- Who is Adolfo? - He interrupted me promptly - Your boyfriend?
- No, - I replied laughing shamelessly - Adolfo is the Labrador you met in the afternoon with me at the park. As I was saying, at the beginning I had some problems with Adolfo. He had a terrible problem with cats and it was difficult for me to have the same enthusiasm as him to chase cats we met on the streets.
Once he dropped me on the sidewalk because he didn’t resist the sight of a cat crossing the avenue. I did nothing. I had to wait until he returned. Some children helped me up and I was there waiting. After forty-five minutes, he returned and began to rub my legs, like who's apologizing for having thrown me. After that my father took him to a little school, where they tried to defuse the story with cats and leave him more professional. My knees feel that fall up to today.
- So you don’t have a boyfriend?
- I’m talking about Adolfo knocking me on the sidewalk and the only part that you understand is that I don’t have a boyfriend? - I laughed, finding the situation funny. But he also laughed nervously because it was very likely that this boy was willing to play with me as well as many others had tried before.
He apologized for being raunchy and continued to talk a little about him.
We spent about one hour talking. We laughed a little and distracted ourselves. It looks like I had gotten a new friend. He seemed nice, and also seemed to be pretty. At least his voice was. I thought about asking how he was, touch his face and in order to record in my mind a memory of his face. But I thought this might seem too intimate. I don’t like touching the face of anyone on the first date, it is very intimate. And besides, he was 21 years old, completely out of my age group for future kisses attempts.
***
- How was it? - My mother came asking just when I got home - Honey, what did you think about him?
- What do you mean, mom? - I asked pretending to not understand–What are you talking about?
- The fox, the son of the neighbor. I noticed he was interested in you.
- Fox? What kind of language is this, mother?
- Oh honey, the boy is beautiful. He is tall, has straight hair and stubble that leaves any young girl crazy. Not to mention those brown eyes like honey, so deep. Oh, if I was younger and single. That your father doesn’t listen to me.
- MOTHER! - I complained about her comments - What is it? He's practically a child. He is 21 years old.
- Child? Since when 21 years is to be a child, honey?
- I am 23 years old. I am older than him. I'm also blind.
- Don’t give me that excuse of blindness or this talk that he is a child. Oh, how I wanted to touch that little face and feel that beard.
My mother was impossible. Her comments were having some kind of effect on me. I began to search my mind for a puzzle of eyes, noses, beards, faces that could form and assemble something similar to what she was describing. I think this serves to kill the curiosity of many people. I bet you are wondering: what would a blind person think? We think just like the people who are not blind, we dream like anyone else. The difference is that for me things come in sensations, scents, and touches. Someone once asked me if dreamed. What do you think I do when I sleep? I answered.
Now his smell was ingrained in my memory, especially after the flood of information that my mother threw at me.
I went to sleep with all that my mother had said. I lay earlier. Jason had not even gotten home. He was with his invisible girlfriends. My father had just arrived and I was with my mother in the living room, watching soap operas or not watching it at all.
The next day when I returned from work, I was visited by Mathew in my house. It was about 15h when he knocked on the door, asking me to go out to have an ice cream. For a moment I thought about accepting, but then I remembered the age difference, that was a crucial thing to a relationship in my life and I decided to give him a no.
On another occasion I would have accepted, but after all that my mother had said the previous day about him showing some interest or something like that, I found worthier to give no hope. If we were supposed to be friends it would happen, but it would be just that, a simple friendship.
He left, which didn’t prevent him from appearing there at night, and the next day, and the next day. Always with the excuse that he still didn’t know anyone and was looking to make new friends. In one of his visits he said he only wanted company to know the city. I thought it was strange to want the company of a blind person to present something to him.
- Well, Mathew, here is the square, that smell that you feel are the red roses being kissed by hummingbirds.
Will that be the kind of presentation I would have to do? I guess that would not work very well, even because my town had no big thing to know.
I think he must have gone to my house the following seven days straight, and it was already being hard for me to think of an excuse to give a new no to his invitations for going out. We still spent some time talking at the door, or near the sidewalk, but I always remembered the words of my mother about the sudden interest of that young man so nice, and then I tried to be strong and invent a reason to get back home. It was nice, very nice by the way. But I didn’t want involvement with a brat, and it was starting to seem impossible to get away from him, since he always managed to show up at my door with a different excuse every day.
Also, whenever I returned to the house I had to be received by the morbid curiosity of my mother, who anxiously already came with those old questions: "So?", "How was it?", "Are you going out?" In addition, of course, all the compliments she made to the spectacular beauty of the young man, I confess, managed to make me even more curious about him. I just walked past her, giving no more attention when she spoke every single day and went up to my room. That day had been full, I had been teaching, walked with Adolfo again in the park, since lately I avoided going out to not find him "accidentally" and the visit from Mathew ended up leaving me tired.
