Love is Blind
By: Nick Brady
(© 2019 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 

Chapter 1
Ian 

It was a bright day in early September when I first noticed a guy walking along tapping the ground with his long white cane. I had seen him on campus, but here he was sitting at a table in the boarding house where I ate lunch. He was a nice-looking young guy, intent on checking out the items on the table, asking the person next to him what was in the bowl and carefully scooping some onto his plate. He kept checking the amount and location with a piece of bread as he homed in on his lunch. It seemed odd that he never looked down at his plate but of course he was blind. His fingers did the looking.

 I had eaten here all last year when I was a freshman but this was the first time I had seen him. I figured he was new, either to the boarding house or to the college. I didn't live above the dining room although a few guys did. Most of us rented something nearby and just ate here. The others at the table were looking at him. I wondered if he was aware of their interest. There were a few blind people at Oklahoma State but he was the first I had watched eat. He was pretty good at it and didn't spill much. Practice, I guess. It was interesting.

 After a few minutes, people resumed talking with each other, although not with him. It was hard to know what to say. When he finished his lunch he carefully wiped around his area with a napkin and quietly got up to leave. Unfolding his cane, he maneuvered between the chairs and found the door. He walked out and down the sidewalk, leaving a murmur of conversation behind him. Most were merely curious, a few made jokes.

 The next day I noticed him again on campus. He was leaving the building next to mine just before lunch and I followed him at a little distance, watching as he carefully negotiated the streets on the way to our boarding house. I hesitated, then sat next to him. He lived in a world I knew nothing about.

 I remembered as a boy that a church we sometimes attended had a blind organist. He was a wonderful musician, but the thing that was interesting about him was how confident he was getting around the church. He had everything memorized and recognized people by their voices, calling them by name when they greeted him. I had always wondered how a person with what seemed like such a profound disability could manage to function in a sighted world.

 “Hi, my name is Andrew,” I said. “I followed you here from class. I think our eleven o'clock classes are in adjoining buildings.”

 He inclined his head in my direction and responded, “I'm Ian. Nice to meet you. Do you eat here every day?”

 “I do. How's the food suit you?”

“Well, it's cheap,” he smiled. “Not bad.”

“It's filling if you like potatoes. A monthly meal ticket fits my budget. Do you live here too?”

“No, I rent a room just down the street. Do you?”

“I have a room too. I guess we don't live far apart.” I watched as he carefully negotiated the serving bowls and tried to make conversation. “I haven't seen you before. Are you new here?”

“Yes. I'm a freshman this year. I just graduated from OSB in Muskogee.”

“OSB?”

He lowered his voice slightly. “Oklahoma School for the Blind. You've probably never heard of it.”

“Yes, I have. When I was a kid we sometimes attended a church in Muskogee who's organist taught music there. Have you ever heard of John Meldrum?”

He smiled and nodded his head. “Oh yes. He's retired now, but he's sort of a legend. So, you knew Mr. Meldrum?”

“Right. He was a very talented musician and very independent. A nice man too.”

Ian chuckled, “He was a little before my time but I've heard stories about him. Are you from Muskogee?”

'Well, from near there,” I said. I was running out of conversation so we concentrated on lunch.

When we had finished, Ian cleaned up after himself then stood to leave. “It was very nice to meet you, Andrew. I expect that I'll see you again.” Then he negotiated his way out of the room and disappeared. I followed him out and looked to see where he went. He entered an old two-story house just across the street from my own. Many of the older homes in this area just off of campus had been converted into rooming houses. Often the owner lived downstairs and rented out a few rooms above.

I was curious about Ian. I had never known a blind person before except for Mr. Meldrum. I didn't know the older gentleman very well, although once introduced to me he always recognized my voice and called me by name. “Nice to see you, Andrew,” he would say.

I saw Ian on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday as we left our classes for lunch and began to walk with him whenever I could. "Hey, Ian," I would call to him. Can I walk with you?"

“Of course, Andrew. How are you today? Are you ready for lunch?”

