over a pair of wide-set eyes framed by thick, soft lashes.

Her touch crept away from my hands and slid up my arms, reaching out to feel the rough patches around my own eyes.

"They used to be a lot worse," I said as Sarah touched the numbed skin. "It healed quite a bit as I grew up."

"Your eyes themselves look perfect."

"Yes, so I'm told," I smiled under her touch. "But they still can't see."

"David…I'll understand if you don't want to, but will you tell me what happened?"

"I don't mind telling you." For once, I was being completely honest in saying that. Over the years, it's become a chore to tell new people the story of what stole my sight. But with Sarah, I wanted to. "It was an accident."

"How old were you?"

"Eight months. It happened at home." One of my hands found her mouth, and my fingers touched the full, moist flesh of her lips while my other hand caressed her long, graceful neck. The sensual, pliant warmth of her skin caused me to take a deep breath before I continued.

"A fire broke out downstairs in the kitchen. My crib was in my parent's room upstairs right above it, and by the time my Mom got to me, I guess it was pretty bad. The fire engines hadn't gotten there, but there were a bunch of neighbors outside on the lawn who saw what happened. They could see her through the fire with me in her arms, trying to get to the shut window. The yelled at her to jump, but the flames blocked her. There was no way out, and the fire was starting to destroy the floor underneath us. At that point she must have been beyond desperate, because she actually threw me through the flames and glass to get me out, and a man caught me. They said she just disappeared behind the smoke after that, and the floor collapsed a few moments later."

"Your mother… she died?"

I nodded. There was a long silence.

"She was a brave woman," Sarah whispered.

I nodded again, swallowing.

"But I don't understand. Your eyes are so blue and clear. And the scars around them… they don't like they've been burned at all."

"Cuts. It was the breaking glass that blinded me, not the fire. I've been told that if you look closely, you can see a few streaks of discoloration."

She leaned over.

"Oh, yes… I see. Where was your father when it happened? Oh, I'm sorry- were your parents together?"

I chucked, my hands still caressing her face, though now not just to "see" it.

"Yes, they were together. He was there, but he made it out. Turned out the fire was his fault, actually. My Mom had been taking a nap and he was cooking dinner. He'd been drinking, and the fire started because the match he lit the stove with wasn't out when he threw it in the trash. The neighbors weren't sure at what point he left the house, but they said he showed up at their door really drunk, mumbling something about borrowing a fire extinguisher. That's when they saw our house was on fire."

I paused. Sarah was listening intently, and was so still I thought she might have stopped breathing. But she wasn't crying, which was a relief. Some people start to cry when I tell them what happened. It's nice that they feel for my family, and me, but there are only so many times I can grieve about it. I'm always glad to find someone who just accepts it without wallowing in the tragedy of it all.

"My maternal Grandmother demanded custody be turned over to her after I was released from the hospital, and the courts granted it. So she raised me until I was old enough to go to school. After that, I was only with her summers and holidays. She died last year."

"What happened to your Dad?"

"He came and saw me every once in a while. But he was pretty torn up over the whole thing. I got the feeling that it was too painful for him to be with me, really. He lives in Virginia now…" I smiled. "Or at least I think he still does. I haven't spoken with him since I was fifteen."

"I'm sorry, David," Sarah said tenderly. "It's so unfair, what happened to you."

"It's all right," I smiled wider, running my fingers slowly through her hair. "I got along okay. Life's pretty good these days." Her locks had a soft, natural curl to them, and came down over her shoulders in silky waves. I felt her lean towards me, and she nuzzled her forehead against mine.

"Can I ask you something else?" she whispered.

I nodded slightly, brushing my lips briefly on hers.

"Do you remember anything you saw when you were a baby?"

"No. I was too young," I hesitated. "I remember colors, I think. I see them, in my head. But I don't know which is which."

Her mouth came to mine, drawing me in for quick, tender kiss before she spoke again.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"You can ask me anything you want to, Sarah."

"Do you like kissing me?"

"Oh, yes," I breathed, and held her face to bring it to mine. Our mouths met instantly, her tongue delving softly between my parted lips. Her nylon jacket whispered as she slipped her arms under my trench coat, pulling me into an embrace, our lips and tongues locked passionately together. The tip of her nose felt cold against my cheek, but everything else about Sarah was pure warmth, her hands massaging my back through the T-shirt I wore.