Love Is Blind (9 page)

“I’m not trying to be mean,” he insisted, holding up his hands.  “I just wondered.  I mean, plastic surgeons can do a lot these days, can’t they?  Even if they couldn’t fix your face completely they could probably make the birthmark less noticeable, no?”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.  I was too preoccupied trying to decide whether Eric was trying to be a jerk.  After a moment’s contemplation, I decided he wasn’t.  I answered accordingly. 

“Plastic surgery costs thousands of dollars – and that’s if everything goes smoothly.  Insurance won’t help because it’s cosmetic procedure.  I didn’t exactly grow up rich,” I informed him, knowing his parents were wealthy.  “My mom did her best but she was a single mother working 70 hours a week just to make ends meet.  There’s no way she could have afforded to pay for my plastic surgery out of pocket.”

“Oh.  That’s too bad.  You’re actually a pretty cool chick.  I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked.  I couldn’t help myself.  It was something I’d wondered for years.

Maybe if Eric and his friends had actually taken the time to get to know me, they wouldn’t have been so cruel.  Maybe they would have realized there was a person beneath the birthmark – one with feelings. 

Or maybe they wouldn’t have.  I can speculate all I want but it’s hard to say with any certainty whether things would have been any different.  Maybe assholes are just destined to be assholes, end of story. 

“My sister had asthma.”

“What?”

“My little sister,” Eric explained.  “She had asthma really bad when she was a kid.  She
pretty much outgrew it when she got older but as a kid it was severe.  She was in the hospital a lot, constantly having attacks.  It sucked.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, “but I’m not following?”

“She got all my parents’ time and attention,” he told me.  “I get it now, really I do.  But back then it was hard not to be jealous, you know?  I couldn’t take my frustration out on her because my parents would have flipped out.  So I guess I kind of took it out on you.”

“Why me though?”

“You were there.  You stood out.  You were an easy target.”  He looked uncomfortable.  “Look Michelle, I’m sorry.  I know you’re probably hoping for some deep explanation that will suddenly make it all make sense.  But I’m not sure I can give you that.  I don’t know that there was much rhyme or reason to what we did.  We were just dumb kids, you know?”

“And dumb teenagers.”

“
Especially
dumb teenagers,” he agreed.

Oddly enough, Eric’s completely unsatisfactory explanation did offer me a little closure.  At least he wasn’t lying or trying to tell me what he thought I wanted to hear.  He was
attempting to give me honest answers, even if that meant he had to own up to having been a pretty terrible person with extraordinarily bad judgment.  I appreciated the effort.

Silence fell over our table
once again and little by little, I felt some of the deep seated resentment I’d been holding onto fade away.  I won’t say I forgave him, but at least I stopped considering whether I’d made a mistake by not taking him up on his offer to punch him. 

By the time Eric and I finished our cheesecake, it was getting late. 

“My car’s parked outside if you want a ride home,” Eric offered. 

“That would be good,” I agreed, grateful that I wouldn’t have to wait for the bus or attempt to hail a cab. 
It was cold and dark outside and cabs could be notoriously hard to catch late in the evening.  “I live over on Ninth Street, near Baylor Park.”

“Okay, I think I know where that is.”

Eric’s car was an expensive looking little hatchback.  It was pretty much what I expected.  When I once again made no effort to have a conversation with him, Eric leaned over and turned on his music.  A familiar tune pierced the silence.

“Hey,” I said, recognizing the song immediately.  “I love these guys.”

“Me too, they’re awesome.  I’m surprised you’ve heard of them.  Not many people listen to indie rock,” Eric replied, sounding impressed.  “They’re actually playing a show here in town soon,” Eric told me.

“
Oh?  I’d love to see them someday.”  They were one of the bands I’d grown up with.  Music and books had been my only friends, as pathetic as that sounds.  To see a dear childhood friend playing live would be a dream come true.

“I’m going
to the show,” Eric said.  “A buddy of mine was planning to tag along but I think he has to work late now.  Hey,” he said as though a light bulb had just gone on over his head.  “Why don’t you come with me?”

“I can’t,” I said immediately.

“Why can’t you?”

I shrugged noncommittally. 

“If you don’t use it, my extra ticket will probably just go to waste,” Eric pointed out.  “But it’s up to you.”  He paused and peered through the windshield out at the dark, tree-lined street.   “Is this your house up here?”

“Yeah, the one on the corner,” I replied and Eric pulled into the driveway. 

He reached for my phone, which I’d been clutching like a life preserver.  “Here, I’ll put my number in your phone,” he said, easing it out of my hand.  “You can text me if you want to tag along to the concert.”

“Okay,” I agreed even though I had no intention of going anywhere with him.

