Love Is Blind

by Lakestone, Claudia

  “I don’t care,” he replied immediately. “Getting to hear your voice is worth it.”

  So that’s how I found myself sitting alone at a table with a giant plate of cheesecake in front of me. Chris was talking in my ear the whole time. He said he wished he could just talk to me nonstop until his surgery because I was the only one who could take his mind off things and ease his anxiety.

  Of course, he also said his anxiety had been replaced by intense envy that I was gorging myself on cheesecake at his favorite restaurant. “I’m actually kind of a little mad at you right now,” he joked as I took a deliberately noisy bite.

  “That’s okay,” I replied through a mouthful of rich, creamy goodness. “It’s worth it.” I was happy to be able to distract him. If it meant stuffing myself with my favorite dessert and taunting him with it, then so be it!

  I was glad I’d gotten a table at the back. It was semi-private and shrouded in shadows, which is exactly where I felt most at home. It was almost like having the place all to myself – that is, until a tall blonde guy came out of the men’s room and sauntered past my table.

  He took one look at me and stopped dead in his tracks. “Michelle?”

  I felt my heart sink. “I uh…I have to go. Can I call you back?” I asked Chris before abruptly hanging up. I set my fork down and prepared to run out of the restaurant at a moment’s notice if need be. My fight or flight instincts were kicking in and, well, the last time I’d chosen to fight it hadn’t exactly gone over so well.

  “I thought that was you,” the guy said, running a hand over his tanned, perfectly chiseled jaw. It was a face I’d recognize anywhere – one I’d avoided at all costs back in school. He’d always looked like he should model clothing in a catalog or something, even back when we were kids.

  “Eric,” I said cordially, hoping my voice wasn’t shaking. Eric and his friends had always been horrible to me in school. They were the popular crowd, the group I’d wished I could be a part of and simultaneously despised. They’d bullied me mercilessly for years.

  When Eric sat down across from me I instinctively pushed my chair back from the table, as though to get further away from him. I braced myself for him to say something rude, just as I’d done year after horrible year at school.

  Then I noticed he looked almost as nervous as I felt.

  “Listen,” he said, “I just wanted to apologize for…well, everything. I know my buddies and I weren’t very nice to you. I don’t know why we did it. Mob mentality or whatever, you know? But I really do feel bad for all the mean stuff I said to you over the years.”

  “I, uh…okay.” I had no idea how to respond. I hadn’t been anticipating an apology.

  In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t get up and walk out right then and there. I think on some level I was still intimidated by Eric. High school hadn’t been that long ago and, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, the scars ran deep. Gaping wounds have a way of leaving their mark, you know?

  I just sat there looking at him, trying to subtly push my hair into my face to hide as much of the birthmark as possible. Knowing that a guy who’s called you ugly more times than you can count is sitting across from you looking right at you isn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling in the world.

  “I called you a lot of names in junior year,” Eric said, looking apologetic.

  I winced as he brought up the painful memories I preferred to keep buried, hoping that he wouldn’t start listing them off. It wasn’t like I needed him to; I knew them all by heart. Freak, ugly, monster, zombie… Those were the nicknames that had followed me around the halls of my school each and every day. They were the nicknames that would follow me around for the rest of my life if that bitchy little voice in the back of my head got its way.

  “Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms and forcing myself to stare him down. “You did, but not just in junior year. You did that every year.”

  “Look, I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t mean a lot but I really am, okay?”

  “What brought on this sudden change?” I asked coolly, hoping my voice sounded confident and self-assured. I didn’t feel that way – inside I was panicking – but appearance can go a long way. I, of all people, know that.

  I wasn’t about to tell Eric I forgave him. Not only might saying that be untrue, but I also didn’t want to let him off the hook too easily. No, I wanted to make him squirm. I wanted him to feel as uncomfortable as I’d been every time I’d see him and his rowdy gang of friends approaching in the school’s hallways between classes.

  “I dunno,” he replied, looking genuinely puzzled. I guess insightfulness wasn’t his strong point.

  Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I heard about what happened outside the grocery store,” he said quietly. “I just want you to know I think it’s pretty cool that you stood up for yourself like that. And if it makes you feel better, you can punch me, too.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. “I’m not going to punch you,” I finally managed to stammer. “I – I’m not some violent nutcase who goes around attacking everyone, you know.” I wondered if that was the conclusion he’d drawn after hearing about the incident with his two high school buddies…and whether other people thought that about me as well. I hoped not.

  Eric smiled, looking as handsome as ever. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “I’m not going to lie: I’m a little relieved. But at least let me buy your cheesecake, alright?”

  I didn’t protest. After everything Eric and his friends had done to me to make my life a living hell, I figured I was entitled to some free cheesecake. Food has a way of tasting better when it’s free, doesn’t it?

  Eric called the server over, ordered himself a plate of cheesecake and that’s when I realized he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I didn’t know what to make of it.

  Somewhat begrudgingly, I sat there and finished my slice of Raspberry Chocolate Swirl. I didn’t try to make conversation. I didn’t care if Eric thought I was being impolite. Making small talk with him so he’d feel at ease wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.