“I'm good as long as I like mashed potatoes,” I laughed. “The menu is a bit limited.”

“It is, but I like their meatloaf so I'm fine with it. The price is right.”

I was curious about him. “Do you have family in Muskogee?”

“I have two brothers, but not in Muskogee. I'm from Ardmore. I just went to school in Muskogee.”

“I guess they taught you more than academics,” I said, fishing a little.

"Yes, of course, there's a lot of training in adaptive things. They try to teach us how to be independent."

“Like the cane, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is it OK if I ask you about this kind of thing?”

Ian paused and seemed to decide I was harmless. “If you like. I'm not that sensitive. What would you like to know?”

“Like the cane. I know some people use dogs, right? Do you prefer a cane?”

He smiled. "I do. It would be nice to have a guide dog. They're wonderful companions for one thing, but living in a rooming house it's easier to use a cane. And, it's one less mouth to feed."

“I'm sorry to be nosy, but what you do is interesting.”

“Yes of course, but it's just what I do.”

“Have you always been blind?”

“I wasn't born blind but when I was four, I suffered detached retinas and lost my sight. As a result, I have some notion of color for example, but I've had to learn most things.”

“Is it hard to live with a handicap like that?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I don't regard blindness as a handicap, although occasionally it's an inconvenience.” We walked another half block then he reminded me, “Here we are. Are you ready for lunch?” He was more aware of where we were than I was.

Our conversations were limited to our walks from class to lunch but he gradually seemed to become more comfortable with me. I was curious about a lot of things in his world but tried to respect his privacy. Ian became a little curious about me.

“Tell me about your family,” he asked.

“I'm an only child,” I told him. “My parents are divorced so it's just me and my mother. Maybe that explains why I'm so curious about things.”

“How is that?”

“I didn't have a father or an older brother or sister to explain things to me, so I've had to figure out a lot of stuff on my own. I wish I had brothers – or a sister. I guess that would be nice too. You said you have two brothers? Older or younger?”

“Both are older. John is twenty-three and Phillip is twenty-five. I'm nineteen.”

“Do you remember them? I mean, do you remember what they looked like when you could still see?” I realized that probably wasn't a cool thing to ask. “I'm sorry. That was dumb.”

“That's OK. I can understand your wondering. The answer is not really. I remember that they were both a lot bigger than me. I don't really remember much from that time. How much do you remember from when you were four?”

“Hardly anything,” I laughed. “Sorry, I ask too many questions.”

“What's your major?”

“Mechanical Engineering.”

“Curiosity is a good trait for an engineer. You want to know how things work.”

“I guess I do. I've always liked science. What's your major?”

"English literature, at the moment. I'm not sure what I want to do, actually."

The conversation was cut short by our arrival at the boarding house. We sat next to each other, ate, then parted. The more I knew about Ian, the more interesting he became. He was clearly an intelligent guy. The next Friday I fell in step with him and asked him another thing I was curious about.

“How do you study? Like, how do you read your assignments? How do you take notes in class? How does that work for you?”

“Oh, there are lots of ways to do that. I have a little tape recorder that I use instead of taking written notes. There are some books on tape. A few things are available in braille, but I'll need to get a reader.”

“A reader?”

“Yes. A person who will read things to me if they are not otherwise available.”

“Oh.” I thought about that. “I could read to you if you like.”

“I would have to pay you.”

“That's OK. You wouldn't have to do that.”

“I would if I were to depend on you,” he said flatly. “My reader would need to be compensated. If it were done as a favor it would be optional.”

I thought about that. “I understand how that might work. What if I was interested in doing that? I wouldn't need much.”

“That's a lot of responsibility. Are you sure you'd be interested?”

“I think so. We just live across the street from each other. It wouldn't be that big a deal.”

We were in front of the boarding house and Ian stopped for a moment. “If you're serious, let me think about it.”

“I could audition. Read something to see if I do it right.”

Ian laughed. “I suppose we could try that. What time do you eat supper?”