I fell asleep easily. Waking up so early, exercising myself with Adolfo and still receiving the flood of information from my mother wanting to get me a boyfriend, sure helped to get me more and more tired. I dreamed a peculiar smell. That masculine scent that made me laugh and took me for many places I had never gone before. A voice lulled me, made me turn, dance, sing. The morning flew by and gradually I felt that the dream and reality were approaching each other, turning into one. It was already six in the morning. I should already be wake and I started waking up smelling a very pleasant scent inside of my room. I thought I was still sleeping, until I flip up my arm on the bed and felt that had hit something. Something soft, with a package and a very unique scent. I was waking up and pulling close to me what was in my bed. I used the touch to find out what it was, which was not so hard. It was a bouquet of flowers. I felt the packaging and roses that I could touch and smell. And that smell? It wasn’t the smell of roses. It was his smell! Those flowers were dipped in his perfume. I tried to pinch myself to know what was going on, if I was still dreaming, but I wasn’t, it was real. There was a bouquet of flowers on my bed and smell of his perfume was scattered all over my room.
CHAPTER 3
On my way to school I didn’t say a word to my father. I put one of the roses in my purse, next to my glasses, and I left the other in bed. During class I had my head in the clouds and to not prejudice my students, I chose to give an activity based on subjects already presented in class. I asked them to do a summary and give opinion on any of the subjects studied that semester. As always, my mother would help me with the corrections when I got home. I was feeling different, but I couldn’t explain why. How could I feel anything for that stranger? I think it was just the thrill of waking up with such a lovely surprise. I had never received a bouquet of flowers that beautiful. And specially made for me. He put his scent on the roses. He knew I was blind, or better, visually impaired, and to not do something ordinary, he innovated by leaving his mark. Something that would make him unforgettable. Maybe it was just a way of saying he
llo. He shouldn’t have any hopes. After all, besides my blindness he was just a child. He was 21 and I was 23. I’d never involve myself with someone younger. Never.
On the way back, I ran into the sound of a very knowing smile, as my mother always picked me up after my class, and I realized that she wanted to talk, but I decided to not say anything. My mother was one of those who try to push a disabled daughter into the new world. She wanted to treat me as if I had no problem. In a way, it was thanks to that education that I could be so independent. I remember when Adolfo arrived. My father was careful, afraid of every step I took, and I couldn’t go outside alone until he would be sure that Adolf had actually learned how to get around the city with a deficient. How big is this word, deficient, I'd rather people call me blind, anyway.
But back to the subject, my mother wanted to tell me something but she didn’t want to be direct. She was trying to make me to ask. Surely she had been complicit in the history of the perfumed roses on my bed.
- So, my dear Ems. - She started trying to coerce me to speak - how was your morning?
- It was fine mother. The same old thing. I loved to see the happy little faces of my students in this warm morning - I spoke with a tone of irony, as it was usual, using words that would sound strange once spoken by a blind person.
- Stop with the irony, Ems. Don’t you want to tell me anything?
- Why don’t you ask at once, Mrs. Felipa?
- Oh, I can’t resist. What did you think of the flowers? Wasn’t it beautiful?
- I knew you were involved in this. Mother, no way. I met him just for a few days. I might even agree with a few kisses without commitment, but he's younger than me. And that’s not to mention that I should not be having this conversation with you. This is very peculiar to my head.
- If you don’t talk to me, who are you going to talk to? I'm your mother. I got to know about your life. And stop this of getting holding back by silly things. He is not a child, he is a man. And a lovely man, I must say. And I’ve already checked with his mother, despite the appearance he is a great guy.
- What do you mean, despite the appearance?
- Oh, honey, I wasn’t going to tell you, but you will end up knowing. He has a beautiful tattoo on his arm. I would find it ugly for anyone else, but it matches with him. Can you believe it?
- Tattoo? On his arm? Can you see what I mean? He is really a child, mother. You know I don’t like these body painting things. Now all that you have to tell me is that he wears earrings.
My mother was like that. She acted as if things were the most common in the world. Although they actually were. But for me it was different, I always judged people with tattoo. I think body painting is something that was for the Indians. I know that I can’t see. Many people may say: but why this prejudice with tattoo if you can’t see? And I answer quite simply. The problem is not me, but the person. If the person has the courage to suffer the pain of being tattooed, he may be capable of many things. Besides, I don’t like it and period. No plausible explanations needed. Nor do I like the idea of a boy with earring.
My mother laughed when I spoke of the part of the earring. I felt that this was only the beginning of her litany, saying that he was a good guy, a family young man, that to judge someone by appearance was not “from God”, and everything else.
- Not really an earring, honey - she said, already slowing the car. I felt we were getting home - he has a little something in the ear, I think a small piercing. The cutest thing.
- The cutest thing? Forget it, mom. Out of question I get involved with someone that besides being younger than me and has a tattoo and wears earring. And don’t give me this story about piercing. It’s an earring!
My mother just laughed, sounding like she was getting ashamed. I wouldn’t end the friendship with Mathew. I would just avoid a loving approach, going against my principles. I’ve been never involved with younger men. Nor it does my style to date a tattooed rock musician with earring.
I got home and once again I had a surprise. That scent was present in my house.
- Wash your hands, Emily - said my mother coming - while I call your brother and set the table.
