Love Is Blind (8 page)

When he touched my cheek, I knew he’d find it wet with my tears.

“You’re crying,” he said softly.

I nodded, momentarily forgetting he couldn’t see me.

“Michelle?  Are you alright?  Are you still hurting?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” I assured him even as the hot, salty tears streamed down my face.  Actually, the truth was I was better than fine.  The flood of emotion had caught me off guard but it wasn’t a bad thing.  It was something beautiful, just like my relationship with Chris.

“Why are you crying?”

I smiled.  “I’m just happy.”

Chris slept over that night.  We didn’t mean for him to, but at some point we both fell asleep in my single bed, limbs entangled.  There must have been something soothing about lying there with my head on his chest listening to be rhythmic beating of his heart because I didn’t wake up until he was trying to get up.

“Morning,” I murmured, sleepy and still glowing with happiness over the previous night.

“I have to go,” he said.  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a morning person.  I could work with that.

I sat up and peered out the window, checking to see if my mom’s car was home.  It wasn’t.  “It’s okay,” I assured him.  “It looks like my mom’s already gone for work.  So come here and kiss me good morning.”

“I have to get to the airport,” Chris replied tersely, feeling around until he located his pants on my bedroom floor. 

I leapt out of bed as though the mattress was on fire.  “Oh God, what time is it?!” 

“I’ve still got a couple hours but I should get home and finish packing,” he explained.  “Can you call me a cab, please?”

“Sure,” I replied, reaching for my cell phone.  As I waited for the cab company to pick up, I thought to myself that today might be the day:  the beginning of the end.  But then I remembered Chris’s tenderness the previous night and, despite my tendency to focus on the negative, managed to push the awful thought aside.

*****

Later that day I met Chris at the airport
because I wanted to see him off.  I couldn’t imagine
not
being there to say goodbye and wish him well.  After all, he was about to embark on what may very well be the single most important journey of his life.

What I hadn’t been counting on was his mother being there
at the airport with him.  I guess I hadn’t really considered that he’d be accompanied by anyone at all.  Silly me!  I should have known he’d need someone to help him navigate his way through a foreign country and since his sister had just given birth, Chris’s mother was the logical answer. 

She was a pleasantly plump woman in her sixties with white hair, piercing blue eyes and a ruddy complexion.  She was sitting in a wheelchair, which I also hadn’t been expecting.  She and Chris made quite the pair, one unable to walk and the other unable to see. 

I was immediately nervous about meeting her.  I hated meeting new people in general because of the way they inevitably stared at my face, even when they tried not to.  But to meet Chris’s mom was particularly terrifying.  I hoped I’d make a good first impression.  I desperately wanted her to like me.

Thankfully she had a warm smile and kind demeanor that helped put me at ease.  I did see her gaze pause on the left side of my face, but only briefly.  To her credit, she did a decent job of looking me in the eye instead of staring at my birthmark. 

“So you’re the girl Chris is so taken with,” his mother beamed.  “I haven’t seen him this happy since before his accident,” she confided, her hand clutching mine affectionately.  “You must really be something special, Michelle.” 

“Mom,” he mumbled, looking sheepish. 

I grinned.

Chris’s mom looked at the two of us standing there together, our hands close but not quite touching. 
I could practically see the wheels in her head turning.  “I’m going to go have a coffee before the flight,” she announced, shooting me a wink so subtle I may have actually just imagined it.  “It was very nice to meet you, Michelle.”

With that, she wheeled herself away. 

“Did I do okay?”

“She likes you,” Chris informed me.  “I could tell by the tone of her voice.  She never liked any of my other girlfriends, you know. 
In fact, she hated them all with a passion…but not you.  It’s kind of a big deal.”

Every time I looked at him, I blushed.  It was as though I thought everyone in the vicinity would be able to take one look at us and know that I’d given my virginity to him.  It was absurd, I know.  But to say I had sex on the brain was an understatement.  I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone or anything before.

I just wished we had more time together.

We stood there awkwardly for a few minutes making small talk as I gazed around the busy airport.  I actually did most of the talking but that was okay.  I knew Chris must be nervous.  After all,
I
was nervous and I wasn’t the one who was flying halfway around the world for experimental surgery.

