Work Text:
C’est l’amour.
It was pleasantly quite here.
I adjusted my walking stick; waiting for the same whistling sound to come that allows me to cross the street.
It always goes quiet whenever I'm around; I did sense people around me, standing tense and straight, eyeing me as if I were some weird specimen. (That blind-people's 'sixth sense'; call it what you will.)
But it was still oddly quiet; the trees sighing, the birds chirping, and the rustling of the wind in my ears. It felt like a blissful symphony of mundane things. I enjoyed this a lot; I felt it would not be as beautiful if I were seeing it.
I think I did not introduce myself.
I'm Marco; Marco Bodt. And yes, I'm blind.
I got the bad news a long while ago. You see, I was born blind, and so I'm used to all the usual things blind people go through. Teachers from primary school vaguely told me what the sky looked like, what clouds looked like, what were the shapes of fruits, blah blah blah. All used to it.
Now that I am a full-grown 25-year old man, I felt ready to face the world. Not literally, though. But I want to be able to take care of myself. No one is born completely helpless.
I heard numerous footsteps; one person shuffled with fast steps and stopped near me, wanting to cross the road. Some walked a little slower around me; I sensed that, as they start murmuring silently. But they were not silent enough, because I could hear them pretty well.
I stood a little stiffer than usual, suddenly aware of everyone's presence. I only position my face in front, not daring to turn it anywhere. I hear some snickering from behind me - probably some lame teenagers laughing at me. That was common with the whole 'blind' thing.
I tried to pay no heed, as I kept facing straight.
Just as the snickering turned in to full-fledged laughter, someone called from my left, "Hey, stop that, you assholes!"
It was a male voice - that I could tell. He kept his hand on my left shoulder warmly. I slightly shiver under the touch. I wonder what he looked like...
He must have looked threatening - or possibly scary - for the laughing ceased almost immediately, and they ran with hurried foot-steps.
"Thanks..." I mutter lamely.
"No problem." he said, patting my shoulder, and dropping the hand then.
After a pause, I ask, "Heading to work, somewhere?" I try to strike a conversation.
"Yup." he replied, with an audible and exaggerated smack of the lips in the end. "Boring as hell, to be honest. The bills and stuff..."
"You're a banker?"
"Yeah." He asked after that, "And you?"
"Uh no, not going to any work, but I'm just going to the park across the street. Doctors say I need the 'quite time' with the whole blind thing." I chuckle slightly in the end.
He did not reply straight away. He must have been frowning. I don't know, it sure felt like that.
"Don't get bothered with the cruel frank-ness in me. I'm just being honest, is all." I said, smiling.
He chuckled and said, "Well, the world really does need people like you, then." He was smiling, I know he was. The way he said it... You could clearly tell.
After I mutter a ‘thanks’; the whistle blows. All of a sudden, the normal revving and honking of the cars ceased. Then almost suddenly, people started shuffling quickly around me. I was over-whelmed with the mass of people near me.
The stranger must have noticed my concern, for he said in a worried tone, "Hey, let me walk you there."
My breath hitched, and I immediately said, "N-no. I'll do it myself- "
"I'm not saying you can't." That left me speechless. How did he even know what I was thinking?
"Just think of it as a casual walk. Like normal people would." he stated hopefully.
In the end, I nodded. It was just a friendly gesture, that's all.
I stepped out, the walking stick in my hand, and started walking across the road, like always. Except, the only difference was that this friendly stranger is walking beside me. I could feel his footsteps perfectly lined with mine.
After a few steps, he touched my hand and steered me to the right side - a bicycle was crossing, and could have run in to me. We walked a little more, and the next thing I knew, my walking stick bumped in to the foot-path, and we stepped on to it.
The same honking and revving resumed again behind me.
"Thanks a lot. I owe you one." I said, mustering the most thankful expression I could make. I hope that was enough.
He patted my shoulder again, and said, "Don't mention it, Mr ..?"
"Bodt. Marco Bodt." I stuck out my right hand.
He shook it just as warmly.
He must have looked at the time or something, because he suddenly started swearing, and said, "Oh shit, I'm running late! I have to go. Bye!" And he started running away.
Before he could run away from his hearing range, I shouted, "What's your name?!"
"Its Jean!" and he kept running.
Jean, I thought, as I stood there.
After that, I adjusted my glasses, and went inside the park, where a worker escorted me to my usual bench, next to a pond, he told me.
-
It was the quietest place in the park. Although I could hear the distant screams and laughter of children playing tag or something, it was close to nothing.
I spent my time listening to nature.
That must have seemed absurd, but really, anyone could do it if they tried hard enough. I listen to nature; the rustling of leaves in the trees, the rippling of water in front of me, the wind wheezing softly around me, ruffling my hair. I turned my face upwards, and sighed peacefully.
I tried picturing everything I heard, just by my other senses; it was how I spent my time. And as miserable as it sounds, in reality it was the most amazing thing.
It was amazing because in a weird way, I was my own Master; I could will the Earth to look like anything I wanted only by touch or scent, and I was the one who made everything my own. I was my own Creator. I was my own God, controlling everything with a mere shift of my mind. It made me feel special; it made me feel greater than my crippled being and soul combined.
I imagine the noise and feel of water floating and rippling around me. I imagine the wind, sounding and feeling like the same breeze I can hear around me. I smile slightly.
A gust of wind blew, and I extend my hand to feel the breeze. Something falls in my hand; something small, something smooth. I smell it, and laugh softly; it was the same earthy scent I smell near trees. It was a leaf.
I imagine the same small, pointy things - presumably a leaf - above me making rustling noises, with the same earthy scent surrounding me.
The picture would sound ridiculous to most. But it was the most pleasant thing I could come up with.
I even try to imagine that person; Jean, as he called himself. I could picture nothing but a shadow with a face hidden in darkness, and a hand extended forward.
That was as far as I could go.
Every time I went to the same foot-path, I would meet Jean there, every day; every day I would hear the same fast-shuffling sound approaching me, except this time Jean would greet me with my first name. It’s been more than two weeks. Maybe it was pure fate or something else entirely that just popped Jean in my everyday activities.
Every day we met there. Every day we talked. Every day we walked across the same road together. And then we would part to our own ways. And then the next day; repeat.
And every day I tried making a clearer image of Jean in my mind, only through his voice. The young spirit in him proved he was a year or two younger than me. And his voice was... just something else.
I can't even explain it properly. His voice had that pretentiousness to it, but at the same time, you could hear the tinge of sympathy for others. Along with that, he had some serious arrogance in him too, but he had enough kindness to balance it out. I can't even put it in proper words. His voice is just... different; unique. I guess I can only use that word to describe him till now; unique.
Today, we were talking about his job, the 'boring' one; banking.
"It’s just so fucking dry! There’s no fun, no entertainment, nothing; nothing to just sorta lighten your day!"
I could do nothing except let out an airy laugh. He had a way of describing his life, I noticed.
After a pause, I heard him say, "Y'know we haven't talked much about you."
I shrug. "What would you wanna know about a bli- "
He just straight up cut me by saying, "Enough with the crappy talks. Besides, you seem like a nice guy. I told you about my rather adventurous life. I'd like to know a little about you too. Besides, I got no job today; I’m free!"
“Then why did you come?” I raise my eye-brows.
At that, he paused, and laughed. “Well, of course, to make a request: how about we grab some coffee, and talk a little, huh?”
My eyebrows rise up at their own accord. Someone was actually interested in me?
I did not even think twice. I nodded, and like that, we left for some coffee.
I definitely wanted to get to know him a little more.