“I’m putting your number in my phone, too.”

“Whatever.”

By the time I got inside, I felt mentally and emotionally exhausted.  I was so flustered that it took me a while to even think about Chris.  Then I remembered I’d told him I was going to call him right back – and that had been ages ago. 

I grabbed my phone and saw three voicemails from him.  I cringed, feeling like the world’s worst girlfriend. Quickly, I dialed his number.

The call didn’t go through.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, I hung up and redialed, this time making sure to punch in the long distance area code. 
In my haste to call him, I’d forgotten it the first time.  This time, I seemed to have gotten it right.

Chris picked up on the first ring.

“What happened?” he asked, sounding concerned.  “I called a bunch of times and it just kept going to voicemail…is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I replied.  “I must have shut my phone off by accident when I hung up earlier.  Sorry.  How are you doing?” I asked, remembering that his surgery was only hours away.
  Now wasn’t the time to tell him about my strange encounter.

“I’m freaking out,” he admitted.  “I thought I’d learned not to get my hopes up over these dumb medical procedures but Michelle…it really sounds like this could work.  It could completely change my life.”

Yeah – and mine.

“Just try to relax,” I advised.  Then I quickly added, “Okay, that’s dumb advice.  I know there’s no way you’ll be able to relax, so forget I even suggested that.  Sorry, I’m babbling.  I’m really bad at this, I know.”

“Nah,” Chris said and I could practically hear his familiar teasing smile in his voice.  “Your inane rambling is helping to distract me a little.  And besides,” he added mischievously, “I happen to think you have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.”

“Well great,
I’m glad I’m good for something,” I chuckled.  “Where are you right now?”

“I’m at the hotel in my room.  I’ve been lying in bed for four hours but there’s no way I’m going to be sleeping tonight.  The sun is starting to come up now,” he told me, stifling a yawn.  “
My mom’s been asleep for hours…all the traveling took a lot out of her.  I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now.  Will you stay on the line with me?”

“Of course,” I replied instantly.  “But Chris, it will cost you a fortune.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Oh you smooth talker, you,” I chided
as I crawled into bed, keeping my voice low so as to not wake my mother.  “Seriously though, don’t go broke on my account.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence.  I shut my eyes, relishing the fact that Chris and I
could
just sit there saying nothing and not feel awkward about it.  That’s not something one can do with many people, you know?  It’s not something to be taken for granted.

Then
Chris broke the silence, asking, “Hey, so this is a random question but what color are your eyes?  I feel like they might be green…I don’t know why.  It’s just a hunch.  You sound like a green-eyed kind of girl.”

“They
are
green.”  It was an innocent question but it made me so uncomfortable.  Aside from some joking around in the past, Chris had never asked me much about my appearance.  I’d preferred it that way.

In an attempt
to steer the conversation away from my physical attributes, I demanded, “What, exactly, makes someone sound like they’re green-eyed?”

“Well I didn’t think
your eyes were brown,” he said.  “I have brown eyes.  Lots of people have brown eyes.  There’s nothing wrong with it, but I thought it was too common for you.  You’re not common.  You’re special.  And I didn’t think your eyes were blue, either.  That’s too cliché.  Green just seemed to fit.  And also,” he added deviously, “it was kind of an arbitrary guess.”

“Oh.”

“And your hair is waist-length and brown, right?”

“It is.”

“Nice.  I like brunettes.”

I didn’t answer.

He seemed to sense my discomfort.  “Michelle, you know I’m just playing around, yeah?  I don’t care what color your eyes are or how long your hair is.  It doesn’t matter what you look like.  I’m sure you’re hot as hell.  I mean, you have to be because you have a Hot Girl Voice.”

I knew he was trying to compliment me.  There was no malice in his words
…not one bit.  But I nonetheless felt myself getting upset.  Of course Chris was going to be curious about my appearance.  I’d been delusional to try to convince myself otherwise. 

It worried me because I knew that if and wh
en his vision was repaired, Chris would see me.  Not the version of me I was when I was with him, witty, sarcastic and self-assured.  No, he’d see all of me:  the birthmark, my vulnerability,
everything
. 

And I knew there was no way he could possibly like what he saw.
  How could he, when deep down even I couldn’t stand to look at myself?

Had I ever given Chris
any reason to believe I was good looking?  I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d inadvertently said something misleading.  I couldn’t think of anything at all.  Actually, I could distinctly remember telling Chris about the ugly red birthmark on my face. 

His reaction had been minimal.  In fact, he’d been rather dismissive of
my admission, assuring me that it didn’t matter.  It was the sort of thing any polite person would lie about, but I didn’t think Chris had been lying.  I think he simply hadn’t cared. 

