He thanked me, then lit up another cigarette.  I waited a few more minutes before asking, "Do you know where the clinic is after you get off the bus? Have you been there before?"  He admitted that he hadn't.  "You know, I'm really not doing anything right now," I continued, " I could ride with you, if you want.  I have a bus pass so it wouldn't even cost me anything."
He resisted for a second but I was not going to take no for an answer, and besides, he did actually need the help.  On the bus, my plan suffered a major setback when he let it slip that he had a girlfriend named Karen.  She would have taken him to the clinic, he explained, but she was working at Target.  I tried to conceal my disappointment.  Once we were at the clinic, it was only natural that I take him inside to the check-in counter.  There the nurse handed him a stack of forms which I offered to help him fill out.  Really there is no better way to get to know someone quickly.  Within ten minutes I know all his vital stats, his life history and family background, and even better, he was impressed with my kindness and patience.  After the forms were completed, we proceeded to the waiting room.  There were only three or four people ahead of us, but for some reason it was nearly two hours before the doctor called him.  He spent that time telling me about himself, while I listened and marveled at my good luck.  Here I was, getting friendly with the guy I had almost despaired of meeting again.  The cold clinical atmosphere of the hospital only heightened my excitement.  I found out that he had gone blind as an infant, because he was born prematurely and placed in an incubator with too much oxygen.  (He was surprised that I knew about that phenonmenon)  He told me about his childhood in Arizona, the only child of a welfare mom, how he had been sent to public school (more out of poverty than any concerted attempt at mainstreaming, it seemed) where he had run wild because none of the teachers had the guts to discipline a poor blind kid.  He told me in detail about his girlfriend: she was much younger than he, and they had been about to break up when she had pulled the dirtiest trick in the book. 
She insisted that she was on the pill, but somehow she had gotten pregnant.  Now he felt obliged to take care of her, although since they were both broke, for now she was living with her parents.  I also found out that he supplemented his SSI "blind money" by selling pot, mostly to other residents of his state-supported apartment building.  When the doctor finally called him, I was hoping to go into the office with him.  Not only would I possibly see him take his clothes off, but I wanted to see what the doctor might do to embarass himself.  For some reason, most doctors seem the least able to handle being around disabled people.  Maybe the disability is an affront to their profession, a symbol of failure for modern medicine.  Unfortunately, I was not invited in, but the doctor, a young Indian man, did not disappoint me.  After about thirty minutes, they emerged into the waiting room.  As if Chad were not even there, the doctor turned to me.
"He's got a slight ear infection in his left ear--there's some redness and fluid--but it should clear up with anitbiotics.  I'm giving him Erythromysin.  Make sure he takes it with food three times a day and finishes the whole bottle."  I couldn't resist torturing him. 
"Why are you telling me this?"
The doctor stopped talking and gaped at me.  "I, uh, you're not his girlfriend?"
I laughed.  "No, and I'm not his mother either.  I'm just some stranger who helped him fill out the forms.  Why don't you talk to him directly?  He's standing right here. "
"Oh yeah, I haven't gone deaf yet."  Chad added, getting in on the action.
The doctor repeated his speech, stammering and dark red.  We had a good laugh as we walked out the door.  "You must meet alot of clueless people like that."  I said.
He shrugged.  "Most people aren't that totally rud.  There's just something about doctors."
Our next task was to get the perscription filled, after stopping at the bank so he could get some cash.  He seemed less embarassed about having me help him, now that we had gotten to know each other.  Still, he insisted on buying me dinner as a sort of repayment.  Finally after dinner, I could think of no other excuse to hang around.  It was time to go.  But this time I made sure I got his phone number before I left.  I wrote it on a napkin.  After a few days, I called and boldly made a date for the next day.  I was flushed with aniticipation, but it all crumbled to dust when I discovered that he had also invited over his girlfriend Karen and her best friend.  As I suspected, they were fat.  What is it about blind guys and fat girlfriends?  These girls were huge; they were like planets in orbit around Chad.  Karen was seven months pregnant and it didn't even show.  I later saw her flop onto the bed on her stomach.  I stubbornly hung around for several painful hours, trying to be pleasant and make small talk with the planets, but after awhile I gave up and went home.  Later I was filled with self-loathing.  What was I doing messing with this poor guy's head?  Clearly he wanted nothing to do with me right?  But then he called me about a week later and apologized.  He wanted to see me again, could I come over right now?  I thought fast.  I had to attend a friend's wedding later in th day, but if he took the bus to my house, we would have a few hours to hang out.  I met him at the bus stop and walked him back to my apartment.  He was wearing a weird sort of turtleneck sweater with a faux Native medicine bag hung around his neck like a necklace.  It looked terrible, but I was charmed that he was trying to impress me.  Once we were home and he was seated rather stiffly on my lumpy futon sofa, however, I was suddenly overcome with nerves.  Should I jump him right away?  But what about that girlfriend thing?  I decided to let him make the first move, which turned out to be, not surprisingly, to get stoned.
"You said it was your birthday last week, so I thought I'd bring you a present," he explained, holding out a little bag of pot.  After a few bowls, I relaxed a little, but I still felt like all I could do was talk.  We talked for a long time until I realized the wedding would be starting in just a few minutes.
"Uh, you don't mind if I just get changed while you're here do you?" I asked.
"It's okay with me, I promise not to look."  He said.
And we both laughed.  "It doesn't make a difference to me."
But didn't it?  After all he knew I was standing there, flinging off my jeans and t-shirt fright in front of him, even if he couldn't see me.  And he could hear me pulling on pantyhose and slipping on my dress, a sleeveless fitted silk thing with matching jacket.  I asked him to do up the zipper in the back, then turned to face him. 
"What do you think of my dress?" I asked, putting his hand on my shoulder.  He gasped slightly as his hand encountered my bare skin, then stepped forward slightly and ran his fingers very lightly all over the dress.  I grabbed his hand and put it on my thigh.  "See? I'm even wearing pantyhose.  He ran his hand over my leg, then pulled back nervously.  I smiled to see the color rising in his face. 
"Do you, um, do you mind if I touch your face?"  He seemed hesitant, as if he expected me to refuse. "I don't mind,"  I whispered.  I wanted to tell him that this was what I had been waiting for, that gentle touch of his fingers on my face was more erotic than even the touch of his lips on mine, but I remained silent as I took his waiting hands and placed them over my face, delicately tracing the outline of my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose, my curling eyelashes, the ridge of my lips, over and over again.  Kiss me, oh kiss me, I wanted to shout, but instead he moved his hands up over my head, stroking my hair.  "It's so long," He exclaimed.  "I didn't know..."
I turned around so he could feel how my hair hung down past my waist.  He ran his hands through it again and again while I luxuriated like a cat being petted.  "You're beautiful, "
"Are you surprised?"
"No, I heard those guys talking about you on the street that day we met, but now I know for myself.
"Well, thank  you."
He laughed.
        
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