She saw him sing, strumming his guitar, the beautiful young man with the dark glasses who sang only sad songs. Once, she'd been told, he had been different. She had not seen him then and had no basis of comparison.
"Forget that girl,
Even though you love her.
She's in love with him, my friend."
His voice was soft and tender. The song haunted her afterwards. So sad and yet so beautiful.
She took to following the group in which he sang to little clubs every night when they performed, where she watched him mesmerized, the sadness on his face beyond his years. Sometimes he moved his feet to the rhythm of the music on stage, but he never went very far from his bandmates. When he came onstage he was always grasping the arm of one of the others.
It was not until she saw him outside getting out of the back set of their car, thumping with his white cane as if to feel the solidity of the concrete under his feet, his head tilted in the direction of his friend's voices, that she realized he was blind. She admired his thick chestnut brown hair, wondering what his eyes would be like behind those dark glasses. He could not see her watching from the audience, would never see her. She wanted to get to know him. She had never known a disabled person and had always managed to avoid them. It was fear that prevented her, she realized, fear that she would become like them in some sort of dark and magical transformation. For was he not enchanted?
Finally, one night she spoke to him. She approached him backstage after the concert. A guard had been nice enough to let her in even though she had no pass. "Mr. Jones?"
He turned at the sound of her voice. "Yes?"
She trembled. His voice, that beautiful British accent, mesmerized her.
"Can I help you?" he said when no response was forthcoming.
"I'm a fan of yours. I was wondering if - "
"I don't give autographs."
She let that pass, knowing he could not write with a pen anymore but was too proud to admit it. "If I could talk to you sometime about your music."
Silence. "I don't go anywhere much anymore," he said at last.
But she was persistent and finally he gave in. She saw him walk into the coffee shop slowly, painfully, feeling his way along with the cane. The waiter guided him to her table. They said hello and ordered coffee. When it came he gripped the mug tightly as if its warm solidity somehow reassured him of the reality of his unseen surroundings. He lifted it very carefully to his mouth and took tentative sips. Then he put it down, not touching it again. She told him about herself, how she worked as a sales clerk in a clothing store but hoped to one day design women's dresses and own her own store.
Once he took off his glasses to rub his eyes, and she saw that his eyes were a deep brown and filled with sadness, as she had known they would be."My eyes hurt me," he said by way of explanation.
"Have you always been blind?"
His eyes opened wide in surprise at that. "Oh, no. For only a year or so. This is all pretty new to me." He gave a tired smile.
"It must be hard for you."
"I'm getting used to it." He put his dark glasses back on.
"Your voice is very beautiful."
"Thank you."
"You should be recording," she said.
Again that tired smile. "I'm afraid that's not in the cards for us. We've been trying for a long time. And then, when this happened to me, that pretty much spoiled our chances for any sort of publicity. I can't dance around on stage the way I used to. But they haven't left me. I can't figure out why. I'm difficult to live with."
"Some challenges would be worth overcoming."
"Am I a challenge to you?" He put out his hand and she took it and pressed it in her own, his warm strong hand.
"Why don't you ever sing a happy song?"
"Maybe I don't know any."
For answer she sang to him. She sang "Daydream Believer," a song other fans had taught her, and by the time she had finished there was a tear running down his cheek.
"Don't," he said.
"Don't what?"
"Remind me of things I can't have any more. It hurts too much."
"You can have anything you want," she said.
"I can't see."
"You can see inside. Think of a place you used to love to go as a child."
"The beach at St. Anne's back in England where my father tok me and my sisters every summer."
"Can you picture it, the waves, the sand?"
"It's all dark. I've forgotten."
"Try to remember. Tell me what you remember."
He spoke, haltingly at first, and gradually with more vigor until it was clear that he was remembering, truly remembering. "You're right. I can see it. It's as though I were there." There was wonder in his voice. "What's your name?"
"Hope."
"It's a good name for you," he said.
She did not hear from him after that. She waited several weeks. Finally, she asked around and found out where he lived.
He was not having a good day. It was one of his eye headaches caused by the extensive damage to his eyes. They came on him from time to time, but this was a bad one. He sat on the couch, clutching an ice bag to his forehead, rocking himself back and forth. His face was very pale. There was nothing the others could do for him other than to stay as quiet as possible and keep the curtains drawn, for the mere feel of sunlight on his face made him worse.
Mike let her in and led her over to the couch. "There's someone here to see you."
"I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for company," he replied.
She spoke. "Davy, it's Hope."
He stopped rocking, for a moment frozen in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I've brought you some tea. Let me make you a cup." And before he could protest she was at the stove, putting on the kettle.
"We're going upstairs," Mike said. "Call us if you need us." And the three faithful companions left her alone with him before Davy could speak to stop them.
She took the icebag away and put the warm cup in his hands. "Drink it slowly. It's hot."
He sipped it, feeling the comforting liquid warm him. Within a few minutes some of the pressure in his head had lifted. "What's in this stuff?"
"Just a few healing herbs."
"It's good. Thank you for bringing it." He spoke formally, carefully, as if expecting her to leave now. He put down the empty cup.
But she wasn't finished. "Just lean back," she said.
"What are you going to do?"
She put her hand on his forehead and began to caress his face very lightly. She went over his closed eyes, over the cheekbones, softly. And then her hand moved through his hair, stroking his scalp gently. After awhile he began to relax, sank back against the couch, let his head rest on the cushions while she continued to stroke him. His breathing quieted. "Who are you?" he said.