After walking a few steps, he turned me towards the right, and he seated me on a comfy seat. With a screeching noise, he sat in front of me. A waitress with a squeaky voice took our order - two cups of regular coffee. The steaming cup of coffee seems to compliment the cool and calm weather outside. The streets were crowded as ever; I could make out sounds of children chasing each other, women talking rapidly on their phones, and hurried businessmen running back and forth.
Jean slurped his coffee, and with a content sigh, he asked, "Alright. Now tell me about yourself."
About myself; what about myself? A blind man, imagines absurd images of nature, and...
"Uh... What can I tell?" I ask, shrugging.
"Anything. Start with your likes."
I think on that for some time. And then I say, "I like music."
"Now that's some start! What kind?"
I scratch the back of my neck. "I like piano symphonies."
"Oh, that's different." he said.
"I'll take that in a good way...?"
He barked a laugh, and said, "Yeah, you could say that."
With that, they both laughed heartily, and the conversation continued for a long time. Their cups of coffee were finished, and yet they stayed there.
I shared some information about myself; Marco Bodt is the full name, 25-years old. I have graduated high school with commendable scores. I liked piano symphonies but I didn't know how to play it though. I can cook (Jean laughed at that) and I long for some change in my monotonous life. I got to know some interesting things about Jean as well.
His full name is Jean Kirschtein. And yes, he has a French family background. He is 24-years old, and he has proudly professed that he is homosexual; it was easy to deduce that because all his previous relationships with women ended tragically. He is one to live life easy and peaceful. But he wants some bit of edge, or adventure in his life to perk it up a bit.
"It’s true! I need that little ‘spice’, that most say, in my life. That adventure, that thing! I want to call my life memorable. Not something that just flew past too quickly."
I just shook my head. He must have seen that, for he poked me in the forehead. "Too soon for that, Marco! Tell me, what do you do other than listen to songs? When you're bored?"
This time I seriously stutter. I do nothing other than that; nothing extraordinary, at least. But then...
"I listen."
I wait for a laugh, a snort, a chuckle, anything.
"How?" he asks in such a soft tone, so unlike him.
No one has ever asked me that. How do I listen? Is there even a procedure?
"I just listen very closely. I shut myself down temporarily. I just forget that I exist for a while." I have never told this to anyone.
But I continue. "I forget who I am for a while. I'm not Marco anymore, I'm part of nature; I'm the breeze, I'm the trees, I'm the clouds, I'm the water." I stop. I feel myself smiling. Why am I smiling?
"And then I just picture it all." I end my statement. "Jeez, that's lame..." I say, rubbing my face and laughing silently.
"No, no, go on! You're being you, and that isn't lame. It’s what people lack these days. All people are doing these days is impress people they don't like for reasons they don't know and/or don't care about." Jean said, and this time with all honesty.
I nod in agreement, feeling heat rush everywhere in my face.
"It’s getting dark. We better make our ways home now." A screech and he stands up. He touches my hand lightly, and he helps me get up. "You live anywhere?" he asks.
I give him my address, and he escorts me there. It was thoughtful of him to do that.
"We better meet up tomorrow too. Luckily, I'm free then too!"
"You aren't ditching your job, are you?" I challenge him.
"Maybe I am, maybe I am not. How ‘bout you imagine that for me?" he jokes. "But no, seriously; we better meet up. I still need to catch up with you."
I hold the knob of my door. I feel heat flush in my cheeks. Why the hell...?
I bite my lip, and say, "Sure; same time, at the park this time?"
"Perfect." I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
"Just one more thing." I dare ask. He waited for a question.
"When we were crossing the road the other day," I stopped, wet my lips, and proceeded. "How did you know how I felt, when I declined your help to cross the road?" It seemed like such a small thing, but in reality it was not.
Jean took his time to answer. After a minute, he started, "It’s because I can tell; people say I have a way with them, that I can tell what they really mean. I've known how it feels to feel helpless and how you just want to do something for yourself..." he paused. "And so I just assumed... It’s just one of those things. I feel - and know - that you're a capable guy. I can tell by you that you definitely want to fight the world full-on."
I don't reply for a long while. I found my breath minutes later. He was able to explain every feeling I felt in just a few words. How?
"Yeah, it’s exactly that." I feel heat flush all over my face. I pause, and then said, "I had a fun time, Jean. Take care." I say, as I enter my apartment.
Just as I close my door, I could have sworn I heard him say, "Aren't you something different..."
"So this is where you go every day?"
"Yup." I reply.
This time, we met at the park around noon. The weather was perfect for a meet-up at the park; not much noise, and the sun shone upon us with beams of warmth. I tilt my head upwards a little to catch the soothing heat, a content hum escaping my lips.
Jean whistles a tune as the worker leads him and me to my usual seat the next day as we promised. We sit at the usual bench together, our legs touching. Thankfully neither of us flinches away.
Once again, I could feel the breeze surrounding me, the smell of spring fresh in the atmosphere, and the sound of the birds merrily chirping resonating far away. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I heard Jean do the same.
After a while, he says, "It’s nice here."
"Yeah, it is."
"Hm."
A pause.
"Why are you smiling?" he asks.
It was not until he asked that I realized that I was indeed smiling like a goof.
"Oh, it’s just the weather. It’s so nice, I just forget for a while..." I trail off.
"What do you exactly imagine, if I may ask?" he inquired.
I shrug, but I answer anyway. "I dunno. Its gonna sound lame."
"Try me", he challenged.
"Okay, umm," I thought. Then I chose my words, and I tell him how I create images through different sensations.
"You make an image with sounds?" he asks, amazed.
"Well, yeah. I'm restricted to it, but I feel it isn't that hard. You just hear, and feel, and maybe you'll ace at creating an exact image, maybe even better."
He hums contentedly, and asks, "What else?"
"Um, I picture small pointy things that smell like leaves on trees-"
"Hold on. That is not the only thing on trees." Jean says, as I got cut by a rush of wind that rattled the trees behind me, making calm hissing noises. The bench creaked as Jean stood up.
After a moment, he sat back next to me, this time with a tense anticipation in him. "Have you ever felt a flower properly before?" I knew about them, sure, but what was he implying...?
"Uh, Jean...?"
"I know you know what these are, but I think you should be able to perceive just how beautiful this is." He cut me off by picking my index and middle fingers, and gently traced them on something soft. My fingers stop at the smooth, velvety touch
"This is the petal. This one has got like a thousand petals." He gingerly traced my finger around another soft petal, and another, and another.
He put the flower in my palm now, placing it upright. He picked my fingers once again, and put it in the middle of the flower, "This here is the center of it. It has these little grains on it called pollen, you know that. Here, check it out." He paused, and dusted something light on my fingers. I rubbed them together to feel the grainy texture of the pollen. I laughed a little.
"That's not all. It doesn't have just one color, it has three altogether. It’s different in the middle, its different on one side of the petal and different on the other. If you be careful, you'll feel the fuzzy end of the flower too." He placed my finger under the flower, where I felt something fuzzy.
I cannot even begin to describe what I felt there; I felt ecstatic. All my elementary teachers wasted their times on giving me vague details on what flowers looked like, but this was nothing like before. This was not yawn-inducing descriptions with nothing special; this was as if I were learning it from scratch, but with interest. Someone took their time to describe what a freaking flower looked like, and he described it as if it were something not even money could replace. I was so happy.
At the moment, I was smiling like an idiot, with Jean placing the flower in my hand, guiding my deft fingers to trace all the little features of this flower. It amazed me how such an insignificant flower made the whole difference for me.
"Jean, I..." I trailed breathlessly, laughing again. Jean laughed as well.
After a pause, he stated, "Not saying it in a creepy way, but..." He sighed, and continued, "You are just really different from others I know. I just feel like I need to know you, to understand you. You're just that intriguing."