Miraculously Jason was already awake and ready to go to school. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and I realized someone was in the room talking to my father. The voice was distant, I didn’t recognize who it was, but I clearly realized there was someone else in the room.
I got down very fast towards the kitchen, and the voice became increasingly familiar. It was him. Mathew was in my house again, this time becoming intimate to my father.
- I don’t know how anyone chooses any other team that is not the Corinthians - he said to my father, who seemed very interested in the conversation. Mathew had spoken the magic word to conquer my father: Corinthians.
Would this brat glue on me now? What was he doing in my house at this hour?
- Hi, my angel - I heard the voice of my mother, surely giving him a hug, all friendly. - Good to see you here, won’t you join us for lunch?
- No, Mrs. Felipa. Thanks. - He said very polite. –My mother asked me to come, she liked the cake that you made and asked me to come ask you for the recipe.
That was the worst excuse I've heard since the seventh grade when Janaina said she had lost her virginity by having sat awkwardly on the bike. If his mother wanted this recipe, why didn’t she come by herself? The situation smelled really bad. Although, in these circumstances, I should say that smelled good, because the scent was wonderful.
Right now I wish I could see just a little bit, to see how he was looking at me. I was already at the foot of the stairs, listening to the chatter in the room where they were. My brother passed by me patting my back and dropping the famous joke:
- Yo sis, I think someone's courting you.
- Courting, Jay? Where did that come from? Outdated vocabulary from the 15th century.
- He wants to get you - he said laughing, heading for the kitchen.
I just laughed. I had nothing to say. I wouldn’t even say. I heard steps coming in my direction. For sure, while I was talking to Jason, my mother had convinced him to stay for lunch.
- Come on, we insist. Don’t we, Ems? - Said my mother, who was near me.
- Hello, Emily - Mathew said already by my side. I could feel the freshness of his breath a few inches way. At that moment I realized there was no point for me to give him such a hard time. I never really knew if he was trying something. Maybe he was just a new friend. And I, calling myself as modern, who fought against prejudice, couldn’t tie myself to everything I was against and eventually treat that beautiful exemplar of a child in the wrong way. I would cost nothing to be his friend. Not to mention that I have to understand that from me nothing will happen, and that there is no harm in being friends with someone younger.
- Hello, Mathew - I said smiling, even a little nervous for not knowing what direction to look at - I heard my mother inviting you to have lunch with us. Will you stay?
- No, no. –I just came to get your mother’s receipt - I don’t want to bother.
- The dessert is lemon pie - Jason shouted from the kitchen, already making noise with the cutlery.
- I love lemon pie - he said smiling - but really, I can’t. My mother is waiting for me to have lunch with her. Today it’s just us. But I'll come back another time to prove the lemon pie.
- Too bad you can’t stay - my mother said following him to the door - but I insist that you take a piece of the pie for you and your mom.
By my mother’s tone I could imagine what was coming. Somehow it would have something to do with me. When she uses that soft tone, but decided at the same time, it means that somehow she has a plan to get me into trouble. Sometimes I get angry with her obsession of making me not an “old maid” anymore, as she says herself. But who said I 'm an old maid? I'm single because I want to. Oh my God, sometimes I wonder if this is really true.
She left me alone with Mathew while she ran to the kit
chen to get a piece of the famous lemon pie.
- Can we see each other later? - A strange question to make to a blind girl. He approached and tried to grab my hand. That made me a little scared. All I had thought until now went down the toilet. He really wanted something. But, after the flowers, I deluded myself into thinking that he only wanted friendship.
- Aren’t we seeing each other now? - I replied, taking a step back when I realized the approach.
- Here it is – I felt my mother jumping between us, as a circus acrobat pirouetting – And don’t worry about the plate, Ems will come over later to get it.
I knew my mother was up to something. She was setting a date. The excuse that I would pick up the plate was for me to meet Mathew again. I hate her habit of treating me like a child, trying to get little boyfriends for me.
- How much is he paying you mother? – I asked shortly after Mathew had left and I’ve heard the door being closed.
- You are so cute, honey - she answered me with a sound that sounded to me as a very ironic smile. - Why do you have this habit of thinking that everything is personal? - She continued as she hugged me and we headed for the kitchen – I just think our neighbor is a fox, but shhiii, don’t tell your father.
***
It was three o'clock and someone knocked on the door. I waited for my mother to open, but nothing happened. I was lying on the couch with my headphones at a volume that I could hear what was happening around.
My mother yelled from one of the rooms on the top for me to open the door. I stood up with my monumental laziness. It was usual for me to be like that, every evening I was very comfortable on the couch or on my bed.
I opened the door and to my surprise was my friend Carol. We haven’t talked for a long time. We didn’t have time to catch up. And for an even bigger surprise, she came to remind me that day was her 24th birthday and made sure that I would go to her party. How could I have forgotten the birthday of my good friend Caroline? That was unforgivable. I confirmed to her that I would go, and as soon as she left I changed to go out and buy an appropriate gift. I couldn’t buy an ordinary thing. Knowing that she was a great fan of makeup and beauty products, it wouldn’t be hard to find something that pleased her.
Shooting Stars Don't Say Goodbye Page 3
