Open My Eyes

Twenty-Three: Enough

Iggy suggested we do something after our shift on Monday, but I had no idea what. Seeing a movie was out, even though he assured me he didn't mind sitting in a darkened theater room with me—he did mind, however, requesting the commentary because he was blind (he was too prideful for that). We couldn't play a video game or go to the arcade, even though I had been informed there were video games designed specifically for blind people—he still refused. I thought we could perhaps go swimming but he said he wasn't in the mood. Going to Paulo's and ordering a small snack and talking sounded dull to him, and he wanted an adventure. We couldn't go to the park to play a sport, but I thought playing on the playground was acceptable. Not for him though, because he hated slipping in the bark. Plus, there were unpredictable kids there, and he didn't want to knock one over because they popped out of nowhere.

          Because my patience was thinning, I asked him to come up with something but even he came up blank. He did suggest going dancing, but when I asked him where, he had no answer.

          Dating a blind man was harder than I'd imagined. There wasn't much you could do that didn't require sight aside from talking or walking. Simply being with him was easy, because we just talked and were ourselves around each other. There was nothing complicated about being in each other's company. But as soon as one of us decided we wanted to do something together, things became difficult.

          I went through every cliché date I knew of: a walk on the beach, a candlelight dinner, dancing, watching a sunset, going to a park, seeing a concert, watching a movie. The closest beach was a little ways out of town, and Iggy had expressed his dislike for car rides. He admitted he wasn't in the mood for a simple dinner, and we couldn't think of an appropriate place to dance (he couldn't dance without music because he needed the sound). I would be the only one watching the sunset or the concert or the movie, and he claimed to have been to the park too many times lately.

          At a loss for any other idea, I suggested maybe we should just go home and try again sometime later. A part of me wanted him to respond that he didn't want me to go yet, that he wanted to stay together longer. But he agreed with a nonchalant shrug, kissed me goodbye, and headed home.

          Disappointment brought an uncomfortable pang to my heart, and my chest ached a little. I watched him disappear with pleading eyes and a pouting lip. When he did nothing else, I released a slow, heavy sigh and trotted dispiritedly back to my car.

          Sam looked up from the cards in her hands, a question in her eyes. She recalled, "I thought you were going to hang out with your boyfriend today?"

          Plopping into a chair and curling into a ball, I replied, tone bitter, "That was the original plan."

          She and my brother exchanged a curious look and she came over to my side, crouching down. Sympathy began to fill her gaze as she inquired, "What happened?"

          My eyes fell to my folded hands in my lap and I sighed again. "We were going to hang out but we couldn't figure out anything to do. Turns out finding things to do with a blind person is a bit difficult."

          "You could've just walked around and talked," Sam pointed out, noticing the layer of tears welling in my eyes.

          I sneered curtly, my mouth sour, "He wasn't in the mood for that."

          She scoffed. With an angry lilt, she demanded, "Then what mood was he in?"

          Kae snickered from the table, but shut up when we glared murderously at him. He gave us an uneasy smile and returned to the deck of cards he was shuffling.