by Diana Gardin
The regal German Shepherd sits patiently, waiting for his master’s command, but he emits another slight whine as he stares at me, head tilted to one side. His tail thumps the ground repeatedly, letting me know that he’s sorry for knocking me over, even if his owner is too rude to acknowledge it.
Standing and brushing myself off, I park my hands on my hips and stare him down. Animosity flares inside me, transforming the body-numbing sadness I felt just moments ago into something solid and real. “Seriously? Is this something you usually do when you run with your dog? Just plow women over and don’t bother to help them up?”
His focus snaps to my face. He scrutinizes me carefully, and I continue fuming because letting loose on someone, anyone, feels so damn good.
I step closer to him, glaring up into the sharp, masculine contours of his face. Suddenly, I really wish he weren’t wearing sunglasses, so I could take in his expression and really give him the kind of hell that would put him right in his place.
He opens his mouth, but there’s no chance he’s getting a word in yet.
“I mean, what are you, blind? My ass hurts now, thank you very much!” I point down toward my backside, for emphasis.
His full lips twitch, and his face morphs into an expression that’s half-amused, half-bitter.
What the hell does he have to be bitter about? It’s not like he just picked himself up off the ground after slamming into what felt like a wall made of steel!
Finally, after a moment of silence, he barks out a laugh and runs a hand over the dark brown hair shorn close to his scalp. Then he tugs on the leash and stares pointedly down at his dog while clearing his throat. As my gaze falls toward the German shepherd, the dog’s tongue hangs out of the side of its mouth while it pants by his side. Then, my eyes find the camouflage-colored harness attached to the leash and the patch on the side that reads:
Trained Guide Dog: Nitro.
I blink, reread the sign, and then my stricken gaze slides back to the man standing in front of me.
Oh, shit. This is not happening.
His expression wry, his mouth twists into an ironic grin. That grin…it sparks something inside of me.
Because it’s the first time since I woke up that I’ve encountered someone whose agony mirrors my own. It swims in his expression as I watch, forcing his smile-that-isn’t to disappear just as quickly as it came.
“Actually, yeah. Yeah, I’m blind. So, I’m sorry if I knocked you down. It was an accident.” His voice is hard, unforgiving, and cold. It scrapes across my soul like glass shards. “Hope you’re not hurt. Other than your ass, that is.”
Dark humor accompanies his last words, and my face heats with shame.
I shake my head, mortified, before I remember that he can’t see the movement. Then I squeeze my eyes shut and plant the heels of my palms against my eyes as I suck in a deep, calming breath. “Look—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He holds up a hand, already done with my impending apology, and turns with the dog’s leash tight in his hand.
“Sorry again,” he tosses over his shoulder as he finds a pace and jogs away from me, winding along the path, not quite in a straight line.
I watch him go, speechless, and wish there was a way I could kick my own ass for being like this.
I never used to be like this. Who is this person? Am I ever going to feel normal again?
It’s a question I continue to roll over in my mind as I run the six miles back to my house, my feet pounding the pavement with a punishing force.
The answer arrives unbidden as I stop at the bottom of my driveway.
This is your life now. You’ll never be the same.
4
Flash
September 23, 2017
I mean, what are you…blind?
The woman’s words rattle around in my memory, days later, bouncing through my mind like a song on repeat, as hot, stinging needles of water hit the back of my neck.
Answering that question in the affirmative? It felt like it could kill me. Because that’s who I am now, no matter what else I have to offer the world. I’m the blind guy who mows people down while running in the goddamned park.
Her voice, though…I’ll never forget it. The words she said might have scarred my spirit, but the sound of her voice made me want to stop. Drop everything. Find out what kind of woman could sound so…lost. So broken.
So beautiful.
Until that moment, I was totally unaware that you could feel beauty.
So, instead of sticking around to let her apologize for her careless comment, I got the fuck out of there. I think I read somewhere once that broken people find each other, attracted like magnets to the jagged edges inside of them.
I’ll never be whole again. Someone else’s pain might damn near kill me.
I finish up in the shower, shaking the woman from my thoughts and thinking forward to the day ahead. I’m taking my new braille computer and I’m going to find a peaceful place to sit and learn how to use the damn thing. I’ve had tutorials, but everything is so foreign to me now. It’s like I’m learning how to live my life all over again, and in the very beginning, my own rage was holding me back.
I can’t say that I’m not still damned pissed that this is my life now, but I know I need to keep moving, find my way in the darkness, even though all I want to do is wish myself back to the light.
I don’t currently have a job, but it’s not a pressing issue. My father started a tech company with a business partner when they were just out of college, and the company grew and progressed at such a pace that my parents were set for life. When they died in a private plane crash just before I finished at The Citadel, Axel and I took seats on the company’s board, and have been looking out for its interests ever since. Our parents left us everything, and money isn’t an issue.