I just opened and closed my mouth like a fish. These words filled me with such joy I could fly. But there, I could do nothing but smile like a fool, shake my head, and continue feeling the flower he handed me. He laughed, and handed me more.
Ever since that day, Jean and I have been inseparable. We meet up every day, either after or before Jean's job, or on better days; when he does not have to go. We have found a friend in each other. I have never had real friends and so I was used to it, but being friends with Jean showed me just what I was missing my while life.
We usually meet at the same park, at the same bench. Every day, Jean brings something new to describe; a leaf, another flower, an acorn, and once even a bird. Jean managed to describe everything as something so significant, as so special in its own way, that the world would not be the way it is without it. He was able to find the extraordinary in the ordinary. It was intriguing.
Okay about that.
I don't know how to say this, but I don't think I'm straight. Get it? I think you did. Yeah, it’s true; I never felt attracted in that way towards girls in general. Not that I am crazy for boys, no. Not yet at least.
But I'm very much interested to know Jean right now; in a platonic way.
I tried teaching him how to create scenery with only four senses; although he failed miserably at it. He just would not quit peeking at things from under his eye-lids.
Today was a good start to the day; Jean took a day off, and we went to the park again. Today the weather was more windy and cold. A certain earthy aroma hung in the air for some reason.
We were sitting at our bench. I folded my legs under me, as Jean explored a dandelion.
"These are my favorite." he explained, "They have these fuzzy little seeds instead of petals. Check it out." Jean placed a thin string-like thing in my hand, with a furry top. My eyebrows knotted at my forehead in confusion.
"Weird, right?" he chuckled, and continued, "Just imagine something like that, but millions. All in one little stem! And when you blow on it, they just scatter everywhere, all over the place! Let me show you." Jean cupped my hands, and then blew over it. Suddenly, a mass of those fuzzy-topped things came in my hands. I let out a squeal in surprise.
Jean started laughing, which made me laugh more. I let out a tired sigh; I would do anything to look at this little dandelion.
He must have noticed, for he placed a warm hand on my knee and said, "Hey, man. Don't sound like that. I'm not saying it doesn't suck, but just you wait till I get you a pair of robot-eyes in the future."
That made me laugh even more, and hence we fell in to another fit of laughter as Jean started to quote stuff from Star Trek.
Over our laughter, I heard a distant rumble. It intensified. Then it stopped.
Then a sharp clap resonated above me.
"Hey, Marco. Marco, its okay..." I did not say anything.
"The - the thunder..." I stuttered.
"Hey, it’s only a noise by the clouds, nothing els-"
"I can't understand." I demanded.
That was 100% true; I never understood thunder, which was why I was always afraid of thunder. It was something I could not even come near imagining. The mere noise is so deafening and unsafe, that I can feel nothing but dread. Anything that I could not feel made me freak out about it.
"Let's - let's go." I whimper. I could not feel my legs.
"Oh, Marco! Haven't you ever felt rain before?!"
I've heard of it, but I've never really been in it. The doctor's said it was un-advisory. And the thunder always kept me away.
"The doctor's said-"
"To hell with the doctors!" Jean cut me off, pulling me on to my feet. I felt my legs tremble.
"Jean, I can't, I can't."
"Trust me. It won't hurt. You'll never know if you don't try." Jean insisted.
I still stood against it, but Jean held me by my upper-arms, and told me firmly, "Hey, it’s okay. Trust me." He said it in such a soothing voice, completely unlike his own.
Strangely, I nodded, although meekly.
Then suddenly, the rumbling stopped. And I felt something wet fall on the tip of my nose from above. Then another fell on my cheek, then on my shoulder, and the next minute I knew, it was raining hard, and I was sopping wet.
I was freaked out of my brains; I did not move an inch. Water was falling from the freaking sky - like woah there Nature!
On the contrary, Jean was laughing; the most hearty and happiest laugh anyone could muster, and such a laugh, that it even made me smile. I only managed a whimper-like giggle that did not sound human.
"This is rain! Whenever you hear thunders, the next thing you'll know, it’s gonna rain! Isn't it amazing?!" he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing.
I ease myself, and face upwards. I started listening; the pitter-patter of rain was all around me and over me, and the sound of rain mixed with the strong wind was majestic. The smell was aromatic; it was the same earthy scent I smelled earlier, except it was bolder, and it made me feel light. As if I was floating.
It was so beautiful.
What was I afraid of?
I started giggling like a teenager and twirled slowly, soaking my hair and face and literally everything.
Jean laughed along, and whooped loudly. He took my arms and we were spinning fast. I would have never done this in other circumstances. But right there; I did not care at all.
He abruptly left and started singing in a God-awful voice:
"I'm singin' in the rain!
I'm singin' in the rain!
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy again!"
He looped an arm around mine and sang:
"I'm laughing at the clouds!
So dark up above!
The sun's in my heart,
And I'm ready for love!"
I was cackling uncontrollably by then. Then I heard him tap his feet and sing:
"Dancin' in the rain
Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah
Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah
I'm happy again
I'm singin' and dancin' in the rain!"
He started tapping his feet with rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-slide.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-slide.
Jean caught my quizzical expression, as he asked, "Didn't I tell you I can tap dance?" It was such an oblivious fact that I just gaped at him. He barked a laugh, and tapped a full number in the rain. The taps and slides and splashes of water and rain made it amazing.
"Now you try! Follow my lead." I was hesitant, but I tried.
He stood in front of me.
"Tap one foot." Tap.
"Then the other." Tap.
"Then tap once with the balls of your feet, and then with the heel of the same foot."
Tap - and slosh. He chuckled.
"And then slide with the other."
Slide. I stood still.
"C'mon! Follow me now."
Tap. Tap. Tap-slosh slide.
Tap. Tap. Tap-slosh slide.
My pace quickened, and so did his, as we haphazardly tap danced in the rain. Our giggles and chuckles and taps echoed through the whole park. I do not even remember feeling this light, this bold, this young, and this free before.
I felt wild after a lifetime.
-
It was not long before it got late, and we were afraid of getting the cold, so we ran to our homes. Jean dropped me at my house. We tap-danced all the way through; we were not even making sense. We were just tapping and sloshing water at each other like toddlers.
We finally reached my house, and even then we were high from adrenaline. We were soaking wet, and even then we were not tired.
I stepped on my front-porch, and turned towards Jean. I beckoned him to stand under the porch as well, and so he did. He started spraying water droplets on me from his hair. I swatted his face away as I chuckled.
"Did I ever tell you I have an under-cut?" he asked, completely out-of-the-blue.
I gave a quizzical expression, which made him laugh. His breath fanned over my face, smelling like lemon-grass.
"Check." He took my right hand, and placed it on something fuzzy. "It’s short from the back." It was the back of his head; the back being short and fuzzy. I drift my hand through the top of his hair, where they were thicker and softer, and were wet from the rain. I resist the urge to trace his cheek-bones, his eyes, all his contours and edges, and so lift my hand abruptly.
I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly, and face down. I was unable to say anything; today was just something else. I had never felt this wild, this young, and this free ever before.. Society and doctors restricted me in to nothing. But Jean proved to me I could do anything normal people could; possibly even more. I felt special after a long time.
He was laughing when he said, "Marco, man today was amazing! We can meet up someday to-"
I did not let him complete his sentence, for I ran in to him headfirst and hugged him. It was the least I could do to let him know how much gratitude I felt with his presence. Jean instantly hugged me back, possibly even harder. I nestled my head on his shoulder, and whispered, "Thank you, Jean; for today." It was all I could muster.
