Better To See When You're Blind

He swirls the ice in his cup then lowers it to the bar. Outside the weather is nice, the sun hangs high in the sky, throwing rays of sun down on bare arms and sun glassed eyes. He peers over his shoulder then back at his cup, the Scotch is diluted now, the ice is practically melted. He pushes the cup to the bartender to signal he needs another shot, and is obliged almost immediately. The rusty liquid sits in front of him, but he doesn’t pick up the glass instead he looks over to his left, wondering how he hadn’t noticed her before, when he walked in. She sits a stool away from him, her head is tilted down, her long blonde hair is in curls around her shoulders; they’re big loose curls. She’s staring blankly into her cup, its half empty; her fingers are wrapped around the clear glass, her thumb is wiping down the condensation. She’s young, has to be at least ten years his junior. Then she straightens herself, she’s still staring ahead, and she perks up as if she’s heard something. Finally he takes a drink from his glass, swirling the ice again as he goes to set it down.

“So much tension for the noon hour,” she says as she smiles, but she doesn’t turn to him.

“No tension here,” he says as he slightly turns towards her.

“None?” she asks.

He is lying. There are many things that have agitated him recently. She smiles and he takes another drink, the Scotch dries his throat. He’s come from his apartment down the street, working all day and night on his music; his ex-wife is calling him constantly asking when he’s picking up their thirteen year old son for the summer. On top of that, he has to write a career maker song full of tenderness and conviction. He hasn’t felt tenderness or conviction in years. He concedes to her, the woman sitting at the bar with him, and he nods, but she doesn’t notice it. “I suppose you’re right,” he says to get her attention.

She smiles.

“It just things, there are always things,” he says.

“Life’s that way.”

He laughs.

“What?”

“I’m not convinced it’s just life. I think it might be me. Maybe God doesn't like me.”

“That’s a strong assumption.” She takes a drink. “I’m sure God has other things to do than torture you.”

Again he laughs. “You think so?” He moves down a stool, sitting next to her. Still she doesn’t turn to him. “I’m Jack.”

She holds out her hand. “Tawny.”

He slips his hand in hers, it fits, the touch of her skin against his. He releases it, but only because she pulls away. He begins watching her, the movement of her chest as she takes each breath, the line of her neck as she continues to stare straight in front of her. He takes in her profile, the only view of her he has seen so far. Then he notices it, feeling like a fool. She’s blind.

“What are you doing here Tawny, and by yourself?”

“Ah, you’ve caught on. I was wondering how long it would take.” She smiles, turning her body towards him. “I was going to meet my husband for lunch, but he had to cancel.”

He looks to her left hand as she rests it on the edge of the bar. It’s beautiful, the diamond engagement ring that matches perfectly with her silver wedding band. It’s a little disappointing really. Then he looks up into her eyes, they’re clouded, but a beautiful gray.

“Married Jack?” she asks.

“Ah no…use to be. We divorced a few years ago.”

“Children?”

“One, a boy…he’s thirteen.”

“He must be wonderful…are you a proud father?”

“Yeah, I am…very proud of him.” He takes a drink from his glass. “How could you sense it…the tension I mean?”

“The sound of the ice in your glass…you swirl it around after every time you take a drink.” She smiles. “What are you doing here…by yourself I mean?”

“Taking a break.”

“Can you tell me what time it is?”

He looks down at his watch. “Around one.”

“Oh,” she reaches beside the bar, taking her walking cane. “It was nice talking to you, but I should be getting back home.”

“Can I walk you?” he asks as he stands from his seat.

“I’ll be alright, I know the way…thanks though.”

She knows the way. He doesn’t understand it; how she can possible know her way around the big city? He sits back down as she searches her way out of the restaurant. He’s watching her, can’t take his eyes off of her. It’s as if she doesn’t even need the stick, as if she knows where to put her feet. He wonders how many times she’s been to the restaurant. Again he swirls the ice in his glass, but he doesn’t take a drink. There’s nothing to drink. He throws his money on the bar, sitting for a second, thinking of her again. He’s feeling something return, something he’s not sure ever would.