But h
e’d said it when he was blind.  My appearance wasn’t exactly relevant to him at that time.  What would he really think once he could see me?

“Michelle?  You’re awfully quiet.  Are you falling asleep on me?”

“Sorry, no.  I’m awake.”

“It’s the middle of the night over there, isn’t it?” he asked
, sounding apologetic.  “Go to sleep.  It’s okay.  I’m happy just to listen to you breathe.  Hmm, was that corny or creepy?  I can’t tell.  Either way, go to sleep.”

A few minutes ago I had been fighting to stay awake, but now I was no longer tired.  I nonetheless laid there quietly, listening to
the sound of Chris’s slow, comforting breathing.  I really did love him. 

Los
ing him was going to hurt so much.

At s
ome point during the night I managed to drift off to sleep.  I woke up to a dial tone ringing in my ear.  I shut off my phone and glanced at the time, and then did the mental calculation to determine the time in Norway. 

Chris, I realized, was probably at his appointment at that very moment.

Despite my own reservations, I really did want a good outcome for him.  He’d had a lot taken from him when he’d lost his sight.  Listening to him talk about his past made that much clear.  Although he seemed to harbor a lot of guilt over the selfish life he’d led, I could also detect nostalgia in his voice from time to time when he reminisced about the way things used to be. 

I cared about him deeply – loved him, even – and I wanted the best for him.

I’m not a praying sort of girl.  It’s not that I don’t believe in God.  I do, I think.  It’s just that I’ve always felt like I shouldn’t waste my prayers.  You might have gotten the impression that I spend all my time wallowing in self-pity, but I honestly try not to.

Back when I was being bullied at school, I used to pray to God to make it stop, at least in the beginning.  Then when I was about eight
or nine, I saw one of those commercials on television asking viewers to make donations to feed starving kids in Africa.  I remember it clearly because it was the first time I’d ever really seen the suffering some people have to endure through no fault of their own. 

I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes from the television screen as I’d been confronted by true human misery.  Tears
had welled up in my eyes as I watched flies buzz around the head of an emaciated looking child who was probably close to my own age. 

Right then and there, at eight
or nine years old, I realized that no matter how mean the kids at school were to me, there were lots of people who had it much, much worse than I did. 

After that, I stopped praying for the bullying to end.  I didn’t want to waste my prayers on something so shallow when God clearly had more important matters to contend with.  I finally thought it made sense that He or She had been ignoring my repeated requests for divine intervention.  Clearly I wasn’t high up on the list of God’s priorities, nor should I be.

I don’t consider myself a religious person.  I mean, I don’t go to church or anything.  But every so often I do say a prayer for the kids in Africa.  I’ve promised myself that after college when I have a decent-paying job, I’ll sponsor a child over there.  It isn’t much but to that one person it could mean the world, you know?

Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not a praying sort of girl.  But knowing that Chris was probably undergoing surgery at that very moment
stirred something up in me.  I felt sick and hopeful and doomed all at once.

After Chris had
told me the names of the procedures he was having, I’d looked them up online.  As with any surgery, there were risks.  I hadn’t mentioned them to Chris because I hadn’t wanted to alarm him, but I was well aware of them and they scared me to death. 

I shut my eyes, finding it hard to fathom that darkness or near-darkness was what he saw on a daily basis.  Then I said a quiet prayer for him.

The ringing of the phone snapped me back to the present moment.  I looked down at the screen.  It was Chris’s number.

“Chris?” I asked, unable to hide my concern.  “Why are you calling now?  Shouldn’t you be –
?”

“It didn’t happen,” he said flatly, cutting me off.

“What?  The surgery didn’t happen?” I asked, not understanding.  “Why?  I thought the doctor said you were an excellent candidate…?”

Chris let out a heavy-hearted sigh and I could tell he wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky self.  He sounded crushed.  “He did say that,” Chris agreed.  “I went to his clinic today and signed all the paperwork and sat in the waiting room for a while…then the receptionist got a phone call and called me over and said the surgery couldn’t happen today.  Dr. Torje was called into e
mergency surgery at the hospital.”

“Oh.”  I thought for a moment and then cautiously asked, “So it’s still going to happen?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.  Then after a brief pause, he added, “I know I’m being melodramatic.  It’s not the end of the world if I have to wait an extra day for the surgery.  It’s just that I’d psyched myself up and…it’s kind of a letdown, you know?”

“I get it.  You’re allowed to be upset.”
  I tried my best to be supportive knowing that it must suck to be in Chris’s shoes at the moment.  “I wish I could do something to help.”

“Phone sex?”