He clapped my back, and said, "C'mon, Marco. It’s okay. You always had the fun in you; I just pulled it out." His breath tickled my hair.
I stood straight, and made my way towards the door.
"Try not catching a cold!" he exclaimed, as I chuckled, said my farewells, and closed the door behind me.
I could have sworn I heard him sing:
"The sun's in my heart,
And I'm ready for love!
Dancin' in the rain..." then his voice diminished.
I shook my head, laughing silently, and shrugged off my wet coat. I felt around for the coat hanger, and hung the coat over it. My house was not that big, but it was spacious with less furniture, so it was easy to move around without the cane.
I slipped off my shoes, and made my way towards the bathroom. One hand on the wall, I felt my way towards it. It was easy anyway to walk; all I had to do was feel my way with one hand on the wall.
After taking a warm shower, I felt around my closet for a dry shirt, and put it on, along with some pajamas.
Entirely exhausted, I made my way towards bed. I crossed the room, and clicked my tongue. The noise echoed. I stepped forward step by step until I neared a wall. I felt my way with my right hand, until the passage turned. I felt with my toes, and I could feel the stairs. I stepped then one at a time, and clicked my tongue when I reached at the top.
Click. It did not echo much; the room was not that far away. One hand outstretched, I turned the knob of my room, and entered. Like this I was able to tell the distance if things by echoes.
I fell face first on my bed. I pulled the sheets over me, and curled in to a warm ball. I almost immediately fell in to slumber.
The last thing I remember was trying to create an image of Jean with the soft hair from the top, short and fuzzy hair on the bottom, and a scent of lemon-grass around him.
It has been over a month now, and I am worried about my feelings towards Jean.
We were almost inseparable before anyway, but ever since the day when we danced freely under the rain, I felt a shift inside of me. I fear my feelings for him had turned away from platonic ones.
It's just that Jean made me feel as if I were the one that mattered; my blindness always made me insignificant, and although it did not bother me much, it did tug at my conscious. And since I'm human, I noticed it, and did not like it. I wanted someone to notice me as human, as someone who can feel and can laugh and can joke just with one sense less. Doctors and therapists only gave the fake-sympathy that never mattered.
But he made me feel significant. He made me feel special. He made me feel as if I actually mattered after a long while. It made me burst with joy, and I could just fly over the moon - literally, even. But the grave uncertainty always hung around, that pained me; would he feel the same way?
Yeah, he isn't straight, and he had more than once said that I "was intriguing". But it still nibbled at me from inside; would he be able to put up with me for long? Would he be able to tolerate the little problems blind people like me get every day? I know I was over-thinking this, but I believe I was thinking rationally at one part at least; I don't think I would have a chance with him, and I don't think he would even try.
So I would have to keep my feelings in check.
And I was failing miserably at it.
Every day, whenever we met, I would try not to smell the same lemon-grass aroma around him, I tried not to fall for his smooth yet pretentious voice, I tried not to become hyper-aware of our legs touching when we sat together, or flush at the faintest of touches when he would touch my hand to guide me somewhere else. I most definitely tried not to close the distance in us when I could.
But being the lousy hypocrite who had the feeblest of wills, of course I failed. And I failed miserably.
I could never control myself; his straight-forward voice, his spirit, his youth, his crazy-comebacks, his aroma that could bring anyone into a trance, and just his energy, basically. He was like a bundle of good energy, which just literally radiated from every fiber of his being, and anyone could feel it - even a blind person.
I knew I could never be able to radiate that much good in to anything. No one would notice anyway; who would?
One day, Jean had a surprise planned for me. He did not breathe a word about the surprise; he did not breathe a word about it when he knocked on my door, he did not talk about it when I sat in his car, and he certainly did not talk about it through the whole ride, no matter how much I prodded him.
We were driving to this special place just now. Loud rock music blared from behind his small car. I complained about it, but Jean just replied with:
"Linkin Park should be heard by everybody in this world. Their words shall spread some sense in them about reality." I just scoffed, to which he smacked the back of my head. I adjusted my glasses and pointed my tongue at him childishly.
I rolled the window down, and turned my head to the rush of cool wind entering the car. We must look crazy; a guy and a blind man, sitting in a car, with loud rock music blaring from the car, radiating it through the whole neighborhood.
The air was calming, and its powerful rushing was all I could focus on, along with the music. Jean was singing along now:
"And tell them I couldn't help myself
And tell them I was alone
Oh, tell me I am the only one
and there's nothing left to stop me.”
At that part he looped an arm around my neck and pulled me close to him, and continued singing:
"When the lights go out and we open
our eyes,
out there in the silence, I'll be gone,
I'll be gone.
Let the sun fade out and another
one rise
Climbing through tomorrow, I'll be
gone, I'll be gone!”
When he loosened his arm, I was a flushed mess. The rest of the way, I tried to erase the fresh scent of his surrounding me.
-
Finally, after half an hour and three more loud Linkin Park tracks, we reached our destination. The air was rippling our clothes, so it had to be high above. Jean was almost vibrating with anticipation. As soon as the car stopped, he unbuckled himself and immediately left the car to open my door. I could have done it myself, but he declined the effort. He took my hand and made me stand up.
After locking the car, he led me forwards with ginger steps, until he stopped. I was shaking with fear and excitement, both at the same time. He stepped away from me, and said, "Whenever I'm confused, or angry, or upset, I just let everything go and drive up to here. This place is literally cut off from everywhere else. It's so quiet and peaceful. I can just calmly collect my thoughts here, or just vent my frustration. It's just so... quiet and I knew you'd love it here."
I heard him alright, but I did not pay him much heed. All I could hear, feel, smell and just notice was this whole new world filled with sensations I had never felt. The air was not dense with other fumes like food, smoke and other things; it was pure and clean, and it felt like it too, as it ruffled my hair and clothes. I closed my eyes and extended my hand to feel the air, although it looked crazy. I could feel the wind passing through the spaces between my fingers; like silk slipping away from me, the cool sensation was marvelous. It was beautiful. I felt powerful, in a way. My senses took everything in, and I felt light-headed with pleasure and happiness.
I laughed at this perfect feeling bubbling inside of me. Jean stepped next to me, and said, "And check it out; dandelion fields!"
I gasped as I knelt and felt around; I was in a dandelion field. I could feel the fuzzy seeds drifting to and fro with the wind. I smile to myself.
All of a sudden, a strong gust of wind blew from the open space in front of me. I stand my ground, as I brace myself for the string breeze. It was cooler than before, and fresher; the air filled me up from inside too, it seemed. I extend both my arms Titanic-style and laugh at the sky. I could fly right there; I felt so free, and so invincible.
I turn the opposite way, as I hear a flock of shrieking birds from far away.
"It’s okay; they’re just migrating." Jean reassured. I stand, less tense now, and hear for the sounds. The birds were chirping merrily, and they zoomed from above me, towards their home. The sounds they made were amazing; such small creatures could make sounds louder than we could.
Jean took my right hand, and the gesture startled me. I gave him a questioning look, and he replied, "I wanna show you another thing."
He lead me forwards, at the edge of the cliff. I stopped.
"Jean- no I can't-"
"C'mon, Marco. I wouldn't be doing it if it weren't that far-"
"I don't have it in me. I can't." I said. And I could not make myself believe in anything else.
Jean paused. He did not leave my hand. Rather, he gripped it tighter and said, "You had it when we danced in the rain the first time. You had it when you stood right here just now over a huge cliff. Marco-" he shook my shoulder. "You have it in you. You have to take it out like the times you've done before."
"But what if-"
"If anything happens, I'll be there. Don't let the doctor's and society stop you from being you."