All too soon, we heard the announcement over the loudspeaker that Chris’s flight would be boarding shortly.  “I’d better get going,” he said, pulling his boarding pass and passport out of the duffel bag that was casually slung over his shoulder.

“Wait,” I blurted out.  I wasn’t ready for him to leave just yet.  Well, that’s an understatement.  I kind of wanted to throw myself on the floor and wrap my arms around his legs and have a full out toddleresque temper tantrum right there in the middle of the airport.  I didn’t want him to leave.  I wanted him to stay by my side forever and make love to me every night for the rest of our lives.

But I couldn’t let my own selfish motivations hold Chris back.

I reached into the front pocket of my jeans and pulled a small object out.  I rolled it around between my fingers like I’d done a million times before and then pressed it into the palm of Chris’s hand.

“What’s this?” he asked
me, running his fingertips over it lightly.  “It feels like a coin.”

“It’s a lucky penny,” I told him.  “I picked it up on the playground at school when I was eight and I’ve been carrying it around with me ever since.  Maybe it’s stupid – I swear I’m not a superstitious nut – but I feel like it does bring good luck.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked curiously, a slight smile playing over his lips.

“Yeah…the day I found it was the day my mom brought
Rufus home.”

“Rufus?” Chris asked, looking confused.

“He was my dog,” I explained.  “He was a stray that had been hanging around the store where my mom works,” I said somewhat shyly.  “At first my mom and her coworkers just fed him but then it started getting colder and they knew he needed a home.  So my mom decided we’d adopt him.  He died of old age last year but he was the best dog, playful and loyal to a fault.  And the day I got him was like the best day ever until…”

“…Until what?” Chris pressed gently.

What I wanted to say was it was the best day ever until Chris had come along.  Every moment I spent with Chris was exciting – some more than others, I thought as I felt my face heat up.  I could practically feel his hands and mouth on my body, his hardness inside me…  Oh God, I wanted him so bad.

But I felt like telling him that might be too much too soon.  I’d heard guys joke about girls being insanely clingy after having sex for the first time.  And even though this was all new to me, Chris had been around the block more than a few times.  I wondered, with a pang of jealousy, how many other girls he’d deflowered
or, for that matter, how many other girls he’d slept with.  Quickly, I shoved those thoughts aside.

The last thing I wanted was for Chris to regret having sex with me or think I was annoying. 
So instead of telling him what was on my mind, I changed the subject.

“
You’d better go.  Listen, good luck with everything…”

“I won’t need it,” Chris said confidently, holding the penny up for me to see. 
“After all, I have this now.  Thank you.  I’ll see you when I get back, okay?  Literally, I hope!”

Grabbing his hand, I guided it to my waist so he could wrap his arms around me.  As he set down his duffel bag and took me in his arms, I heard him sigh heavily.

“It will be okay,” I murmured.

“I hope so.”

“Kiss, please!”

As we locked lips, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last time I ever kissed him.  I fully expected that when Chris got back, if his eyesight was restored, he’d take one look at me and be appalled that he’d ever
been intimate with me.  It was a heart wrenching thought but, I was afraid, it was also a very real possibility.

I left the airport with a heavy heart.

As the hours passed, I found myself growing increasingly restless.  Over and over, I’d see or do something and think to myself, “I have to tell Chris!”  Then I’d remember he was on a plane headed to the other side of the ocean.  It was strange to think that I couldn’t talk to him.

I’d always been independent, resigned to my solitude and comfortable in it. 
I’ve never envisioned myself being a clingy girl – why would I be when I’d never had anyone to cling to?  But now I hated that Chris was so far away.

I wanted to be excited for him – what he was doing was
thrilling
and I genuinely did want the best for him.  Even though he said he’d tried to accept his blindness, I knew that regaining his vision would be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Knowing how important Chris’s procedure was to him,
I was nonetheless sad for myself. 
I
wanted to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.  But I was already trying to mentally prepare myself a breakup that I was sure was inevitable. 

I went through the rest of my day in a daze, completely distracted and all messed up inside.  When it was finally time for bed, I crawled under the cover
s gratefully, feeling a twinge of sadness as I recalled rolling around on that very mattress with Chris, both of us consumed by desire.  All I could do now was hope that the funk I was in would pass by the time I woke up the next morning.