"A friend."
"Why are you being so kind to me? Especially after I've been ignoring you."
"Because I think you're worth it."
Tears shimmered beneath his closed lashes. She rubbed his neck and shoulders, feeling the tension go out of him. And finally he fell asleep, peaceful and out of pain at last.
That was the beginning.
After that they saw each other nearly every day. Or rather she saw, for she did the seeing for both of them. They would sit on the beach, listening to the waves crash and the cry of the gulls while she described what she saw. He listened eagerly, striving to take it all in, trying to imagine it, trying to remember. And the images came once summoned to dance in his thoughts.
One day she said, "Have you seen a doctor about your eyes?"
"Several. When it first happened."
"How about recently?"
"No. What's the point?" Davy said.
"There are medical breakthroughs all the time. Maybe you could be helped."
"Look," he said, growing angry, "I've been through all that. I don't want to go through it again." She tried to speak, but he interrupted her. "At first I didn't want to accept what had happened to me. I didn't want to believe it was true. And I kept begging those doctors to tell me something different. Till finally I realized that was never going to happen. You should have heard the pity in their voices. Poor little Davy. He can't see. Well, I don't need that! So I turned my back on those doctors and I never went back again. End of subject."
"But if you could go to someone different - "
"No. I've had false hope before. It hurts too much. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"All right. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's okay." It wasn't though. He was clearly out of sorts and it was her fault.
"Come," she said. She took his hand and led him to her car.
"Where are we going?"
"A special place." The motor started. "I hope you have some time on your hands."
"I've got nothing but time." He felt the car turning, felt the vibration of the motor in his body. Left, right, then another left. He had no idea where they were.
They rode awhile in silence, and then she began to sing. "Free as a bird up in the sky, I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna try. I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna try."
It was a song he had sung only once at a concert on one of his better days. He had written it before he lost his sight. Somehow, she had memorized it.
"Come on, sing with me."
After a few lines he joined in. His mood was improving now. By the time the car finally stopped, he was feeling much more cheerful.
She helped him get out. "Come." She held his hand and led him away. He inhaled the crisp, invigorating scent of salt air. "It gets hilly here. I hope you're in for a climb."
"If you can do it, I can do it," he said. He could hear the waves crashing below. He had never been to this part of the beach before. The terrain was different. There were rocks underfoot and he had to feel his way along carefully, holding her hand, as she encouraged him.
Finally, they stopped in a area where the wild grasses grew tall. They knelt down, and she put his hand against the delicate petals of a little flower. "It's beautiful," he said in wonder.
"There's no one else here. Just you and me. The sky is vivid blue."
The sun was warm on his face. "Are there clouds?"
"A few giant fluffy clouds, like cotton candy. It's a perfect day."
And because it was a perfect day and he knew without having to be told that their faces were very close, he leaned forward and kissed her. This was a new kind of seeing with mouth and hands in which he soon found he was still quite proficient. Exploring her body as she explored his, he found it didn't matter that the other kind of seeing had been taken from him. This was still as sweet, no, sweeter still. Inhaling the scent of her hair and her body, he wanted never to leave there, for here at last he was safe and loved.
When they rose at last from the ground, she brushed the grass out of his hair. "We'd better go back, or they'll think I kidnapped you."
"I wouldn't mind," he said in a way that set her heart to pounding all over again.
"Please tell me you'll try another doctor sometime." She kissed him gently, holding his shoulders.
"You don't give up, do you?"
"With you? Never."
He could not refuse, not while she was in his arms. "All right. One day I will."
"Thank you," she whispered. She leaned against him and stroked his hair and kissed him again and he did not want that moment to end, ever.
That night he dreamed about her. They were running together along the beach laughing, and he was looking into her eyes that were cornflower blue, and her long brown hair was blowing in the breeze.
He heard voices. Micky, his voice soft and troubled. "How are we going to tell him?"
Mike: "I don't know." His voice was harsh. Davy felt Mike's hand brush against his hair, then gently touch his face, an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. "Let him sleep. He looks so peaceful."
"He has to know sometime." Micky's voice sounded slightly panicked.
Davy opened his eyes. "What are you talking about?" There was silence. He knew then that something was very wrong. "Tell me!"
"Last night," Mike began and then halted, unable to go on.
He knew. "Something's happened to Hope!"
They told him as gently as they could. How she probably hadn't been paying attention after she had dropped Davy off and started to drive home. How a truck had come in the wrong lane and she'd swerved but too late and then -
Davy sat bolt upright and screamed, "Hope!"
He never saw her again.
But he kept his promise. He always kept his promises.
It was autumn, and the weather was glorious. Davy sat on the beach. His face was cast deep in thought. He looked down at the photo album on his lap. And he saw!
He saw: A young woman with cornflower blue eyes and long brown hair smiling up at him from a summer day long ago. He got up and walked to the edge of the ocean, letting the surf tug at his bare feet, hugging the album to him. The sun was beginning to set. There was a faint orange and violet glow in the horizon, gradually deepening, incredibly beautiful, but not as beautiful as the woman in the photo. And as he saw his own face reflected in the deep blue water (his eyes now a cornflower blue), his tears fell one by one into the salty sea.THE END
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