“I have a five o'clock class, so I get to the boarding house about six. What about you?”

“I usually eat earlier but I can meet you at six. Then if you like, you could stop by my room and we can see how it goes.”

“Sure. It's a deal. I'll see you at six, then. Ready for lunch?”

I went through the rest of my day wondering what I was getting into. I was taking sixteen hours and while that kept me busy, I had some free time. There were lots of things to do on campus but nothing that was more interesting than Ian. I was looking forward to my audition.

We met at six and he didn't have a lot to say. I wondered if he was having second thoughts. After supper, we walked down the street together and as we chatted, I watched him run the long white cane in front of him, moving it from side to side and tapping it on the sidewalk. He did it unconsciously but when we came to an intersection he would pause to listen, then find the curb and test it for an instant before stepping into the street. It looked dangerous to me, but he seemed confident.

He lived on the second floor of an old house across the street from mine. It smelled musty inside and our footsteps rang on the wooden staircase. At the top of the stairs, he turned right, fished a key out of his pocket and opened the door to a small bedroom which was much neater than mine. As soon as he stepped inside he reached over and flipped on the lights.

“You don't really need that, do you?” I asked.

“No, but you do. If I made you navigate a dark room, it would make you uncomfortable,” he laughed. “That's another thing I learned in school.”

He motioned to the chair at a small desk and sat on the bed. He got right down to business. “There's a short story by Ken Liu called 'Paper Menagerie' on the desk. Would you like to read it to me?”

I looked at the desk and found a small volume. It was the story of a boy with an American father and a Chinese mother. The story begins with the young boy crying. His mother begins folding something out of wrapping paper to distract him.

“....A little paper tiger stood on the table, the size of two fists placed together. The skin of the tiger was the pattern on the wrapping paper, white background with red candy canes and green Christmas trees.

I reached out to Mom's creation. Its tail twitched, and it pounced playfully at my finger. "Rawrr-sa," it growled, the sound somewhere between a cat and rustling newspapers.

I laughed, startled, and stroked its back with an index finger. The paper tiger vibrated under my finger, purring.”

The story goes on to tell that the mother speaks little English but creates a menagerie of paper animals that come to life and become the boy's companions. Later, an older boy scornfully calls him a Chink and he decides he's ashamed to be part Chinese. He rejects his mother then later she becomes very ill and he realizes his mistake although it is too late. It was a very touching story. When I finished I looked up and saw that Ian was nodding thoughtfully.

“That's really about acceptance. I'm to write a synopsis and my interpretation. Thank you.” He leaned forward and pointed to the desk again. There's a volume of poetry titled, 'The Rattle Bag', and in it is a poem by William Blake that I like. It's not an assignment, but I'd like to hear you read it. It's 'The Garden of Love'.

I found it and saw with gratitude that it was short. I looked it over quickly, then took a breath and read.

“I went to the Garden of Love,

and saw what I never had seen:

A chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this chapel were shut,

And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;

So I turn'd to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be;

And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys and desires.”

I looked up to see that Ian was smiling. “You read well,” he said. “Did you like that?”

“It was nice,' I said. “I don't know much about poetry but at least this has some rhymes in it. I'd have to read it again to get much out of it though.”

“What did it say to you?”

I read it again silently then ventured a guess. “It starts out like the garden is a nice place. He played there as a kid. Then it got locked up with a big 'Thou shalt not' sign and it turned into a graveyard.”

“That's pretty good,” Ian nodded. “Blake was a very spiritual person but thought organized religion was too condemning. Adam and Eve were free to love each other, then religion told them it was sinful. Blake might have approved of free love.”

“Yeah? I might like Blake.”

“I like him a lot. I like poetry, I like the sound of it.”

“Sound is important to you, isn't it?”

“Sound is my way of seeing. I judge a lot of things by sound. I get an impression of people by the sound of their voices, the way they speak,” Ian explained. “You have a nice voice. For me, that's the same as saying you're nice looking.”