I
n the middle of the night, my phone rang, waking me from a fitful sleep.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so I miss you already.  We have to come back here someday, okay?  The accents are the best thing ever!  My mom tells me the scenery is pretty nice too, but I’ll have to take her word on that…for the time being, anyway.  Michelle, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My heart skipped a beat at Chris’s voice.  He sounded so close that if I shut my eyes, I could almost believe I could reach right out and touch him.  “I miss you too,” I said, my voice hoarse with sleep.
  “I wish you were here with me.”

“Whoa wait…were you asleep?  What time is it there?”

I glanced at my bedside clock.  “It’s almost four in the morning,” I replied, stifling a yawn.

“Oops
, I didn’t even think about the time difference.  Sorry.  Go back to sleep, okay?”

“I don’t want to hang up,” I murmured, my eyelids growing heavy again. 

“Okay, then don’t,” Chris said agreeably.  “I’ll stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep, how’s that?”

“Good,” I murmured.  Half in a daze, I reached out and grabbed my pillow, wrapping my arms around it tightly.  I wished it was Chris. 
Being in his arms made me feel so secure and special and loved…

He didn’t say anything.  I just listened to him breathe on the other end of the phone.  That was all I needed.  I just wanted to know he was there.  As I slipped into a pleasant dream
in which he
was
in bed next to me, I automatically murmured, “I love you.”

I didn’t even realize I’d uttered the words aloud until the voice on the other end of the phone replied, “I love you too.”

The next morning when I realized the gravity of what Chris and I had said, my mind ran rampant.  The cynic in me tried to make me crash back down to Earth, reminding me that Chris was a good looking, outgoing guy and I was the girl everyone stared at in horror, surprise or pity. 

The only thing that had made our relationship work was his blissful ignorance as to what I looked like.  If his sight came back, there was no way we’d last.

But I was nonetheless walking on air.

Chris had said he loved me!  It was like something out of one of the romance novels I
’d read obsessively growing up.  I’d spent hours in the quiet back corner of the public library devouring them because I was too embarrassed to check them out.  I’d fantasize that one day I, like the busty heroine, would meet a bare-chested, long-haired handsome man who’d fall madly in love with me.

Okay, so real life wasn’t quite like those books, but still…Chris had said he loved me!

And even the cynic in me had to admit it was a pretty amazing feeling. 

I waited on pins and needles for Chris’s next phone call.  I wasn’t su
re when it would be.  He was supposed to be meeting with the specialist to have a consultation.  The doctor had warned that, although Chris seemed like a good candidate for the new corrective technique, there was no way to know for sure without personally assessing him.

When the phone finally rang as I was brushing my teeth, I lunged for it, knocking over a container of liquid hand soap in the process.

“How did it go?” I demanded, without even saying hello.  Toothpaste dribbled down my chin.  I wiped it away without even really noticing it and then spit the remainder of the toothpaste into the sink.  My heart was pounding in my chest as I waited, holding my breath, for Chris to answer. 

“Good,” h
e replied.  “I just finished my consultation a few minutes ago,” he said.  “I’m scheduled to meet the doctor again tomorrow afternoon.  Michelle…this time tomorrow, I might be able to
see
!”  He sounded like he could barely believe it.  I think at some point he hadn’t dared to hope anymore, but now he couldn’t help it.

“
That’s great,” I said, forcing myself to sound happy for him.  I
was
happy for him – it was fantastic news, after all.  But I wondered where that would leave me.

“If I was there,” he said, “We’d be going out for celebratory cheesecake for sure.” 

“Oh you and your cheesecake,” I groaned good-naturedly.  “We’ll go get some when you get back, okay?”  A little voice in my head corrected me. 
We’ll go get some if you still want to be seen in public with me.

“Definitely,” he said, “But that’s not good enough.  What time is it there?  This dumb time zone nonsense has me completely confused.  It’s gotta be what, like nine?”

“Eight o’clock,” I replied, stealing a glance at my wristwatch.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed,” I confessed sheepishly.

