Love Is Blind (2 page)

I chuckled.  “Yes, I did.” 

“Excellent.”

He
reached for the bag containing our food and rummaged around for a packet of ketchup.  Once he’d found it, he set the bag back on the table in front of him.  In the process, he accidentally tipped over his pitcher of water.  The plastic jug crashed to the floor, sending water everywhere. 

“Dammit!” he excla
imed, his frustration evident. 

“It’s okay,” I reassured him as I jumped up.  “It’s only water – I’ll grab some paper towels.”

“No,” he insisted as he fumbled around until his fingertips brushed against the big wad of napkins that had come from the fast food joint.  “I’ve got it.” 

He stood up and bent over before I could say anything more. 
He used one hand to mop up the spilled water and the other to feel the white tiles for additional wet spots.  His method actually worked well – so well that for a moment I forgot he couldn’t see what he was doing. 

I felt strange sitting there in my candy striper uniform while a patient
who was hooked up to an IV and had bandaged eyes cleaned the floor, but I didn’t know what else to do.  I could tell that spilling the water had upset him and I didn’t want to make it worse, so I sat quietly, eating my burger as though everything was normal.  It was uncomfortable, as though I was watching an intensely private moment I shouldn’t be witnessing.

When he sat back down, Chris
seemed to have regained his composure – and his sense of humor. 

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” he observed.  “What’s the matter, do I have
something caught in my teeth?  Are my balls hanging out?  Oh God, they are, aren’t they…damn these useless hospital gowns!”

I couldn’t help it. 
His comment caught me off guard so much that I burst out laughing.  “What is
wrong
with you?” I demanded once I could finally breathe again.  “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned
, displaying the best dimples I’d ever seen.  “So either my balls aren’t hanging out or you like that my balls are hanging out and don’t want me to put them away,” he concluded playfully.  I immediately blushed and looked away lest I accidentally catch a glimpse of something I shouldn’t.

“Your hospital gown isn’t as bad as my candy striper uniform,” I assured him
, working up my courage and then bashfully sneaking a peek at him.  His balls, I noted with just a slight twinge of disappointment, were in fact not hanging out.

“What’s so bad about your uniform?” he wanted to know.  “I quite like it.”

“Um…”

“Yeah I know, I know, I can’t see,” he shrugged.  “That’s the beauty of it.  I can imagine you’re wearing whatever I damn well please.
  So as far as I’m concerned, your candy striper uniform is a tight, short little –”

“Actually,”
I interrupted, cutting him off mid-sentence, “Spare me the details.”  I shifted uncomfortably where I sat and smoothed my hand over my hair self-consciously, thankful that Chris couldn’t see the expression on my face.

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed.  “
I’ll just keep the deliciously naughty details to myself…my own filthy little fantasy.  So what’s so bad about your uniform?” he asked again.

“It’s all starchy and stiff and the collar is making me itch like crazy.  Want to trade?”

“Yes please,” he said immediately, without missing a beat.  “Don’t you think that would make the doctor’s day if he came in during his rounds and found me wearing your candy striper uniform?  It’s a dress, right?” 

I giggled.  “Yes, and white tights and the ugliest shoes in the world.”

“I think I like my borderline illegal version of your uniform better,” he joked.  “In any event, I don’t think I have the legs to pull off a dress.  I’m sure you look better in it than I ever would, so let’s just keep our clothes on.”

My face reddened at the innuendo even though I was fairly sure
it had been unintentional.  Chris’s flirtation was harmless and innocent, the product of a young red blooded male stuck alone in a hospital room for hours on end.  I didn’t blame him one bit. 

But the things he said nonetheless rattled me. 
No one had ever flirted with me in my life.  Even though flattery about my appearance didn’t mean much coming from a blind guy, it still made me blush because it was something so foreign to me.  Despite feeling flustered I found myself wanting the banter to continue, wishing I knew how to flirt back.

“
So…what made you decide to be a candy striper?” he asked.

“Well it’s not like a career choice or anything,” I explained
quickly, keeping my answer intentionally vague.  “I’m just doing it until the end of the summer.  I’m hoping to go to college in the fall if I can afford it.  That’s kind of been my big dream since, well…since I was a kid.”

“That’s all very interesting,” Chris replied, “but it doesn’t answer the question.  Why, if you’re trying to save money for college, are you volunteering at the hospit
al?  Candy striping doesn’t pay anything, does it?”

“No.”

“So…?  Do you need the volunteer experience for a resume or application or something?”

“Not really.”  I was being rather evasive, hoping Chris would get the message and stop pressing me for an answer.  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.  Well, maybe he got the message, but he didn’t stop pressing me for an answer.

