Love is Blind

“Love cures people, both ones who give it and ones who receive it” – Dr. Karl Menninger

Dappled sunlight bathes my face in warmth and I close my eyes to the endless array of life in front of me, sounds and smells bombarding my senses on this chilly Monday morning. Cars toot their horns and drivers yell out of their windows as they try to navigate traffic through a variety of curse words and unintelligible yelling. I sit on a bench overlooking all of this.

“Move already!”

“Someone get this asshole off the road!”

“Where the fuck did you get your license from?”

I smile a little. It’s funny how childish adults can be. Sadly, someday, I’ll be one too. Well, technically I am one now but I’m not as silly. I should have gone through that stage by now, but I missed my chance. By the time I’ll be on the borderline of freshly young and old fogey, I’m aiming to have mastered how to get around the things I can’t do anymore and figure out how to live normally again. I can’t afford to be rash.

The scent of coffee beans fills my nose as a person sits down beside me with a deep sigh. A man.

“Traffic?” I ask without opening my eyes.

“You betcha.” Warm, smooth lips press against my cheek for a few seconds as delicate hands entwine themselves with my own. Piano hands. Long and fine, larger than my own but much more prettier in shape. They’re hands deserving of an award for being so elegant and graceful. I tell him this.

“Aw Em, no man wants to have their hands likened to girly fingers.”

I open my eyes and turn towards him, “But that’s why I love them.”

I can hear the frown in his voice as he takes his hand away teasingly, “So if I had big, gruff farm hands, you wouldn’t love them?”

I reach my hand up to cup his cheek, a familiar movement that I’ve managed to master without poking him in the eye. Faint, rough stubble smatters his face. “I would still love them. But not as much.” I add on with a cheeky smile.

 Chris lets out another sigh and grumbles something under his breath. Ignoring his sulky remark, I trail my hand down his shoulder till I find his hand again. Tugging it, I stand up, brushing off the back of my skirt with my other hand and picking up my white cane and folding it into the large pocket of my coat, “Let’s go.”

“Come on Ophelia.” He murmurs and a quiet woof answers him.

“Phe’s here?” I ask, crouching down and reaching out. A warm, furry head pushes into my hand and I smile, “How you doing, girl?” The golden retriever lets out a boisterous woof and I laugh in response, “Glad to hear it.”

“What did she say?” Chris asks, a hint of a grin in his voice.

“She’s thinking of ditching you to come live with me.”

I get up again as he tugs my arm with a chuckle and we begin walking through the familiar park, “Where do you feel like going?”

“Hawaii.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Em.”

The sun filters in and out of the trees lining the pathway we’re on and I imagine them standing to attention. Tall, sturdy structures of rough brown bark. Willowy limbs that stretch out to the sides and up to the sky in a moment of pure worship, the green leaves adorning their branches like decorations for a party.

“Emma? Did you hear what I said?”

I turn towards Chris’ voice in surprise, “Sorry?”

He lets out a small chuckle as he shoves our entwined hands into the deep pockets of his coat, “I asked if you’ve had breakfast yet.”