Chris snickered.  “
What are you, a hundred years old?  Listen, here’s what I want you to do for me.  Throw on some clothes, call a cab and head down to the cheesecake place.  Order your favorite kind and take a picture of yourself eating it for me.”

“Uh, Chris…?”

“I want to see the picture after my surgery,” he explained.  “Maybe I’m being too optimistic here but I’m a wreck inside, Michelle.  I feel like the only way I can keep myself from going crazy is with positive thinking, you know?  Does that sound crazy?  Oh great, what if I’m already crazy and just don’t know it yet?”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” I assured him.  In fact, I knew exactly how he felt.  I had a similar internal struggle going on over the future of our relationship.  I desperately wanted to believe Chris would love me despite my physical appearance, but I was constantly at war with myself over whether I was being
hopelessly, pathetically unrealistic.

I probably understood how Chris felt more than I could ever explain to him.

“So you’ll go?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m getting ready right now,” I said as I screwed the cap back on the tube of toothpaste and picked the hand soap container up off the floor.

“Good.”

“Okay…bye?”

“No, don’t hang up,” Chris said.  “I’ll wait.”

“Uh, Chris,” I pointed out, “this phone call is going to cost you a fortune.”

“I don’t care,” he replied immediately.  “Getting to hear your voice is worth it.” 

So that’s how I found myself sitting alone at a table with a giant plate of cheesecake in front of me.  Chris was talking in my ear the whole time.  He said he wished he could just talk to me nonstop until his surgery because I was the only one who could take his mind off things and ease his anxiety. 

Of course, he also said his anxiety had been replaced by intense envy that I was gorging myself on cheesecake at his favorite restaurant.  “I’m actually kind of a little mad at you right now,” he joked as I took a deliberately noisy bite.

“That’s okay,” I replied through a mouthful of rich, creamy goodness.  “It’s worth it.”
  I was happy to be able to distract him.  If it meant stuffing myself with my favorite dessert and taunting him with it, then so be it! 

I was glad I’d gotten a table at the back.  It was semi-private and shrouded in shadows, which is exactly where I felt most at home.  It was almost like having the place all to myself – that is, until a tall blonde guy came out of the men’s room and sauntered past my table.

He took one look at me and stopped dead in his tracks.  “Michelle?”

I felt my heart sink.  “I uh…
I have to go.  Can I call you back?” I asked Chris before abruptly hanging up.  I set my fork down and prepared to run out of the restaurant at a moment’s notice if need be.  My fight or flight instincts were kicking in and, well, the last time I’d chosen to fight it hadn’t exactly gone over so well.

“I thought that was you,” the guy said,
running a hand over his tanned, perfectly chiseled jaw.  It was a face I’d recognize anywhere – one I’d avoided at all costs back in school.  He’d always looked like he should model clothing in a catalog or something, even back when we were kids. 

“Eric,” I said cordially, hoping my voice wasn’t shaking.  Eric and his friends had always been horrible to me in schoo
l.  They were the popular crowd, the group I’d wished I could be a part of and simultaneously despised.  They’d bullied me mercilessly for years.

When Eric sat down
across from me I instinctively pushed my chair back from the table, as though to get further away from him.  I braced myself for him to say something rude, just as I’d done year after horrible year at school.

Then I noticed he looked almost as nervous as I felt. 

“Listen,” he said, “I just wanted to apologize for…well, everything.  I know my buddies and I weren’t very nice to you.  I don’t know why we did it.  Mob mentality or whatever, you know?  But I really do feel bad for all the mean stuff I said to you over the years.”

“I, uh…okay.”  I had no idea how to respond.  I hadn’t been anticipating an apology.

In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t get up and walk out right then and there.  I think on some level I was still intimidated by Eric.  High school hadn’t been that long ago and, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, the scars ran deep.  Gaping wounds have a way of leaving their mark, you know?

I just sat there looking at him, trying to subtly push my hair into my face to hide as much of the birthmark as possible.  Knowing that a guy who’s called you ugly more times than you can count is sitting across from you looking right at you isn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling in the world.

“I called you a lot of names in junior year,” Eric said, looking apologetic.