At that, I felt my guards melt down. It was true; the one thing I despised was when people and doctors and therapists stopped me from doing what normal people did; from being human.
I always wanted to prove them wrong by doing all that they stopped me from - maybe even the impossible. I wanted to laugh at their faces and say 'Who said I couldn't do it?'
It’s true: who dare say I'm restricted because of one sense less?
I can do it.
I nod with determination. He held both my hands strongly, and together, he took me down a slope at the edge of the cliff. He used ginger steps to guide me safely. His grip on my hands was strong, and he never wavered.
He began, "The place I'm taking you is nearer to the sea below. It's just a little walk down the cliff. But the path is thin, so you're gonna have to be steady. Is it okay?"
I nod in agreement. I try to suppress any kind of fear bubbling inside of me. I want to do this; I want to do something that I've been stopped from doing, something that people would go "He'll never do that." when they pin-point me doing it.
The passage becomes narrower as we go down. The rocks underneath me are moist from the water, and the wind is stronger. I take a careful step, and I slip. I almost fall, but Jean holds my forearms tight. He stops for a second.
He said hurriedly, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, its a - a little far away-"
"It’s okay. It’s okay! I'm fine.“ and I mean it.
After a few steps, Jean leads me to a wider ridge against the cliff. We sit on a boulder, our feet dangling from the edge. I hear water rush beneath me. I feel water-droplets spray on my ankles and arms. I lean down, and some of the salty drops fall in my mouth and over my face. I splutter, and laugh it off.
We passed a few minutes in silence, just contemplating the peace and quite right there.
Jean begins, "I knew you'd love it. I do too; it’s just ‘cause you don't feel as if you're on planet Earth anymore: such a cruel world could never be this beautiful."
I knew Jean was not just talking about wars and riots. He was speaking for the unfortunate as well; the crippled, the deaf, and even the blind. They deserved to look and hear the same things other people could, who were not taking advantage of their blessed senses, but were rather wasting their time on other things that don't matter.
"The world is cruel, but it still is beautiful, Jean. It is if you open yourself a little wider." I reply.
And I was honest: I don't think you need eyes to notice something's beauty. You need your own self to notice things; you need to pay attention to the beautiful details this intricate world has to offer. Your mind should never wander only on the bad things. All your focus should be on this world you live in, and its beauty.
Another minutes pass in blissful silence.
Then he asks, "Have you ever felt, I don't know... Insignificant? Something just not special?"
"Well, the normal amount just comes and goes, but..."
"I've been going through it a lot." Jean stated.
He continued, "I wanted to tell you this; I lost my job. I lost it, cause they found someone better at it, and so they just ignored me. As if I was never there. And it did take a serious toll on me because I worked hard for that place, and it just went away like poof! Just gone." He let out a tired sigh. I was shocked to hear about his lost-job. He did work hard for it.
"And so the few days later were extremely tough; I never had friends in the first place, and my parents were divorced, so I never got the attention I needed. I coped with problems by myself; and let me tell you, it was hard. And this time, I just couldn't solve any problem on my own. I was... I was lost." He ended with such an exhausted voice; I resisted the urge to hug him.
"I tried to use the same thing you did; the forgetting-yourself thing. Even that didn't work. I got so frustrated with myself, I just..." He sighed helplessly.
After a pause, I said softly, "It’s not that hard."
"How? How can you just deny your existence so easily? I mean, you're breathing, you're here, and yet you have to let yourself go to the world around you?"
"I don't know, you just... You just let go of yourself. You just accept that the Universe is bigger than you; that it matters a little more than your soul and body combined. With that simple fact, you just... give in. Am I even making sense?" I giggle, unsure.
After a thoughtful pause, "Go on." Jean whispers.
"I'm a believer in our bodies and souls summing up to mean something; to matter, and stuff. To be remembered. But then comes a time, when you just sort of have to accept that you just might never be greater than the Universe; that the Universe won't notice you as the great Summed-up Being in the world, and that's okay. Letting go is so much easier than holding on, I think."
Our legs were touching. I could hear his breathing next to me.
I continued. "And after letting go, you're practically free. You're free to be anything and everything you want; you can be the sky, you can be the little dandelions, you can be the seas. You're your own God, your own Creator. It makes me feel special. It makes me feel like an invincible force; a force I would have never become if I had held on."
Our hands were touching now. I did not flinch, and neither did he.
"And the amazing thing is; it’s all in my head. An awesome plot-twist, right?" I laugh. "No, but really. Anyone who looks at me would go, "Look at the blind guy!" or would think I'm helpless. But they don't know just how powerful my mind is; how vast and amazing it is. I can come up with anything with just a mere shift of thought. It makes me feel special - just like I said before. I feel that my soul means something more than my impaired body; that it counts for something. To sum it up: letting go of yourself for a while, can help you become a person greater than you were before."
Then there was silence. I felt my face flush after saying everything. My eyes had watered too, and my breathing was shallow.
I just let all my guards down to Jean Kirschtein.
And never have I felt more relieved than right there.
I turned my head towards him, so that our noses were almost touching. Almost. I held my breath.
"You are amazing, Marco Bodt."
I say nothing.
He nudged our noses together, and then I felt his lips soft against mine; subtle, and testing. My breath had left my chest. I could not even think properly.
He left my lips as soon as he landed there, and pressed our foreheads together.
"Marco..."
"Y-yeah...?"
"D'you want to go ahead? With... with this?"
I don't answer straight away. I pause a few moments, before I press our lips together again with one word; yes.
He kisses me firmly. He pushes my glasses off my eyes, and tilts his face, one hand resting behind my neck, as he moved his lips slowly and lovingly against mine. I felt goose bumps rise where he touched me. He tasted just so; it was a mixture of lemon-grass and mint and water combined with the smell of his cologne. It was exotic. It was amazing.
We finally break apart, foreheads touching again. I rested a hand on his left cheek, tracing his cheek-bone.
"Your eyes..."
I stop, realizing my glasses were on my forehead.
"They're beautiful."
I gasp, already feeling tears sting at my eyes.
"Y-you think so?" I ask lamely.
He laughed, his fresh lemon-grass scent mixed with his cologne surrounding me. I sigh in to it.
"Yeah. They're this amazing brown, and their... their perfect. Not even in the cliché sense if that's what you're wo-mph" I stopped his rambling by kissing him firmly. He replied with the same amount of affection.
We spent the whole time kissing and contemplating the silence the world offered us two.
It’s been almost half a month since our kiss, and ever since then, I grew addicted to him.
I always craved him; I craved his voice, I craved his scent, I craved his touch, I craved his kisses... I craved him so much. I needed him. I would find myself waiting at night, for the Sun to rise already so that Jean could pick me up and we could go to the park. There we would explore even more. There, he would always sneak kisses on my cheek, my neck, my head, and my lips. There, he would almost never let go of my hand. There, I felt loved by him.
There would be days when we went to the same cliff, on the same boulder down the edge of the cliff. There we sat and shared stories; about our childhood, about our crazy adventures, about our weird wishes and so much more. There, we kissed until it went dark, and until the cold night-air washed over us, and until our lips felt numb and tingly from kissing too much, and until only our giddy laughter could be heard in the night.
It terrified me just how much I had fallen for Jean. I was terrified by how much I would feel myself charge just by a mere brush of his hand against mine. And when we kissed, I always felt like bombs exploded inside me. I always fell in to a trance when we touched, when we kissed, when we notice each other.
I never knew I needed him all my life.
Today Jean took me to his own house. He told me it was spacious, but not that huge. I was just happy that this time I went to his house. He led me down a narrow hallway, and then after five steps it abruptly opened to a wide room.