“Are you some kind of saintly do-gooder type who’s infuriatingly perfect and makes everyone else look bad in comparison?”

I snorted.  “Not even close.”

“Good, those people are annoying.”

I grinned. 
His bluntness was sort of refreshing. 

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking enthralled.  His half-eaten burger sat beside him, momentarily forgotten.  “Come on, give me something to work with,” he begged.  “I’m all for playing twenty questions but I’m running out of guesses.  Or at least guesses that have some basis in reality.  You’re not a zombie alien from another planet sent here to kill us all with bad hospital food, are you?”

“No…not the last time I checked, anyway.  Now I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed by the real answer because it isn’t heroic or exciting or even interesting.  Actually, it’s kind of embarrassing.” 

“Well
now I’m intrigued.  Spit it out!”

“I, um…” 
I took a deep breath and then before I could lose my nerve, blurted out, “I’m doing community service.” 

I hadn’t told many people and it felt weird to say the words aloud. 
Those particular words said in that order didn’t seem like they should be coming out of my mouth.  It was almost laughable.

I’d always
been a good girl.  I’d always played by the rules.  Growing up, I was that nerdy bookworm who’d spent all her spare time at the library.  I wasn’t a troublemaker.  It still blew my mind that I’d found myself on the wrong side of the law.

“Oh.”

Chris sat back in his chair and picked his burger up again.  He took a big bite and chewed thoughtfully, as though contemplating his next question.  I braced myself for the inevitable.   I was certain he’d ask me why I had to do community service and I really didn’t want to go down that path.  I’d barely even accepted what I’d done myself…I wasn’t ready to say the words aloud to another person.

But Chris surprised me
with what he asked next.  “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be at the hospital every
weekday until the end of August,” I replied.  “Some weekends, too.”  Doing that was the only way I could cram in all my required hours without letting it interfere with college in the fall. 

“Good,” he said, “Although I hope
I
won’t be here until the end of August.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not,
so I didn’t respond.  Just then a middle aged, heavyset nurse walked into the room.

“Chris?” she said as she studied a chart clutched i
n her hand.  “It’s time to change your bandages.”  She looked at me, her eyes lingering on my face before taking in my candy striper uniform.  “The maternity ward on the second floor could use some help.”

“Oh, okay.”  I shot a look at Chris.

“See you tomorrow, Michelle,” he said as though he could feel my eyes on him.  He waved a French fry at me before popping it into his mouth and shooting me a charming, dimpled grin.

“Yeah…see you tomorrow,
” I replied, pleasantly surprised that he’d remembered my name.

I got in the habit of visiting Chris every evening after my shift was over.  He’d be waiting for me
expectantly, his handsome face lighting up when he heard my footsteps at the door.  I’m not gonna lie:  it made me feel pretty important to be the reason he was smiling like that.

Over the next few days, I learned that Chris was twenty-one, just a couple years older than me. 
Until his life had taken an unexpected turn, he’d been a college student.  I still didn’t know what the unexpected turn was or how he’d come to be in the hospital with bandages on his eyes and, as far as I could tell, no visitors aside from me.

He told me
things about his life matter-of-factly, with no trace of self-pity or pent up rage.  His story seemed to be a sad one but he didn’t seem to expect or want my sympathy.  I found myself hanging on his every word, silently marveling at the way he managed to be so upbeat even when talking about everything he’d lost.

I was desperate to ask him about what had happened.  I think curiosity is just human nature, you know?  But given my own experiences
with intrusive questions and unwanted attention, I promised myself I wouldn’t broach the topic unless he brought it up first.  Frustratingly, he didn’t.

My second Friday at the hospital was busy – weekends usually were
.  One of the janitors had walked off the job and another one had called in sick, so the hospital was in a bind.  Guess who was expected to pick up the slack?  The head nurse was a real dictator and kept barking orders at me and the other candy stripers.

A tiny voice in the back of my head wondered if she knew I was there for community service and was intentionally making my “punishment” as unpleasant as possible.  Of course, that was merely paranoid speculation on my part. 
The administration knew about my community service, of course, I had no idea if the hospital staff knew about my trouble with the law or not.  I hoped not.  The idea that they could was humiliating.

I spent most of the day in the children’s ward making beds up f
resh and scrubbing floors with an offensive-smelling cleaning solution that I subconsciously associated with vomit.  I tried not to look at the pale, sickly little kids I saw sitting in wheelchairs or tucked into hospital beds.  It was too sad.  Kids are supposed to be energetic and vibrant, not weak and tired.

It wasn’t a good day.