***
He sits in the theater at the piano, there are a few measures of his song already written, some he wrote after meeting Tawny and he plays them over and over again. He likes it, the song so far, and is proud of himself. Yet, he’s stuck. Something catches his eyes. In the corner someone appears, walking towards him, it’s a woman; her hands are touching each seat as she passes. Her gaze is straight forward. She’s wearing a white blouse, thin straps and a red skirt, it pushes against her legs as she walks.

“Don’t stop playing,” she says as she stops. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles. It’s Tawny. How did she know where he was? He only met her the other day. Then again, does she even know it’s him? He plays it one more time then stops, seeing her blissful reaction. “I’m sorry there’s not much more to it.”

She cocks her head to the side, just slightly as if she’s recognized something in his voice. “Jack?”

“How’d you know?” he asks as he turns on the bench.

“Your voice…”

“Oh, right…”

“You write music?” she asks as she begins to slowly make her way to the stage, the steps are close by.

“Yeah I do.” He stands to meet her halfway, but she doesn’t really need his help, she’s slowly, but efficiently making her way to him. Then he backs up as she comes over to the piano, sitting down at the bench. He sees her scoot to make room for him; her hand searches for the edge to make sure she doesn’t fall off, and he sits beside her. “Can you play?”

“Oh no…”

“Right…”

“Not because I’m blind…I just haven’t learned.” She touches the keys. “Will you play something else for me?”

He does just as she asks, playing a few measures of Moonlight Sonata. He looks over to her, she has her eyes closed; she’s beautiful, the way she listens to music. He stops, the song is finished and he waits to see if she wants to hear something else, but they sit in silence for a while.

“How old are you?” she asks.

He laughs, odd question to ask. “Around forty-”

“Above or below?”

“Below.” She turns to him, and he watches her, as if she’s looking at him. “Would it help, to touch my face…I mean if that really works.”

She smiles. “You assume I want to know what you look like.”

There’s silence. He feels a little foolish like a pubescent school boy being mocked by the high school prom queen. It’s a foreign feeling to him. Then she laughs.

“I’m kidding…you don’t have to get so tense again.”

She raises her hands, and he touches them, bringing her delicate fingers to his face. She closes her eyes, and he does too as she brushes the hair away from his face then brings them down his brow, around his eyes, brushing her fingers over his lashes. He holds his breath as if breathing on her would be committing a sin. She brings her fingers down his nose over his cheeks, and she traces his jaw, ending at his lips. He opens his eyes; she brings her hands over his shoulders.

“They’re broad and strong,” she says as she opens her eyes and lowers her hands into her lap.

“What do I look like to you…am I acceptable?”

“You should smile more often.”

He rubs his neck. “And how do you know that?”

“Your lips, the lines around your lips…”

“I have lines around my lips.” She laughs, and his skin raises each hair on his body. “I suppose you’re right though. I should smile more often.”

“How often do you see your son?”

“Not enough I suppose.”

“Your fault or hers?”

He has never admitted it before. “Mine…all mine.”

There’s a noise in the back of the theater and he looks passed her. Someone is coming in, his hair wet as well as his shoulders. It’s raining out. Tawny turns toward the noise, but doesn’t get up. A tall man, Adam Phillips the manager of the theater, comes on stage, leaning over Tawny, kissing her lips. A bit of jealousy rises and falls in his stomach. It’s her husband, he’s her husband. She was here for him.

“I see you’ve met Jack,” he says as he helps his wife stand, both of her hands in his.

She smiles. “I have.”

“This reminds me Tawny, I have some work to do, so I won’t be around for dinner tonight.”

There’s silence. He sees Tawny’s disappointment, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she smiles, closing her eyes as he kisses her lips again. Then Adam turns to him. “So Jack, soon you’re going to have something for us to listen to?”

He nods. He really isn’t sure he’ll have anything for them to listen to, but he lies anyway. Then they’re alone again, Adam has left as soon as he came. He plays a small little medley, breaking the silence, and she turns to him, resting her hand on the piano. He wants to ask about Adam, but doesn’t want to upset her.