  As we ate, Eric looked at me from across the table. For once I felt like he was actually looking at me and not just my birthmark. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Look, I’m sorry if this is too forward but…that thing on your face isn’t actually from flesh eating disease, is it? That was one of the rumors going around at school but I think my buddy started it.”

  I remembered quite well who’d started it. It had been Jerry Baker in the first grade. His mother had been watching the news one day after school and he’d seen a story about flesh eating disease while he’d been pretending to do his homework. He’d come to school the next day and promptly told everyone I had flesh eating disease and chunks of my face might fall off at any moment.

  Children who were already wary of my appearance avoided me like the plague, as though they were scared that if they came too close they too would catch what they thought I had. That had been a particularly painful time in my school “career” because it had been the tip of the iceberg. It had been at that point that I’d realized I was different and not in the special, unique snowflake kind of way.

  I was a freak.

  The kids at school coined the condition I supposedly had The Ugly Disease. On the playground at recess, they’d run circles around me on dares, chanting cruel taunts. They’d throw things at me and then dash away when I looked their direction, giddily screaming, “Run or you’ll catch Michelle’s ugly!”

  That had been a long time ago, but it felt like Eric was inadvertently opening up old wounds. I felt tears prick at my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me get upset. I’d never given him or his friends the satisfaction of seeing me cry back then, ever. I wasn’t about to let him see me cry now.

  “It’s not a disease, no,” I replied, making sure to keep my tone light. “It’s actually just a birthmark
. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, I guess,” I added, hoping the joke would act to shield the way I truly felt about it.

  “Don’t get mad,” Eric warned – which of course, automatically put me on edge. He fiddled with his fork for a moment and then looked back up at me. “Why didn’t you ever get plastic surgery to fix it?” he asked curiously and then sat back in his chair as though he was afraid I’d change my mind and accept his offer to hit him.

  I must have had an expression of surprise on my face because he quickly tried to explain himself.

  “I’m not trying to be mean,” he insisted, holding up his hands. “I just wondered. I mean, plastic surgeons can do a lot these days, can’t they? Even if they couldn’t fix your face completely they could probably make the birthmark less noticeable, no?”

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I was too preoccupied trying to decide whether Eric was trying to be a jerk. After a moment’s contemplation, I decided he wasn’t. I answered accordingly.

  “Plastic surgery costs thousands of dollars – and that’s if everything goes smoothly. Insurance won’t help because it’s cosmetic procedure. I didn’t exactly grow up rich,” I informed him, knowing his parents were wealthy. “My mom did her best but she was a single mother working 70 hours a week just to make ends meet. There’s no way she could have afforded to pay for my plastic surgery out of pocket.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad. You’re actually a pretty cool chick. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. It was something I’d wondered for years.

  Maybe if Eric and his friends had actually taken the time to get to know me, they wouldn’t have been so cruel. Maybe they would have realized there was a person beneath the birthmark – one with feelings.

  Or maybe they wouldn’t have. I can speculate all I want but it’s hard to say with any certainty whether things would have been any different. Maybe assholes are just destined to be assholes, end of story.

  “My sister had asthma.”

  “What?”

  “My little sister,” Eric explained. “She had asthma really bad when she was a kid. She pretty much outgrew it when she got older but as a kid it was severe. She was in the hospital a lot, constantly having attacks. It sucked.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said, “but I’m not following?”

  “She got all my parents’ time and attention,” he told me. “I get it now, really I do. But back then it was hard not to be jealous, you know? I couldn’t take my frustration out on her because my parents would have flipped out. So I guess I kind of took it out on you.”

  “Why me though?”

  “You were there. You stood out. You were an easy target.” He looked uncomfortable. “Look Michelle, I’m sorry. I know you’re probably hoping for some deep explanation that will suddenly make it all make sense. But I’m not sure I can give you that. I don’t know that there was much rhyme or reason to what we did. We were just dumb kids, you know?”

  “And dumb teenagers.”

  “Especially dumb teenagers,” he agreed.

  Oddly enough, Eric’s completely unsatisfactory explanation did offer me a little closure. At least he wasn’t lying or trying to tell me what he thought I wanted to hear. He was attempting to give me honest answers, even if that meant he had to own up to having been a pretty terrible person with extraordinarily bad judgment. I appreciated the effort.

  Silence fell over our table once again and little by little, I felt some of the deep seated resentment I’d been holding onto fade away. I won’t say I forgave him, but at least I stopped considering whether I’d made a mistake by not taking him up on his offer to punch him.

  By the time Eric and I finished our cheesecake, it was getting late.

  “My car’s parked outside if you want a ride home,” Eric offered.

  “That would be good,” I agreed, grateful that I wouldn’t have to wait for the bus or attempt to hail a cab. It was cold and dark outside and cabs could be notoriously hard to catch late in the evening. “I live over on Ninth Street, near Baylor Park.”

  “Okay, I think I know where that is.”