By the time my shift was over and I was ready to go home, my feet ached and my back was sore.  I felt mentally and physically drained.  I was more than ready to call it a day, go home and curl up under the covers with a romance novel…and perhaps my vibrating toothbrush.  I wonder how many women actually use those things to brush their teeth.

That sort of welcome distraction seemed like the only way to deal with a lousy day.

Then I remembered Chris.  I hadn’t been on his floor all day.  I decided sticking around the hospital for an extra five minutes wouldn’t kill me. 

Besides, I kind of
wanted to see him.  I didn’t have many people I could call friends and that damn vibrating toothbrush was the closest thing I’d ever had to a boyfriend!  My life was a solitary one, though it wasn’t exactly by choice.  At least Chris was friendly and seemed to enjoy my company.  After what I’d been through, particularly over the past few months, I needed that.

When I walked in
to his room, he was lying in bed with the TV playing quietly in the background.  A pretty young nurse was standing next to him fiddling with the bag suspended from his IV pole.  I hesitated in the doorway, unsure if I should interrupt.

“Michelle?”
  He turned toward the sound of my footsteps, looking hopeful.

“Yeah it’s me…but you’re busy.  I’ll come back another time.”

“
You will not,” he shot back cheerfully, his dimples making an appearance.  “Get in here!”

“I’m done here anyway,” the nurse told me.  Then she walked out of the room, leaving us alone.

Chris scooted over and patted the bed beside him.  I sat down gingerly next to his leg, noting that his bedside chair was occupied by a large black duffel bag.  I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned the top three buttons of my uniform as soon as I sat down because why not?  It’s not like Chris could see me undressing anyway and that damn collar had been irritating me all day.

“What’s up – busy day?” Chris asked.  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry.  And yeah, it was busy,” I replied, sighing wearily. 

“Lucky,” Chris said.  “I’m envious.  Guess what I did today?
  No wait, don’t guess.  I’m so excited about it I have to tell you right this second.  Okay,” he said, pausing dramatically to heighten the suspense.  “I laid in bed napping and half-listening to crappy TV shows!”

“That sounds like my typical Saturday night,” I informed Chris before I realized ju
st how pathetic it sounded.  I’ve always been a bit of a wallflower but it’s not exactly something I’m proud of.  I cringed, wishing I could take my admission back.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” he said. 
“Tonight will be different.  Tonight we’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

Chris held up his arm to show me a small bandage.  “My IV was taken out tonight,” he informed me.  “That means I’m no longer a prisoner!  It was too difficult to navigate where I was going
and
pull the IV stand behind me, so I haven’t left this room much…until now.  Goodbye, ball and chain!”

“How do you propose we celebrate?”

“Cheesecake and coffee from the best hole-in-the-wall café in the city,” he announced happily.  “It conveniently happens to be only a few blocks away.  What do you say?”

“You had me at cheesecake.”

“Good.  Now let me find some pants.  As fun as it would be to parade around the city with my hospital gown flapping in the wind and my ass hanging out for everyone to see, I don’t want to get arrested.”

Chris’s
self-depreciating and sometimes cheesy sense of humor was refreshing.  I hadn’t laughed much at all in a long, long time.  It felt good to finally let loose with someone who didn’t see me the way everyone else did.  It was like I could finally be myself.

It took us a while to get out the door.  I sprawled out on the bed after Chris refused my offers of help. 
It was clear our relationship had become that of friends rather than patient and candy striper.  He wouldn’t let me do a thing for him, although for all I knew that might be how he was with everyone.  I admired his stubborn independent streak.

“Do these match?” he asked, holding up two brown socks.

“Yes.”

“Dammit,” he grumbled and then feigned a sigh.  “I guess I’ll wear them anyway.”

He slowly and methodically rummaged through his things until he found the remaining items he was looking for and then retreated to the bathroom to get changed. 

Already, I could tell that Chris
wasn’t one to sit around wallowing in self-pity and he was surprisingly adept at fending for himself. I found myself wondering if I’d be able to manage as well as he did if I suddenly found myself blind.  His determination was impressive.

Before we lef
t, Chris felt around his bedside table until he located a baseball cap.  He shot me an apologetic grin as he pulled it down over his face so that it mostly obscured his bandaged eyes.  “People will probably stare at us,” he cautioned, “but maybe this will help some.  Sorry in advance for any unwanted attention.”

“
You don’t have to apologize,” I reassured him.  The truth was I was used to stares.  It might be nice, I figured, to not be the one people noticed for a change.

The cheesecake place was only a few blocks from the hospital.  We decided to walk there
rather than try to catch a cab, which could sometimes be quite the production depending on time of day.  Chris wrapped his arm loosely around my waist so that I could guide him around any obstacles on the street. 