It struck me that he had paid me a compliment. “Thanks. Maybe it's just as well that you can't see me. I'm pretty ordinary.”

Ian nodded then smiled quickly as if he had said more than he intended. “Are you serious about being a reader for me?”

I decided I wanted to do this. “I would. I hope we can work something out.”

“About all I could pay you is ten dollars an hour. Would that be OK?”

“Sure, that's fine. When would you need me, for how long?”

“It depends on what I have to read. If it's recorded or available in Braille I won't need a reader, but if not, then you could read it to me. I imagine an hour or two a couple of nights a week. You could come by here after supper and get it out of the way so you would have the rest of the evening free for whatever you like.”

“That should work. We'll see each at supper anyway.”

“Well, I suppose you need to be getting along,” Ian said, as if releasing me from further obligation on my time.

 “I'm not in a hurry. What do you do when you aren't in class or studying? What do you like to do?”

Ian relaxed a little and shrugged his shoulders. “I lead a pretty boring life. I listen to a lot of music. Just hang around mostly.”

“Do you know many people here? Have you made any friends?”

“Not really. This is the start of my freshman year. I haven't had the chance to meet many people. Well, there's Stuart.”

“Who's Stuart?”

“Ah. Stuart. He's a contact that the OSB people gave me - another blind guy who's a senior here. He's  maybe in his forty's and has a dog. We've just talked on the phone but he seems like a nice guy. He said to call him if I had a problem. Sort of a resource, I suppose.”

"Do you ever go out, like to a movie or something?" I immediately realized that he probably wasn't big on movies. "Sorry. That might have come off wrong."

“Not at all,” he laughed. “When I was in high school some of us used to walk to a movie in the mall. I can enjoy the dialogue and the music. I enjoy TV if there is someone who can tell me what's going on.”

“You can do pretty much anything.”

“Pretty much. What do you like to do?” Ian leaned back on his elbows and looked in my general direction.

“I like music although I don't play anything except the radio. I don't have a TV but once in a while I go to a movie, maybe stop by at the Campus Tavern for a beer on the way home from class. Nothing exciting.”

“Beer is good,” he raised his head a little. “No girlfriend?”

“Not really. I have friends who are girls but no girlfriend. No time and no money for that sort of thing.”

“Me neither. I considered being a womanizer in high school but it didn't work out,” he joked. “I don't know anybody here.”

He was a fit-looking guy - small and slender with nice features although his eyes tended to go in all directions. Sometimes he just looked down. There was a lot more to this guy than I first realized. I watched him while he talked. He was relaxed now and not so businesslike. I imagined that he might have to be on his guard sometimes. He was sharp, but being blind could leave him vulnerable. Best to play it safe.

“What do you like?” he asked again.

“Like about what?” I hadn't been paying attention.

“What kind of music do you like? I think you drifted off there for a minute.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Most anything. I'm pretty much OK with most music if it's done well. Probably I like rock as well as anything. I like songs that tell a story.”

He nodded approvingly. “You really listen to the music or just like it in the background?”

“It depends. If I'm listening for pleasure I try to catch the words and understand them. If I'm trying to study, I listen to something easy so I can ignore it if I want.”

The conversation lagged and I decided that I might be overstaying my welcome. “I need to go. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, OK?”

"The boarding house serves meals on the weekend," Ian reminded me.

“You want to meet for lunch?”

“Sure. I'm crazy about mashed potatoes.”

I smiled. “We could do something tomorrow after lunch if you don't have anything else going.”

“Let me check my schedule,” he laughed. “Nope, nothing there for tomorrow. What's the plan?”

“I don't know. We could drive out to the lake, whatever.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah. It's a clunker, but it runs.”

“OK then. We could do that. See you tomorrow?” Ian stood up as if to say I was free to go.

"Right. See you tomorrow. Let me know when you want to do some reading." I waved goodbye as I walked out of his room. When he didn't wave back, I felt a little silly.

To be continued...

Posted: 12/25/2020