  Eric’s car was an expensive looking little hatchback. It was pretty much what I expected. When I once again made no effort to have a conversation with him, Eric leaned over and turned on his music. A familiar tune pierced the silence.

  “Hey,” I said, recognizing the song immediately. “I love these guys.”

  “Me too, they’re awesome. I’m surprised you’ve heard of them. Not many people listen to indie rock,” Eric replied, sounding impressed. “They’re actually playing a show here in town soon,” Eric told me.

  “Oh? I’d love to see them someday.” They were one of the bands I’d grown up with. Music and books had been my only friends, as pathetic as that sounds. To see a dear childhood friend playing live would be a dream come true.

  “I’m going to the show,” Eric said. “A buddy of mine was planning to tag along but I think he has to work late now. Hey,” he said as though a light bulb had just gone on over his head. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “I can’t,” I said immediately.

  “Why can’t you?”

  I shrugged noncommittally.

  “If you don’t use it, my extra ticket will probably just go to waste,” Eric pointed out. “But it’s up to you.” He paused and peered through the windshield out at the dark, tree-lined street. “Is this your house up here?”

  “Yeah, the one on the corner,” I replied and Eric pulled into the driveway.

  He reached for my phone, which I’d been clutching like a life preserver. “Here, I’ll put my number in your phone,” he said, easing it out of my hand. “You can text me if you want to tag along to the concert.”

  “Okay,” I agreed even though I had no intention of going anywhere with him.

  “I’m putting your number in my phone, too.”

  “Whatever.”

  By the time I got inside, I felt mentally and emotionally exhausted. I was so flustered that it took me a while to even think about Chris. Then I remembered I’d told him I was going to call him right back – and that had been ages ago.

  I grabbed my phone and saw three voicemails from him. I cringed, feeling like the world’s worst girlfriend. Quickly, I dialed his number.

  The call didn’t go through.

  Letting out a sigh of frustration, I hung up and redialed, this time making sure to punch in the long distance area code. In my haste to call him, I’d forgotten it the first time. This time, I seemed to have gotten it right.

  Chris picked up on the first ring.

  “What happened?” he asked, sounding concerned. “I called a bunch of times and it just kept going to voicemail…is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I replied. “I must have shut my phone off by accident when I hung up earlier. Sorry. How are you doing?” I asked, remembering that his surgery was only hours away. Now wasn’t the time to tell him about my strange encounter.

  “I’m freaking out,” he admitted. “I thought I’d learned not to get my hopes up over these dumb medical procedures but Michelle…it really sounds like this could work. It could completely change my life.”

  Yeah – and mine.

  “Just try to relax,” I advised. Then I quickly added, “Okay, that’s dumb advice. I know there’s no way you’ll be able to relax, so forget I even suggested that. Sorry, I’m babbling. I’m really bad at this, I know.”

  “Nah,” Chris said and I could practically hear his familiar teasing smile in his voice. “Your inane rambling is helping to distract me a little. And besides,” he added mischievously, “I happen to think you have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well great, I’m glad I’m good for something,” I chuckled. “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m at the hotel in my room. I’ve been lying in bed for four hours but there’s no way I’m going to be sleeping tonig
ht. The sun is starting to come up now,” he told me, stifling a yawn. “My mom’s been asleep for hours…all the traveling took a lot out of her. I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now. Will you stay on the line with me?”

  “Of course,” I replied instantly. “But Chris, it will cost you a fortune.”

  “It’s worth it.”

  “Oh you smooth talker, you,” I chided as I crawled into bed, keeping my voice low so as to not wake my mother. “Seriously though, don’t go broke on my account.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  There was a brief, comfortable silence. I shut my eyes, relishing the fact that Chris and I could just sit there saying nothing and not feel awkward about it. That’s not something one can do with many people, you know? It’s not something to be taken for granted.

  Then Chris broke the silence, asking, “Hey, so this is a random question but what color are your eyes? I feel like they might be green…I don’t know why. It’s just a hunch. You sound like a green-eyed kind of girl.”

  “They are green.” It was an innocent question but it made me so uncomfortable. Aside from some joking around in the past, Chris had never asked me much about my appearance. I’d preferred it that way.

  In an attempt to steer the conversation away from my physical attributes, I demanded, “What, exactly, makes someone sound like they’re green-eyed?”

  “Well I didn’t think your eyes were brown,” he said. “I have brown eyes. Lots of people have brown eyes. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I thought it was too common for you. You’re not common. You’re special. And I didn’t think your eyes were blue, either. That’s too cliché. Green just seemed to fit. And also,” he added deviously, “it was kind of an arbitrary guess.”

  “Oh.”

  “And your hair is waist-length and brown, right?”

  “It is.”

  “Nice. I like brunettes.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He seemed to sense my discomfort. “Michelle, you know I’m just playing around, yeah? I don’t care what color your eyes are or how long your hair is. It doesn’t matter what you look like. I’m sure you’re hot as hell. I mean, you have to be because you have a Hot Girl Voice.”