I winced as he brought up the painful memories I preferred to keep buried, hoping that he wouldn’t start listing them off.  It wasn’t like I needed him to; I knew them all by heart.  Freak, ugly, monster, zombie…  Those were the nicknames that had followed me around the halls of my school each and every day.
  They were the nicknames that would follow me around for the rest of my life if that bitchy little voice in the back of my head got its way.

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms and forcing myself to stare him down.  “You did
, but not just in junior year.  You did that
every
year.”

“Look, I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t mean a lot but I really am, okay?”

“What brought on this sudden change?” I asked coolly, hoping my voice sounded confident and self-assured.  I didn’t
feel
that way – inside I was panicking – but appearance can go a long way.  I, of all people, know that.

I wasn’t about to tell Eric I forgave him.  Not only might saying that be untrue, but
I also didn’t want to let him off the hook too easily.  No, I wanted to make him squirm.  I wanted him to feel as uncomfortable as I’d been every time I’d see him and his rowdy gang of friends approaching in the school’s hallways between classes.

“I dunno,” he replied, looking genuinely puzzled. 
I guess insightfulness wasn’t his strong point.

Then h
e leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “I heard about what happened outside the grocery store,” he said quietly.  “I just want you to know I think it’s pretty cool that you stood up for yourself like that.  And if it makes you feel better, you can punch me, too.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded.  “I’m not going to punch you,” I finally managed to stammer.  “I – I’m not some
violent nutcase who goes around attacking everyone, you know.”  I wondered if that was the conclusion he’d drawn after hearing about the incident with his two high school buddies…and whether other people thought that about me as well.  I hoped not.

Eric smiled
, looking as handsome as ever.  “Okay,” he said agreeably.  “I’m not going to lie: I’m a little relieved.  But at least let me buy your cheesecake, alright?” 

I didn’t protest.  After everything Eric and his friends had done to me to make my life a living hell, I figured I was entitled to some free cheesecake.
  Food has a way of tasting better when it’s free, doesn’t it?

Eri
c called the server over, ordered himself a plate of cheesecake and that’s when I realized he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.  I didn’t know what to make of it.

Somewhat begrudgingly, I sat there and finished my slice of Raspberry Chocolate Swirl.  I didn’t try to make conversation.  I didn’t care if Eric thought I was being impolite.  Making small talk with him so he’d feel at ease wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.

As we ate, Eric looked at me from across the table.  For once I felt like he was actually looking at me and not just my birthmark.  Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Look, I’m sorry if this is too forward but…that thing on your face isn’t actually from flesh eating disease, is it?  That was one of the rumors going around at school but I think my buddy started it.”

I remembered quite well who’d started it.  It had been Jerry Baker in the first grade.  His mother had been watching the news
one day after school and he’d seen a story about flesh eating disease while he’d been pretending to do his homework.  He’d come to school the next day and promptly told everyone I had flesh eating disease and chunks of my face might fall off at any moment.

Children who were already wary of my appearance avoided me like the plague, as though they were scared that if they came too close they too would catch what they thought I had.  That had been a particularly painful time in my school “career” because it had been the tip of the iceberg.   It had been at that point that I’d realized I was different and not in the special, unique snowflake kind of way.

I was a freak.

The kids at school coined the condition
I supposedly had The Ugly Disease.  On the playground at recess, they’d run circles around me on dares, chanting cruel taunts.  They’d throw things at me and then dash away when I looked their direction, giddily screaming, “Run or you’ll catch Michelle’s ugly!”

That had been a long time ago, but it felt like Eric was inadvertently opening up old wounds.  I felt tears prick at my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me get upset.
I’d never given him or his friends the satisfaction of seeing me cry back then, ever.  I wasn’t about to let him see me cry now.

“It’s not a disease, no,” I replied, making sure to keep my tone light.  “It’s actually just a birthmark.  The universe has a twisted sense of humor, I guess,” I added, hoping the joke would act to shield the way I truly felt about it.

“Don’t get mad,” Eric warned – which of course, automatically put me on edge.  He fiddled with his fork for a moment and then looked back up at me.  “Why didn’t you ever get plastic surgery to fix it?” he asked curiously and then sat back in his chair as though he was afraid I’d change my mind and accept his offer to hit him.

I must have had an expression of surprise on my face because he quickly tried to explain himself.