But I’m not the kind of man who can sit and do nothing with his life. I have to find a way to make a difference, to be valuable, or I know my mind will slowly wither away.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I place a hand on the tightened leash attached to Nitro’s harness and allow him to lead me from the bathroom. I’ve lived in my house long enough to know the layout by heart, but every time I walk around in my perpetual blackness, I run the risk of slamming into a wall or the corner of a table. Nitro has eliminated that risk, and I’ve found an easy and natural rhythm between my dog and me. He’s with me every minute of every day, and our bond has become stronger than I ever could have imagined in a month’s time.
“’Sup?”
I jump about a fucking mile in my bare feet, almost losing my towel, as I enter the kitchen and Axel’s voice greets me. He’s casual as hell, as if sitting alone in someone’s house without letting them know you’re there is completely normal.
Asshole.
“You dick,” I growl, and Nitro whines.
Rubbing the top of his head to reassure him that I’m all right, I aim a glare in the direction my brother’s voice came from. “Announce yourself. How many times do I have to ask you that?”
“But then I wouldn’t get to see your ass jump into the air every time I say hello, and where’s the fun in that?”
Nitro leads me around the massive kitchen island to the coffeemaker. I let him go so I can grab a mug from the top cabinet, where I keep them, and feel for the coffeemaker, to pour the hot liquid into my cup.
Sipping it black, I lean against the counter.
“So, how’s everything with Nitro?” Axel’s voice is curious. I can hear him bend down next to Nitro, probably giving him a scratch behind his large, perked ears.
A smile tugs at my lips. “Nitro’s awesome. It’s amazing how smart he is. I can cross the street outside without being able to see a thing, because he knows when its safe. He stops me if there’s any danger. It’s just…” My voice goes dark and my expression follows.
Axel moves closer to me. His voice is louder than it was when he was crouching next to Nitro. “It’s just what?”
<
br /> I put my mug to my lips and take a long swig that scalds my throat. “We had a small accident while we were running yesterday.”
Silence.
Only for a moment, before Axel’s voice rises. My brother yelling is a rare occurrence, but when he does, there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s pissed.
“What the fuck, Flash? What the hell is wrong with you? You know damn well the trainer said you and Nitro hadn’t reached the point where you were ready to run yet. Hell, you’re both still just learning how to walk together. I’m pretty sure Nitro has his shit down, but you? You’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and it’s hard for you to let him lead. Why would you go out for a run with him? You could have gotten yourself, and him, really injured!”
I blink when his palms slam down against the countertop, in true Jackson fashion. “Dammit!”
Placing my mug carefully down on the counter, I hold up both hands. “Listen, I get it. I made a mistake, but I’m fine. We ran into another jogger, knocked her over. I apologized, we all kept moving, and I’ll train with Nitro a lot more before we try it again. But Axel—”
I pause, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. The gesture is useless, all I can see is darkness, whether my eyes are closed or not. I close them anyway, against the emotions bombarding me. Always pummeling me.
“I…I need to run, Ax.” My voice goes quiet, too damn quiet.
Axel’s silence tells me that even though he’s still seething, he understands. “Yeah, man. I know. But going off the rails? It’s not the way to do it. You’ll get there. Just be patient.”
His last words trail off in a dry laugh, because he knows that patient is the last word anyone would use to describe me.
“Patient, like I was when we were kids and you told me to wait for you before I launched my model rocket off our mountain cabin’s roof? Then I fell off and broke my collarbone…yeah, real patient. Or like when you told me to get my M.B.A. before going active duty, so I could run the business when we both got out? Couldn’t wait to get up in that jet, could I? Nah, brother…patience is not my virtue.” I laugh along with him, placing my hands on my hips and hanging my head.
“I’m going out for awhile.” I turn away from my brother and head into my bedroom to get dressed, Nitro walking by my side.
When I exit the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a black or gray shirt, because most of my wardrobe is black or gray to keep things simple, Axel clears his throat to let me know he’s still here.
“I have other clients to see today, but I want you to promise me you won’t run again. At least not until you have more training. If it…if it gets too bad, I’ll run with you.” Axel pauses. “All right?”
I nod, offering him my promise. “Yeah. No more running until Nitro and I have more training, or until I have another guide.”
“You know, the cane—” Axel starts.
I hold up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Don’t. I already told you I’m not walking around with a cane. Nitro and I are just fine.”
I don’t have to see Axel to know he’s rolling his eyes, but I hear the door slam behind him as he exits.
I think, as I’m strolling with a hand tightly wrapped in Nitro’s leash, the thing I miss seeing the most is the beauty that is the city of Savannah. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world to me, and even though I can still hear the laid-back sounds of the city and smell the fragrant scent of Southern magnolia blossoms in the air, I can’t see its beauty. It’s the perfect city for me, the slow pace forcing me to tamp down on my natural impatience and take a breath, a pause.
I can feel the stiff alertness in Nitro’s body as he navigates the downtown sidewalks. My house isn’t far from the historic city center, and our stroll is easy. My laptop bag swings against my side, and as Nitro and I walk past a shop, the door opens with the sound of a tinkling bell. The fresh aroma of chocolate chip something wafts out and slams into my nose.
“Okay, Nitro, buddy,” I murmur, pausing. “I think this is the place we need to be today.”