“I should be going," she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

He nods then realizes that she can’t see it. “Ah Tawny.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

She contemplates then smiles. “Yes, I would like that.”

He stands, closing the piano cover then he waits next to her. She reaches for him; she wants his help back down. He wraps her arm around his, and slowly leads her back down. Together they walk to the doors, and he opens them, the sound of rain catches her attention and she takes a deep breath. She’s reaching down for a blue umbrella that stands upright against the wall, and he tells her that he’ll get it, and opens it as they step outside. Again she wraps her arm around his, and they walk out into the rain, she’s holding tight to him to make sure she’s covered by the umbrella. Then they stop at a cross walk, and she holds her hand out, catching the rain drops, moving her fingers the same way she did when she touched his face. She’s feeling each one, getting the best look she can. He smiles and they start walking again.

“How do you know you can trust me?” he asks.

“I don’t.”

He leads her up to his apartment. He wants to show her pictures of his son, but he’s not use to the fact that she can’t see that she’ll never see him. He sits her down on the couch, and gets her something warm to drink, tea that he's surprised is even in his cupboards. He has a glass of Scotch two ice cubes and she’s picked up on this.

“How often do you drink?”

He takes a drink, wondering if he can just lie to her or not, tell her it’s really just water, but she’s no fool, and isn’t going to make her out to be one. “A few times…I’m not an alcoholic if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking.”

There’s silence.

“How long have you been blind?”

“Since I was a little girl.”

“You mean you were able to see before?”

“Clearly for a while then it went away…slowly went away.”

“What do you do all day?”

“What do you do?” She takes a drink of her tea.

Again he feels it, the foolishness. He thought it was a perfectly logical question.

“You have to release that…let it go.”

“What?”

“What you’re feeling. Some anger that you have, the sound in your voice that lets me know what’s really inside you.”

“You can tell what I’m like on the inside from my voice?”

“Everything is heightened in other areas, but don’t think if I could see I’d be a fool.”

He sets down the glass, feeling a little ashamed to be drinking. Then he takes the half empty cup from her hands. He looks at her for a second, standing above her. He wonders if she can sense that too, him looking at her. “Why don’t you wear sunglasses like everyone else?”

“I’m not ashamed to be blind…”

“But the sun, doesn’t it hurt your eyes?”

“What’s to hurt…my vision?”

“You have beautiful eyes…”

“Yeah?”

“They’re gray, a cloudy gray.”

“I’ve been told that before.” She folds the fabric of her skirt under her fingers. “What do I look like to you?”

“Are you asking it I think you’re pretty?”

“Maybe…I suppose I am in a way.”

“Then yes, I think you’re very beautiful.” He goes into the kitchen, leaning on the counter, trying to compose himself. He looks over at a picture of his son, they have the same smile. He shares an attribute with his son. Too bad he doesn’t share the same integrity as his offspring. When he returns to the living room she’s sitting back, her eyes are closed, but he knows she can’t be sleeping. He wants to ask where she would like to go for dinner, but only watches her instead.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says as he sits next to her. She lifts her head and sits up. “How long have you been married?”

“A few years.”

“Above or below two?”

“Above.”

“How long were you married?”

“Fourteen years…”

“What happened then?”

“We happened…we weren’t meant to be I guess.”

“Didn’t you want to make it work?”

He laughs; it’s small, telling her that he was the real reason the marriage didn’t work. The time he spent working instead of with his family.

“Did you love her?”

“I think I did, at one time I must have. Do you love him?”

“Yes…he’s my husband…”

“That doesn’t mean you love him.”

She sits up, resting her elbows on her knees. “I love him very much…I want a family with him.”