I felt around for things; ornaments, decorations, a golf-club (for long-lost hobbies, and for safety purposes, he said.) and pictures on the walls - presumably of him and his family. After moving ahead a little, my hand fell on some buttons that let out a clang of different sounds all of a sudden that I jumped out of my skin.
Jean laughed and reassured me, "You found my piano!" He pressed a few melodious keys, and sighed. As if he were recalling some old memories he cherished. "This baby is so old. I used to play it like a lifetime ago."
Right there, I had this crazy idea.
"Play something for me, Jean."
I could feel his stare on me, as he said, "No, Marco. I'll only screw it up-"
"C'mon please!" I reached for his hand, and he clasped it immediately. That was what I adored about him; he reached for me whenever I needed him.
I pulled myself towards him, and wrapped my arm around his waist. Being an inch or two shorter than me, he wrapped his around my shoulders.
"For me?" I begged.
"Marco, no, c'mon ple-"
The rest of his rant was muffled, as I kissed him. That was one way to persuade him; kiss him senseless.
"M-marco - man-mph - Alright fine!"
I whooped and pecked him on the cheek. He muttered something about me being a big baby.
He sat on a bench, and I sat next to him.
"Well, it's still rough, so don't blame me, okay?" he said.
"Fine, man. Just... Just do it. I wanna hear you." I say sincerely. I took off my glasses.
He first kisses me softly, before playing the first few notes hesitantly.
It starts off softly, slowly, and smoothly. He then slowly gathers his own pace, the notes reaching my ears effortlessly. I smile as I hear my boyfriend play a song for the first time.
"Now you help." He said. He paused for a second, adjusted himself behind me, so that I was facing in front, with me between his legs. He kept his warm hands over mine from behind, and guided me through the notes. Now I was playing the piano. I was laughing. He nuzzled his nose at the back of my neck, as the song progressed.
Now I stop smiling, and for the first time, actually listen to music. I hear the notes gather a sweet melancholic tone, that reminded me nothing but of myself, strange enough.
It was a sweet tragic, with its notes reaching its highs and lows. I could feel the vibrations under my fingertips, so that the whole tune thrummed inside of me. I was the whole song.
I know it sounds strange, but the song seemed as if it were begging attention, it were desperately calling to someone to notice them; I felt so, as the notes played slowly and softly, then gradually gathering intensity, as it turned in to a high-pitched thrum. There, it seemed as if it were alone, and were screaming out to someone - anyone - to hold on to it.
As it reached the chorus, I learned how I could relate to it; I always felt left out, I always had to scream, I always had to cry out for someone to hold on to because of my damned blindness. All this time I was just a functioning machine, with nothing in life to strive for.
As the song reached its ending, I felt tears in my eyes for no reason. I needed someone. And I did have someone; Jean. He held on, blind or not. He held on, impaired or not. He held on, helpless or not.
I called out, and he held on.
The song had ended, and Jean made soothing circles with his thumbs on the back of my hand, his head on my shoulder. I sat still, with the sudden swirl of emotions in me, of self-discovery, that I could do nothing but let go.
Tears started to fall down my face, as I sniffled. My shoulders began to shake. Jean stopped at that, and turned me towards him with my shoulders.
"Baby, hey-hey. Why are you crying?" He asked it so soothingly, so softly, as he brushed the tears away from my face. I just cried even more. I shook my head. I just mumbled the words:
"You held on."
I don't even know how he understood, as he just wordlessly kissed me, and hugged me tight. I heard him sniffle too. I think he was crying too. I clutched at him helplessly, as I sobbed in his neck.
"I c-called out, and you held on." I hiccuped.
"Shh, I know." he whispered, his voice slightly wobbly with emotion.
I just paused. This man held on to this sobbing pile of mess, because he wanted to, not because he had to; because he chose to, not because he had to fill an obligation to make the blind man happy.
He did it because he cared. He did it because he loved me.
And I loved him.
"I love you." I whispered in to his neck.
He stopped stroking my hair. He held my face in both his hands, as he traced my cheekbones with his thumbs. I lifted my hand to touch his cheek, nose, jaw, till his lips. My finger-tips gently lingered there.
I almost felt his hard stare in to me. He leaned in so that our foreheads touched, and said softly, "I love you."
As softly as he said it, the words rang inside my brain as if a thousand symphonies played inside me. They literally echoed in my mind, as I felt like soaring.
I did not even say anything. I let out a sob of relief, and kissed him. He kissed with such passion, that my hair stood on their ends. I tried to kiss him with as much passion as he did. Our lips moved in sync; like a perfect match. He slipped his hand in mine, his fingers filling the spaces of mine.
He bit my bottom lip, testing, which induced a soft moan from me. He kissed again, this time deeper. He tasted like lemon-grass, and something else that was purely intoxicating. I just could not get enough of him. I needed him so much.
I broke apart, as I whispered heavily, "Need... You..."
He kissed me again, and took my hand. He led me somewhere. After a few steps, he turned me and pushed me down on something soft - a bed - playfully. I laughed, as I felt his warmth and his weight on top of me, as he climbed over me. Our lips touched again, and once they did, there was no turning back.
One article of clothing fell after the other, until we wore nothing except our boxers. Jean pushed me up until my head hit a pillow. He kissed my lips, and trailed down my jaw. He kissed, bit and licked my neck, and teased me to no ends. I let out a moan as he attacked my collar bone. That crazed him, I could tell, because he lifted his head and kissed me deeply. His hands clutched at mine, and pinned me down the mattress.
I felt him shift his body between my legs. He ground his hips in to mine, and I felt this floating sensation at the pit of my stomach that made me gasp loudly. My back arched, and my hips bucked in to his involuntarily. He let out a moan, and it made me want him even more.
"I need to... to feel you... Jean..." I moaned.
"Okay." He breathed, as he lifted off of me. I never let go of his hand.
I followed his lead. I sat on his lap, as he sat against a wooden headrest of the bed. His hands trailed up and down my thighs. I just sat there, nervous.
I was nervous of how much I wanted him. I needed him so badly. I needed his lips pressed against mine, his breath within mine, our bodies pressed up, but-
"Hey." He soothed. He noticed my hesitation. He lifted my hands, and pressed them on his cheeks. I slowly traced his cheekbones, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his jaw. I ran my fingers through his silky hair, and he let a content sigh as I pulled at them. I trailed my hands down both sides of his neck. I felt goose bumps under my fingertips. I kissed the side of his neck, where his pulse thrummed with passion. I heard a soft moan. My hands touched his slightly slouchy shoulders. I pushed him back, as I shuffled nearer to him. His hands landed on my waist. I felt a shiver where he touched me.
My hands traced the curves, crevices and hollows of his collar bones. I kissed and slightly bit in to his, just as he did to mine. I heard him hiss, and I chuckled. I leaned my forehead in to his, as my closed my eyes. My hands trailed down to his chest. I slowly moved my hands down his chest, to his hard, muscle-y stomach. I felt around for his hips, and squeezed them as I kissed him sweetly. My hand trailed up his chest, where his heart beat thrummed lively. I placed my hand there for a while. His life and soul thrummed happily under my touch, and never had I felt this grateful for someone in my life. I spoke the first thing that came in to my mind:
"You're so beautiful." I whispered.
He put his finger under my chin, as he insisted, "Open your eyes."
I hesitantly do.
"Your eyes are amazing." He whispered. "You're so amazing..." he said lovingly.
Before I could cry with happiness again, I just mumbled "I love you so much Jean." before I kissed him again. This time, I did not let go. He kissed me deeply, as he pushed me down on the bed again. We did not pull our lips apart except for moans, and "I love you"s escaping our mouths in panting breaths.