I give his command to enter the shop, and we both walk through the door. Turning my head to the left and the right, I use my sense of smell to figure out exactly where I am. Wracking my brain for my knowledge of the shops on Broughton Street, I realize I’m on the west end, and that there’s some kind of art studio here with a bakery and coffee shop in front.
Nitro leads me to the counter, and I leave my sunglasses in place. Before I lost my sight, I wondered why blind people did that. Now I know that it freaks people out when your eyes are visible, but unable to focus on them when they speak.
Sunglasses on inside, it is.
I’m already assuming they don’t have a menu in Braille, even though I’m still just learning how to use the system myself, as I step up to the counter.
“Hi, can I—” The woman speaking cuts off her voice abruptly and her would-be question ends in a quick gasp. “Oh, my God…it’s you.”
And that voice? The one filled with pain and exhaustion and pure, pure sorrow? I recognize that voice.
I close my eyes for a moment, pulling myself together internally before I nod once. “Yeah…it’s me. You work here?”
There’s a pause, and during that brief moment, I can feel her eyes on me. I want to turn around and walk right back out of that fucking shop. But something keeps me rooted in place. And, like he’s reading my thoughts, Nitro picks that moment to sit squarely on my foot.
I ran from this woman last time because she affected me in a way that no one had since the accident. And before that, all I could see was planes and the Air Force, and the adrenaline rush that came along with it. And something that turned out to be so wrong for me I never wanted to walk back into another relationship.
“Did you find me here on purpose?” There’s irritation in her tone, and the sound of it pisses me off.
“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I did. Without knowing your name or what you look like, I somehow made sure to find your place of employment just to...what? See you again?” My words roll out like a rumble of thunder, fury electrifying the pull already tugging inside my gut.
She huffs out an agitated breath, and more than any time I can remember since I lost my eyesight, I wish I could see this woman. I want to know what her anger looks like, but more than that, I want to know what her solace looks like.
Because there’s no mistaking it, the undertones of loneliness that break through every other emotion she displays.
“So, I’m supposed to believe you just stumbled in here, all on your own? A coincidence?”
I close my eyes again, trying to picture her. She’d be standing with her arms folded across her chest, a defensive gesture because, right now, she’s feeling attacked in her own personal space. This must be a place that matters to her…not just a job. She doesn’t want me here, because maybe the other day…maybe I made her feel something too.
Something she didn’t want to feel.
Or maybe something she did?
Letting go of Nitro’s leash, I place both hands in the air in a surrendering motion. “Okay, sweetheart. What’s the deal here? I told you it was an accident. I don’t know the name of this place, but I remember that before I lost my sight, I saw it a few times when I walked through the city. Coffee, right? That’s all I’m here for. Just the coffee. And maybe whatever it is that smells so damn good right now.”
Another pause. The silence stretches between us, and as I’m waiting for her response, I can feel something else there too. Something like a spark puling us closer, even when I’m not moving at all.
Who the fuck is this woman?
She sighs. “I…God. I’m so sorry I’m being such a bitch. I just wasn’t…yeah, yeah.” She rushes over her words, her voice heavy with her emotions. But it’s a voice I realize I like the sound of; throaty and sexy, breaking ever so slightly on every third word or so.
“I’m kind of a mess right now? Like, in my life. So…yeah. I’m being rude, and I’m so
rry. Of course…I’ll get your coffee. Black?”
I nod, trying to keep up with her one-eighty. “Please.”
How’d she know how I like my coffee?
“And we have scones,” she blurts. “Chocolate chip scones. Do you want one of those too? It’s all on the house today.”
I rear back, failing to keep the surprise off my face. “On the house? You own this place?”
She probably nods, because she makes that little humming sound again before answering. “Yes…I own it with my best friend. She’s in the back, baking. The kitchen is right beside the pottery studio. I know you can’t see them, but there’re a lot of pieces around the shop.”
I lift a brow. “Pottery too, huh? Do you do that?”
Her response pulls something so tight in my chest, it’s almost painful. It’s not just the words she speaks; it’s the way they flow from her mouth like raindrops spilling from a gray sky.
“I used to. I don’t anymore.”
5
Arden
I used to. I don’t anymore.
It’s true, but deep down somewhere inside me, the truth feels wrong. Pottery is something I’ve done since I was a little girl, something that brought all the craziness and unpredictability of life into perspective for me. Whenever I sat behind the pottery wheel, the world slowed down and I could think again, breathe again. Just like running. Earning a B.F.A. in Art in college didn’t leave me many career options, but that was okay with me. It was Brantley who earned the Business degree, and with her fondness for baking, The Art Of Java was born. I taught her how to do pottery, and she’s passed on her love of baking, although I’ll never be as good at it as she is, and vice versa.
But since waking up from the coma, I haven’t touched the pottery wheel. Haven’t shaped clay into something beautiful and called it art. Haven’t pulled a hot masterpiece out of the kiln and waited anxiously for it to cool so I could paint it with the love and care I have always given each piece of my work.