He must have been over six feet tall – a stark contrast to my petite frame. 
I liked the way he towered over me and the way the side of his body felt pressed lightly against mine as we meandered toward our destination.  I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been physically close to someone like this.

It might sound strange, but sometimes I almost forgot Chris couldn’t see.  As we strolled down the street talking and kidding around, it felt like we were
just a couple of ordinary people out for an evening stroll.  We did get the occasional curious stare from passersby, but I brushed them off as best I could.  After all, I’d had lots of practice. 

“Oops!”  Chris stumbled, his foot catching on something.

My heart leapt into my throat even as I silently chastised myself for not paying better attention to where he was stepping.  It could have ended badly.  It could have ended in injury.  But thankfully Chris’s arm tightened around me and he managed to regain his balance before he went crashing to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” I gasped as I wrapped my arms around him, as though afraid he’d just nosedive into the cement if I didn’t.  “I didn’t even see that crack in the sidewalk!”

“Me neither,” he replied without missing a beat.  When I didn’t laugh, he added, “Everything is fine, Michelle.  I’m fine, see?”  He gave me a big grin and gestured to his face with his hand.  “Look!  I’m fine and,” he added with a dramatic pause and a seductive lowering of his voice, “I’m also
fine
.”

He waited.

“Aw come on Michelle at least tell me how bad my blatant fishing for flattery was.  Please?”

“It
was
pretty bad,” I agreed, my heart still pounding wildly.

Chris flashed his dimples at me.  “That’s better.  Now stop beating yourself up.  I didn’t fall down and even if I had it wouldn’
t have been your fault.”

“Alright,”
I agreed, even though I felt like the world’s most irresponsible person.  I decided it was a good thing I didn’t have children or pets…or houseplants. 

“No, seriousl
y:  stop beating yourself up.”

“How do you know I’m…?”

Chris chuckled, his dark hair falling across his forehead and making him look effortlessly sexy.  Then he leaned down so that his lips brushed lightly against my earlobe.  Conspiratorially, he whispered, “If you squeeze me any tighter you might suffocate me.  Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh!  Sorry!”  I hadn’t even realized I was still holding onto him as though my life depended on it, my arms wrapped firmly around his waist and my chest pressed against his.  Feeling awkward, I disentangled myself and took a step back. 

Chris’s arm immediately found its way back to my waist and we continued walking, this time with me paying extra attention to the condition of the sidewalk beneath us.

Once
we arrived at the small, cozy café, we were seated at a quiet table near the back.  Moments later, we dug into the most luscious cheesecake I’ve ever had in my life, the shortbread crust and creamy filling melting in my mouth in an explosion of flavor.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Chris asked through a mouthful of cheesecake.

“It’s more than good,” I replied, my mouth watering as I savored the taste.  “It’s delicious.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

He grinned.  “I know you’re thinking it so just come right out and say it:  you’re thinking about stealing some of the cheesecake off my plate.”

“I am not!”

Chris laughed.  “Oh come on, just admit it.  I don’t mind.  After all, it’s one of the many perks of going out to eat with a guy who can’t see.”

“You’re right,” I told him.  “I’m only here for the cheesecake.”

“Well played!  With that icy tone, I almost believed you for a second before I remembered how incredibly awesome I am,” he joked, scooping some cheesecake up on his fork and holding it out to me in offering.  I leaned forward and, with my fingers on Chris’s wrist, gently gui
ded his hand toward my mouth.

His dessert tasted even better than mine.  Maybe it had something to do with being fed by a handsome guy.  Nothing could ever come of it, of course, but it was nice to let myself get lost in the fantasy even if only for a moment.

“How’d you come to be so sarcastic?” Chris asked curiously.

“Am I?”

“Yes.  It’s not a bad thing,” he quickly assured me.  “I actually love it.  But it’s made me wonder about you.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t develop this cheesy sense of humor until I realized how uncomfortable it makes some people to deal with a blind dude.  It helps put them at ease which is a good thing because I can’t stand hearing pity in their voices.  So what’s your story?  Why do you default to sarcasm so much?”

I ran my fingertip lightly around the edge of my plate, focusing entirely on it before replying.  “I suppose,”
I said quietly with all traces of humor suddenly gone from my voice, “It’s a survival mechanism.”

T
hat’s when the conversation became less lighthearted and more serious.

“In all the time you’ve been visiting me, y
ou’ve never asked me what the deal is with my eyes,” Chris observed.  “Everybody always asks me as though I owe them an explanation…everyone but you.  Why is that?”