We were completely bare of clothes. The sensation of him inside of me left me gasping for breath. As we reached our climax, both our muscles tensed, both of us panting and moaning each other’s names, and as we both let a final moan escape our mouths, I knew, and I knew that he knew; that we needed each other. We fit perfectly, and I could search the whole world and yet I would never find someone like him.
As we lay on the bed with my head over his chest, my right hand tangled in his left one, the prickly sensation of our love still heavy on us, I listened to his heart-beat soundly until I fell in to slumber with him by my side.
From then on, I started living with Jean. Although I slept at my place for a few days too, I could never stay away from Jean for a long time. And neither could he.
We would wake up in mornings to our breaths mingled together under warm sheets cocooning us away from the world. We would yawn, and cuddle in bed until one of us felt hungrier than the other. After stealing a few kisses, Jean would scoot and rush in to the kitchen, making us a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and French toast – his specialty. Those got me the most.
Jean would always check the news to look for a job; he seriously needed one now. He would discuss a few with me, until he picked one; they had a spare place for an accountant, who could manage all new ones that had entered the business. He had to have at least 3 years’ experience, with enough energy to teach the newbies; everything that Jean had. He was so excited when he found the perfect gig that he could not even sit in one proper place.
The next day, it was his demo class. Feeling extremely anxious, he was jittery, and muttered useless things over and over. I had to lead him to bed the night before and kiss him to calm him down. In the morning, he woke up early when the sun had not risen, and rustled around in the room, knocking things over and grumbling. He was clearly not a morning person.
As he was about to leave, he kissed my cheek, trailed down my jaw, and nuzzled against my neck, breathing in my scent. It tickled me, as I giggled in my sleep. I held the back of his head and turned my face to kiss him on the mouth.
“Good luck, Jean.” I mumbled to his lips.
Then he left, and I fell in to a slumber again.
I woke up some time later, when I could feel the warm rays of the sun entering the room, and I smelled waffles next to me. I felt for the plate next to me, and wolfed them all in bed. After messing around in the huge room only in an oversized hoodie, shorts and socks, I was greeted to the door opening, and closing, and Jean encircled his arms around my waist from behind me.
I squealed in surprise, as he nuzzled his face in my neck. I just laughed, turned around and kissed him.
“You look dashing.” Jean noted.
“Shuddup.” I mumbled against his lips.
He told me how his day went; fucking awesome, as he put it. Everyone was attentive, he managed to joke and show enough skill to pull a proud smile out of the boss judging him. He was ecstatic, and I felt the same for him.
He danced and sang all day, cooked us dinner as well (that sod, though.) and did not fail to keep his hands off of me.
“You are in really high spirits.” I laughed, as he made an effort to pull the hoodie over my head, as we sat on the couch.
“C’mon, I’m really happy today.” he paused to kiss down my neck lovingly. I sigh happily against him, my hands running through the buzzed end of his hair.
He continued, “And it’s been long since.” He stopped, properly climbing over my lap.
“Since…?” I teased.
“Since I saw you make that amazing face when I did this.” he said devilishly, as he bent down and bit my collar-bone – my weak spot.
I couldn't control the moan escaping my lips, as he chuckled. “Ah, there it is.” he laughed.
“Shut up or you’re not getting this.” I pouted.
He laughed, and pulled the pout off of my face as he kissed me sweetly. It soon turned needy and heated, as I scooted myself on my back, and Jean climbed over me, not even once leaving my lips.
We broke off, shaky breaths fanning across each other’s faces. I leaned our foreheads together, me memorizing his contours all over again before we went further.
As I ran my thumbs across his cheek-bones, I feel my eyes water; I’d do anything to look at him once, just catch a glimpse of this man I loved so deeply. Just once.
“I want to see you…” I whispered, almost whimpering.
“Shh, shh. You will. Don’t worry, you will. I love you.” he said, closing the distance between us, connecting our lips once more.
After that, we did not need to break apart anymore. We had each other practically memorized, as he knew every trick to make me cry out things I’d never be able to cry out normally; and I would love him to the extent that he is let wanting more. We fill each other perfectly, we knew that.
As we lay there, in each other’s arms, I pleaded to any Higher Being to just let me see him once.
Just once.
Who knew Fate worked in so many ways?
Just a week later, when Jean got his first salary, he practically burst in the house, the door slamming hard. As I felt him approach nearer to me, I heard his shaky voice. Shocked, I felt around for his face, and held it, shocked even more when I felt wet trails of tears. He was still sobbing as I wiped them away.
“What happened, Jean?”
He sniffled, and said, “I called your doctor today. He said there is a way you can…” he sniffed again, and completed, “… you can see again.”
I was at a loss of words. Me, see…? That was only something I could dream about. But here he says…
“F-for real?” I asked voice already shaky.
“Yes, baby. Yes, the doctor said it’s been effective on most, and that you should definitely try. Marco.” he said, kneeling down as I heard his knees edge against my feet. He kept his warm hands on my cheeks. Even I was crying now.
“Marco, Marco, Marco…” he murmured, our noses nudging against each other.
“I’ll-I’ll see you, then?” I questioned, hot streams of water flowing down my eyes. I was like a dam with the walls breaking; I could flood and fall apart any minute.
“Yes.” he said, his voice faltering.
That was my breaking point; everything fell inside me, and now I was sobbing against Jean’s shoulder, hands clutching his back strongly. He buried his face in my hair, and he was sobbing too, as I felt his being shudder as he took calming breaths, and whispered soothing words in my ear.
Was this true?
Was I going to be able to… see?
Could I?
All my fucking life, I was a crippled person with blindness that crippled my soul in time too. I was a person who never had the privilege to look at the beautiful things the world had to offer; and instead got stupid chuckles and statements about myself. I was a blind person who could not see his one and only lover; Jean.
Was that all about to change?
Could I not only see, but also be seen?
Has the universe finally noticed me?
The doctor explained that with new and improved technology, they could transplant both my damaged cornea and impaired lens of both eyes with suitable ones. The color of my iris would remain the same, and I’d love it that way. He told me he had to make sure the majority would be safe from it and only then could he ask me.
A week’s preparation later, it was time. It was time to finally get the operation done on me, and change my whole life in only a few hours. I and Jean sat in the waiting room, with our hands entangled in to one another’s.
My palms were clammy, my whole face sweating, and I was shivering despite the warm flannel I wore. I was going crazy with anticipation and fear; what if something went wrong? What if I never get my eye-sight?
Jean felt my uncertainty and uncomfortable feeling. He squeezed my hands, and leaned his face near my left ear. He whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.” and then kissed my cheek, forehead, and nestled his head against the top of mine. I closed my eyes and took in his presence.
When it was my turn, my breath left my chest. I felt numb and scared; although I wanted my vision back, but I was too over-whelmed to take one foot forward, and then the other. I was never going to move, if it weren't for Jean twining his fingers in between mine, and lightly pulled me.
-
I vaguely heard the doctor explain to me how exactly he would remove and replace my lens and cornea with an improved method, with a laser. He must have told me that it would be over-whelming once I get it, but I was only stuck at if I got it or not.
I vaguely remember him ask me whether I ate little or not, or did I feel nauseous or any other feeling; I was not functioning properly with all the uncertainty and fear that hung around me.
I heard him talk to Jean about something, and then he allowed him and me to have ten minutes alone. I felt a rush of relief when I heard that. I felt my tight grip on the edge of my seat slacken when I heard Jean’s footsteps come near me.
As he came, he knelt down and wrapped his arms around my neck, crushing me in to his warm and strong embrace. I nestled my face in the crook of his neck. Tears started falling, as I felt his neck feel wet with my tears.