He doesn’t mention what he saw on her face earlier in the day. The disappointment at knowing her husband would rather work than spend time with her. Instead he offers to take her to a restaurant just down the street. They make more small talk together, and he makes sure she’s safely home before returning home himself. When he’s alone he takes another look at the picture of his son, picking up the phone. It’s late in the evening, but he has to call, has to make sure he’s doing alright. When someone picks up it’s his ex-wife. She says something about being surprised to hear from him, and even more surprised he wants to speak to their son. He waits, and when his son’s voice comes on the other end it hits him like a ton of bricks. There’s a change in his tone, the infection is almost deeper. Has he really missed that much time?

“Hey dad…where are you?”

“At home… “

“That’s cool…when are we going to do something for summer?”

“Oh, soon…I have work that’s due soon, but after that I’m all freed up.”

“Maybe we can go camping or something.”

“Maybe…you pick…”

“I should be going…I have a lot of chores to do.”

“Are you excited for school?”

“Yeah, but not for the homework.”

“Make sure you do it all though.”

His son laughs. “I will…I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you…”

“I love you too dad…do you want to talk to mom?”

“No…I’ll talk to her later.”

“Okay…”

The dial tone comes on. His son has hung up the phone, one click and he’s gone. He looks over to his piano; it’s actually calling him this time. He hasn’t heard such beckoning in a long time. It’s immediate, the music that flows out of him. It’s mixed between two beings, two people that have taken all of his attention, and he pounds at the keys, scribbling the notes down like a spreading wildfire. It’s almost as if he can’t write fast enough.

***
He's sitting across from Tawny. They're having dinner again; he's been given the chance to be alone with her. The music from the piano player floats over them, and she reaches down on the table, searching for her glass. He pushes it forward to reach her fingers sooner, and she smiles, thanking him. He looks down a level below them. There are couples dancing to sweet Jazz music, it's slow, and they're close to each other. He wishes Tawny could see them, but she's content just to hear the music, and is tilting her head to better hear it. He wonders if she's ever danced before, and takes a drink of his water, something she would prefer him to drink then stands.

"Would you care to dance?"

She tilts her head to the sound of his voice. "I don't know how."

"You've never danced with Adam?"

"No..."

He's suspected so, and reaches for her hand. It surprises her, and she jumps a little then stands, both of her hands are on his wrists. He wraps her arm around his and slowly leads her to the dance floor. There are people that are looking at them, he figures its because she's so beautiful instead of her blindness. As he leads her to the floor he stands in front of her again, pulling her close. Now she's tight against his body, her arm is around his neck and her hand is in his. She's beautiful.

"There's nothing really to it," he says and she laughs. He pulls away, turning her. It's a little much for her, but she recovers gracefully, her hand is on his forearms and she moves it up his shoulder to put her arm around his neck. There's a sweet scent floating around her, and he closes his eyes, resting his chin near the top of her head. This must be how she feels, the music engulfing her mind as it is his, and the touch of her close is enchanting. He wants more.

“I’ve called him?”

“Who?” she asks as he dips her, causing her to smile.

He smiles at her happiness as he brings her up. “My son…I called him.”

“Is that an accomplishment for you?”

“Oddly enough, it is.”

***
Adam is watching his wife. She’s with him, her eyes closed tight as Jack plays at the piano. He wonders why she’s taken such an interest, and feels jealous. As the notes float into the room she’s holding her hands tight together, her eyes are closed. Even when they make love she’s never been so entranced. She’s beautiful. Afterwards his kisses her on the cheek, touching her soft hair, and rest his forehead against the side of her head. He can feel her already asking if something is the matter, and he resigns himself, pulling away to keep his feeling a secret.

***
Jack closes the cover to the piano, he’s alone in the theater now, and everyone has left, hopefully feeling the same sensation he was, the love he was feeling. Then he hears the doors open, and feels, wishing its Tawny, but it’s Adam. There’s a look on the young mans face he’s seen before on is own face, looking in the mirror. The look is fear.

“It was perfect Jack,” Adam says as he comes up on stage. He runs his hand along the piano. “I love her you know…”

“Do you?”

“She’s my wife…”

“Doesn’t mean you really love her.”

“More than you could ever know,” Adam says defensively.