“Nice try, buddy.”  I’ll admit the thought did intrigue me.  The mere suggestion of it made me tingle in places that were missing Chris pretty badly…places the electric toothbrush just couldn’t seem to satisfy anymore now that I’d been with a real man.  But I was far too shy and reserved for phone sex.  How anybody managed to say dirty things without being fall-down-drunk was beyond me!

“
Ah well, it was worth a shot.  What do you have going on today?” he asked.

“Oh nothing much…I’m candy st
riping at the hospital until eight and then I’ll probably just come home and watch a movie or something.  How about you?  It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself, but you’re
not
allowed to sit around alone in your hotel room all day,” I informed him as sternly as I could.

“I won’t,” Chris promised.  “My mom’s actually having a good day today, so she wants to go out and see the city. 
I guess I’ll tag along and uh...hope for delicious-smelling food and buskers who have talent?  Hopefully I’ll be able to see the city for myself before we leave Norway.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“It still won’t be able to compare to seeing
you
,” Chris said, his tone light and flirtatious. 

Usually when he flirted with me, it gave me butterflies.  That was totally
a normal reaction – after all, he was my boyfriend and he was incredibly handsome and smart and funny.  But this time there were no butterflies.  It felt like there was a slab of lead in the pit of my stomach weighing me down.

“I’d better go,” I said.  “Enjoy your day.”

“I’ll try my best.  Enjoy your candy striping!”

I wouldn’t say I was
enjoying
the candy striping, exactly.  Tolerating was probably a more accurate description.  I can tell you one thing: I could never be a nurse.  I think they have one of the most important jobs there is, but I couldn’t do it day in and day out.  It’s just too overwhelming to constantly be around the sick and injured.

I know what you’re probably thinking, but Chris was different.  Technically I guess he was injured, but I’d never seen him that way.  And even when he’d been in the hospital, he hadn’t acted like someone who was, well, in the hospital. 
I would never use the word “disabled” to describe him.  To me, he was just a regular guy who unfortunately, couldn’t see.

Now that my community service was about to wrap up, I was counting down the days.  Pretty soon I’d be free of my awful starchy white candy striper uniform and would no longer have to spend my days breathing in the awful chemical smell of cleaner that I associated with vomit and overall grossness. 

I arrived home from my shift that night to find a car in the driveway.  That was odd because my mom was working at the clothing store she managed – and it wasn’t her car.  When I got closer, I recognized it…and the person sitting inside.  Eric.

He got out as I approached, leaning against the side of the vehicle with his arms loosely folded.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We were talking
about music the other night.  I came across this and thought of you,” he said, handing me a CD.  “You should give it a listen – I think you’ll like them.”

I took the compact disc from
him and looked down at it.  “A CD…?” I replied, raising an eyebrow.  Did people even still listen to CDs?  “You didn’t have to but, um, thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Eric squatted down to re-tie his shoelace and I stood there feeling out of my element.  I wasn’t quite sure what to do or say – or why he was even at my place.  I looked at him contemplatively and then finally said, “Do you want to come in?  I make a mean chocolate sundae, if you want one.” 

I
t was my way of telling him I was willing to forgive him for everything he’d done to me in a past without having to actually say the words.  Well, maybe “forgive” is too strong of a word.  But I was willing to look past it and stop holding a grudge.   

Eric followed me inside and sat at the kitchen counter while I got out the vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup and sprinkles.  I notice him gazing around at his surroundings.  He wasn’t doing it in a snoopy way – he was just interested, I guess. 

The house where I’d been raised was small but cozy.  My mom and I had never had fancy things, but we’d always been comfortable enough.  There was a time when I might have been afraid of Eric or other Eric types judging me.  But oddly enough, I was okay with him looking around.

He didn’t seem quite so threatening anymore.

It’s funny, the effect that bullying can have on a person.  The unlucky kid who’s the target is dehumanized.  What starts out as a simple jab or two quickly snowballs into something more, I think because of group mentality.  At some point, the bullies forget you’re a person.  They forget you have feelings.  Maybe sometimes they even forget you can hear their cruel words.  To them, all a bullied kid is a target, a source of entertainment.

But that’s not the only thing that happens.  I think the victimized kid forgets that the bul
lies are just other children.  In my experience, bullies are often the loudest in the pack and the other kids rally around them, either because they’re jerks or they’re scared.  When you’re up against that, it’s easy to start thinking of the bullies as some sort of invincible super villains.  Without even realizing it, I guess that’s what I started to do at some point.

But
talking to Eric one-on-one had reminded me that he was just a guy.  Yeah, so he was exceptionally good looking.  He was popular.  He was athletic and successful and hadn’t had to work hard for much in his life.  But he was still just a guy, not a super villain and certainly not invincible.

He wasn’t that scary after all.