Blind Faith

Being with a large population of the blind tonight brought back a flood of memories.  I found myself remembering how to walk beside them using my shoulder as a guide.  When we were close to their table or chair, I remembered to tap on it loudly rather than pull them by their arm toward it.

I skirted canes and dog paws all while carrying two plates and edging my new acquaintances around the ends of sharp tables.  Finally, I just let myself react and forced nothing...it was as if I had been transported back to an old role...that of a blind man's girlfriend.

For a two years, I participated in a blind life.  It became second nature to clear the paths, narrate facial features of speakers, and a myriad of other tasks that would allow him to function as normally as possible in a sighted world.  That part of his life didn't bother me.  I never felt taken advantage of and I certainly didn't have a martyr complex.  It was just life.

But I could never help him over his biggest hump...his ego.  As much as he had in life, he would wander into that darkness of self pity that no one could pierce.  He reached the pinnacle of success in college with the highest of accolades, a campus filled with people who loved him, and fulfillment in politics locally and state wide.  Anyone would have wanted to graduate with a resume like his...and yet, without sight, it wasn't enough.  I left him because he tried to drink his despair away and with it came the poorest of choices in his private life.

Oftentimes, we would be stopped and his buddies would ask him how he got so lucky to be dating me.  "No, I'm the lucky one," I would admonish them.  I believed that until his excuses became so lame that even I wondered why I dated him.  Alcohol was his real lover.  She eased him into a zone that the scandalous became acceptable behind closed doors and he expected to be forgiven for his lapses with other women, his emotionless requests for assistance, and his attitude that I was somehow "less" than he.

But beyond the cruelty brought upon him by blindness, his sweetness allowed him to be forgiven over and over.  I saw the busy fingers of the people tonight and I remembered how often my old lover had traced my features.  He knew my face, my body better than I did.  Forget hiding a zit, changing my hairstyle, or wearing something new without him knowing.  His fingers always knew.  Changing my soap or perfume was cause for discussion...any weight gained or lost, he knew.  A lot of memories came back tonight and most made me smile.  He has a family and career now that would make anyone proud...I hope it is enough for him but I wonder if his ego will let him be satisfied.  I hope his liquid lover has been vanquished and he can just enjoy life rather than chase despair.