He laughs. “Pay more attention to her then, if you really love her.”

“Have you been with her?”

He shakes his head. “No…she loves you. You really should be more careful…take more time with the people that really matter.”

“I love her-”

“Then show her!”

“You think you know about us…you think you know Tawny.”

“I know about you all too well…I’ve lived more years on this planet than you have. I’ve made more mistakes than you have, so I know you…I’ve seen it before.” He steps down, feeling a little satisfied that such a young man would be jealous of him, of the way he looks at his wife. Perhaps it was the years he’s been alive, or the way Tawny makes him feel, but he can sense there’s something inside her that’s drawing him close to her. He looks one last time up at Adam, and can still see the look. It’s still full of fear, believing he’s lost what he loves because of his other dedications, things that use to be important to him but seem so pointless now.

He’s home only fifteen minutes when there’s a knock at the door. When he opens it, Tawny stands before him, her face is blank. “How’d you get here?”

“What’d you say to him?”

“Who?” he asks as he steps aside. She walks in passed him, stopping a few feet in. She doesn’t know his apartment yet.

“Adam?” she asks, her back is to him. “What’d you say to him?”

“Why?”

“Answer me,” she stresses.

He rounds her. “I told him he should take more time with the people he loves…he should spend more time with you…why…what’s wrong?” He tries to take her hands. “What’s happened?”

She takes back her hands. “He thinks we’ve slept together…we’ve never…I would never betray him…I love him-”

“In the past few days he’s barely even spoken to you…”

“You don’t know us…you don’t know me-”

“I’ve been in his place already. I know where he’s going, and that you should be treated better. That I can treat you better.”

“No.”

He takes her hands, but she takes them back. “Tawny I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you.”

“No…”

“You’re my inspiration…the music is for you…”

“You don’t understand…”

He pulls her close, kissing her before she can deny him, and he feels her release just a little bit, but only a small amount. He wonders why, how it is she can love Adam when he doesn’t even know how to love her. When he pulls away from her she’s silent. He can see she was feeling for him too, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t Jack…he’s my husband.” He tries to grab her hand again, but she backs away as soon as his fingertips touch her skin. “No…we’re going to be a family…I’m having his child.”

He stops, looking at her, wanting to beg her to stay, but nothing comes out. He wants to ask if she loves him, but he can’t move his tongue. He wants to kiss her again, but he can’t move his feet. He’s a fool, a complete fool. She stands, seemingly petrified of him, but she doesn’t run.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to lead you on…”

“No, you didn’t lead me on.”

“Then why are you telling me this…why are you saying you love me when you know nothing about me?”

He stands silent, contemplating an answer that might suit her. His face is twisted in anxiety, knowing the next words he says to her are crucial. How can he ask a married woman to forsake her vows? Does he even want to? Would she be tainted then? He backs away from her as if the distance will slow down his rapid, beating heart. She’s turned her face away from him again; her arms are crossed over her chest. He can see that she feels vulnerable like a defenseless creature in a wild jungle. However, there is nothing he would do to dishonor her, and he concedes, resigning himself to respect her decision.

“Tawny…”

She looks up towards the sound of his voice.

“I’m sorry; I was out of line…” He moves a little closer to her. It’s hard to give her away even though she was never really his. “I respect you I do, and I sincerely apologize for my behavior.” She reaches her arms out, she’s searching for him, and he moves closer. Slowly she moves her hands to find his face, closing her eyes as she moves her fingers down his cheeks. She stops at his lips, pulling his face closer to hers. She whispers something to him, it’s a good-bye, and she kisses him. As she turns away he doesn’t try to pull her back. He lets her leave on her own, hoping she’ll get home okay on her own, but she’s found her way to his apartment. She doesn’t need him. She’s not helpless far from it, and he realizes how much he has been lacking in the years. He looks over to the picture of his son then to the door. He’s done the right thing; she’s made a vow before God, and he knows she must honor it despite what he believes. He can hear her now are you a proud father. He is, very proud, and picks up the phone. It’s time, stop wasting it.