He was running his fingers through my hair, soothing me, and telling me repeatedly that he loved me, and how brave I was, how strong I was, and how I would hopefully get vision back.
I asked the uncertain: “What if I don’t?”
He did not answer for a long time. e held my face in his hands, and said something in French:
“La foi peut déplacer des montagnes; this means ‘faith can move mountains’. You need to hold some faith in having your vision back. Then it surely will.” He kissed my knuckles, and said, “I’m holding all faith I have. Now it’s time you do too.”
My tears had stopped falling now. Now, the strong feeling of surety in me of hope and faith began to grow. I nodded, and told him I loved him. And he loved me back, he said, as our lips connected again.
We broke apart slowly, foreheads leaning. He whispered, “I’ll be back, Marco. We’ll be back soon.” I gulped, and nodded. He kissed my forehead, and got up with a swing and thud of the door.
The doctor came in, and asked, “Ready, Marco?”
I nodded, this time fully sure.
After what felt like forever, I felt consciousness reach my mind.
It took several moments to remember why I was lying in a bed. It all threw me over like a tidal wave over me. With shivering breaths, I gingerly touched the bandage around my eyes with shaky fingers. My breathing grew more labored as I felt panicky and jittery.
I was about to call to someone, but then I heard a shuffling on my far right. “Oh, you’re up. Your operation was so far successful, but you won’t be able to see just yet; it’s going to take a day. You can stay here and rest meanwhile.”
Before I could question, he answered: “Jean is fine. He was worried, but he is sleeping right now; it is night time after all. You should sleep now too; the next time you’ll wake up, we will see the result.”
The result; the words rang inside my mind like an alarming siren that never stopped wailing. I was on the verge of losing my mind again, but then Jean’s words rang inside my head: “Faith can move mountains.”
With that, I clenched my jaw, and lay down again on the foam bed of the hospital. I drifted back to sleep with the sound of the machines’ churning and beeping, along with the soothing sound of Jean’s voice repeating in my mind.
I was afraid of what was to come next.
I sat there at the edge of the bed, my fingers tangling in between one another in my lap in distress. I impatiently tapped my feet against the floor, pure anxiety running through my veins. My breath was coming out of my nose in short quick puffs.
I was freaked out of my mind that any minute now, I would be introduced to this beautiful world I never had the opportunity to see with my own eyes. Any minute now, I would no longer be ‘blind’. Any minute now, my impaired eyes would finally see, and I could finally become a whole person. Any minute now, I would finally see Jean.
“Ready?” the doctor asked. I gulped down my dry throat, and nodded quickly.
I wet my lips, and froze as I heard the doctor move behind me.
I was afraid of what was to come. I was so scared.
I did not move at all when I felt his fingers untie the bandage. I clenched my fists extremely tight, my teeth digging in to my lower lip, as the doctor got the first layer off.
Slowly, one layer fell one after the other. I was shaking with expectation of what I would see, what I would do, what I would feel. I saw a plume of faded red under my eye-lids through the last layer of the bandage. I could still see the muddled red, as the last layer fell off.
I was afraid. I was so afraid.
As I felt the mass of the bandages leave my eyes, I still stood frozen. Then slowly, I opened my eyes. All I could see was a bright white light that hurt my eyes. I flinched, and closed my eyes again.Then, as the stinging feeling finished, I opened them gingerly again.
I saw a room. A small room, with blue tiles, and… white walls. I looked up slowly, and saw a white ceiling, and white tube lights lining one another. I blinked once, twice, and stared. I was too shocked to feel anything then.
I looked down, and saw… my feet, hanging from the edge of the bed. I looked at my hands. I gasped; I looked over my hands, slightly tan, with… with freckles on the back of it, and trimmed nails, with bony knuckles. My hands were shaking. I scanned both my hands slowly, taking in all that I never got to see.
I turned to my left, and saw a mirror. I leaned towards it, and literally froze.
I was seeing myself, after a lifetime. I was looking at myself for the first fucking time in my life. I saw a whole face, slightly pale under the white light. I saw wide brown eyes, slightly glazed over and red from the edges. I saw a long straight nose, and a mass of freckles everywhere; my cheeks, nose, neck, everywhere. I ran a hand through my black hair, parted in the middle. I saw white teethe border my slightly-open mouth. I bared them, and saw my teeth; perfectly straight.
I had forgotten to breathe. I was looking at myself for the first time. I took in everything, as I traced my cheek, my jaw, my chin, my cropped black hair, every single thing.
Jean wasn't lying when he said I had a fuck-ton of freckles.
My eyes grew wide as I remembered: Jean.
Just as the though crossed my mind, I heard a familiar voice say: “M-marco?”
I turned slowly, to see a man stand there.
A man with Jean’s voice.
“J-jean?” I asked, my voice wavering. He nodded slowly.
I looked at him; he was a man with a thin build, with layer of clothes over one another. His complexion was fairer. He had amber eyes, and high cheek bones. He had a straight nose. His mouth was a little open in shock. His brass-colored hair stood out most, with the dark brown under-cut visible below it.
He stood there. “Come here, please.” I whispered. He immediately took two large strides and knelt in front of me. Tears welled inside his eyes, and I bet mine were wet too. I took his hands and examined them, turning them over, looking at them from every side; his hands were calloused, with short nails. His hands were warmer, and bonier.
As I held his hand by the palm, he intertwined our hands, fingers locking with each other.
“Can you see me?” he asked with a very unstable voice.
“Y-yes. I see you.” I said, nodding.
Tears fell down his face, falling down his cheek till the point of his chin. He let out a sob, and smiled. Smiled. I saw his precious smile; a smile with pearly white teeth lined in a perfect row, his canines sharper than the rest. Not only that, but his was also a smile that radiated goodness, and beauty.
Now even I started crying, smiling out of my own accord. His smile made me smile too; it was fucking contagious. I wiped his tears, never taking my eyes off of his. I ran my fingers through his silky hair, over the buzzed end.
We both were laughing now, our laughs mixed with sobs and tears. We held each other’s faces, and leaned our foreheads. And then we kissed.
He tasted and felt the same, but this time I kissed him with my eyes open; I saw his eye-lids close, I felt his eye lashes swipe against mine, and I even saw how his eye-brows scrunched in the middle of his forehead when he kissed. All that and the fact that I could see again, I started crying again with more emotion, and I helplessly sobbed against his lips. Jean hugged me tight, broke the kiss, and kissed my forehead over and over again. I hugged his chest, and cried in to it.
I was so fucking happy. I finally could see. I could finally see the world. I finally saw myself, and Jean, my lover. I was whole once again. I was no longer Marco Bodt, the blind; I was Marco Bodt, the whole. I was no longer impaired; I was a full human. No longer would I get the same sly comments and smirks; now I would be looked at like a normal person.
The Universe finally noticed me. All my life, I kept on calling out, and now the Universe finally turned and looked, and noticed, and cared. The Universe finally noticed not only me, but Jean as well.
To this day, you know what I've always believed in?
I always thought that meeting Jean was the best thing I did, and it was meant to be. We were soul-mates that fit perfectly. Before we met, both of us suffered our share of kicks in the mud; me because of my blindness, and him because of people always finding someone better than him.
Both of us always wanted the Universe to notice them, and look over them. I believe that in order to be noticed, you have to call out, or to exclaim. Before we met, our individual voices were just vibrations that never reached too far. After we met, we called out together a little louder. Alone, our voices finished before they went too far; but together, our inner voices rumbled across everyone else’s voices.
The Universe was bound to look, and looked upon, we were.
Here is the song that Jean sings in the rain and here is the Linkin Park song Jean sings in the car and this is where you can download the piano that marco and jean play and for more details or anything here is my tumblr