The Blind

by A. F. Brady

  “Hold on one sec, Julie just texted me,” David is saying. I theatrically roll my eyes, indicating I do not want Julie to join us, and just as David is formulating his text rejection, a bubbly Julie appears before us in all her cashmere and Burberry splendor.

  “Hey! David, I just texted you. What’s up, you guys?” How anyone could be this energetic at the end of days like these at Typhlos, I have no idea.

  “I was just writing back,” David says as he tucks his cell phone into his back pocket.

  “Were you guys gonna go out? I would love to come with you if you are?” Her wide eyes are wet and pleading, and I almost don’t have the heart to lie to her. Almost.

  “Yeah,” David responds before I can sidestep her advances. “We’re headed down to Jimmy’s. You in?”

  “Ugh, Jimmy’s? Is that where we said we were going?” I am forcing nonchalance. “I slept with the bartender and he didn’t stop calling me for like, a month. I can’t go there. You guys go; I’ll catch you next time.” I’m already walking down the hallway, taking my cigarettes out of my bag and fishing for my lighter.

  “Wait, Sam, I—I…” Before he has even finished his sentence, my mind explodes in rage, screaming inside my head that he cannot invite this pathetic little worm to one of our bars; she can’t come and ruin the sanctity of our friendship! Why would he let someone else in? Why would he choose her over me? I have to save face. He can’t abandon me for her! I’m leaving. I will leave. He can’t leave me if I leave him.

  “Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow.” I’m out into the dark afternoon, I’m fumbling with my lighter. The fucking wind is blowing it out, and I can’t light this fucking cigarette. I want to scream into this wind, I want to blame this wind for the tears in my eyes. I want to run to the subway and hide in the last car and pretend I don’t want to murder David and damn him for leaving me! Me! After the friend I’ve been to him! For all these years, and he just chooses Julie. Julie, that incoherent, ridiculous parody of a human being! Jesus Christ!

  I am curled into the fetal position in the handicapped seats on the C train. The C rattles and sways more than any other train, and it’s helping to soothe me. I need to find solace somewhere. I need to do something to make up for this rejection. I need someone to love me. Where the hell is AJ?

  DECEMBER 1ST, 7:06 P.M.

  My phone has been beeping at me since I got off the train. It’s David, and I’m still not answering. I read every text he sends me, but none of them will be able to make up for him choosing her over me. He doesn’t even understand why this would be such a terrible thing to do to me, to abandon me for some shiny, plastic replacement.

  I’m at Nick’s, saying hello to everyone with cheerful kisses and hugs and questions about their well-being, and amid the faux sincerity, I’m scanning the bar for a friendly face, or the person I came here to find.

  Walking into this bar is like standing behind a bus. The cold, windy silence of outside is replaced by an arresting wall of heat, noise and movement. It’s always dark in here, as if it’s lit to make you look your best even when you’re at your worst. There are too many TVs showing too many programs at the same time, and the lines to the ladies’ bathroom are always too long. The DJ gives me a wink and I collapse into my favorite stool in the middle of the bar. I haven’t even said hello to Sid yet, and I can see him pouring me my Jack and Coke.

  “Sammy!” he says with his Irish accent. “How are ya, doll?”

  “Sid Vicious! What’s up, baby?” Whatever is happening in my life or in my head, I will always be this happy caricature. Precious few will think to look behind it, and even fewer will actually see.

  The Jets game hasn’t started yet, so I’m watching the pregame show. I’m trying to keep an eye on the door while ensuring I don’t look like I’m keeping an eye on the door. I don’t know how to will AJ to walk in without calling someone to find out his number and asking him to come. I’m leaving it to blind faith. When Sid returns with a refill, I realize I’m putting these drinks away much faster than I should. I notice Claire, the hottest of the young, blonde cocktail waitresses, approaching me.

  “Hi, honey!” She leans in to kiss me on the cheek with her tray of empties balanced in her left hand. “Where’s Lucas tonight?”

  “Where’s what?” I heard her, but I need another minute to formulate a response. What shall I say? He’s sleeping with someone. He’s doing drugs. He’s buying flasks of Jameson at the store to drink on his way to the bar. He’s icing his knuckles from the last time he…

  “Lucas! Where’s Lucas?” she says with a smile.

  “He’s at work still. Some major finance thing keeping him at the office. I don’t even know what he does all day.”

  Smiles, only a hint of recognition that she’s in love with him. “Well, it’s great to see you!” She walks to the service station and drops her tray. I give her the no-teeth smile.

  I start looking through the messages David has been sending me. The first ones are all bewildered, wondering why I left. Those are followed by salvage messages telling me he isn’t having fun with Julie and he wishes I were there. The most recent ones are clearly alcohol induced, and he’s beginning to cross the invisible line that exists between friends and something more. I’m comforted by the idea that he may be in love with me, so I relax even though I may not get validation from AJ, but at the same time I am reminded that Lucas, my boyfriend, hasn’t sent me a single message.

  I’m getting the familiar feeling that my reaction time is slowing and my surroundings have begun shrinking. I am no longer looking around, and instead I’m creating the world I need within a two-foot radius. I have my drinks, I have my validation from David’s texts, I can’t make out whether or not Claire is looking at me waiting for Lucas to show up, and I finally have my armor back. I hear the sounds of Thursday Night Football in the air around me, and I feel in place; I find comfort in the status quo. I feel my phone vibrate in my hands and I look down to see another message from David.

  She’s superdrunk, and I don’t know what to do. Where are you? I feel the twang of jealousy in my stomach and the metallic taste of desperation rising in my throat. He’s taking care of her. I am not letting this get the better of me. I’m entrenched in my response.

  I write and delete several replies before I settle on U know where I am.

  There in ten. David is leaving her to come to me? This is unexpected. Do I want David to come here now? I haven’t quite given up hope on AJ. I am watching the coin toss and trying to decide if I should dissuade David from joining me, and before I can make up my mind, he has materialized next to me.

  “Why the hell didn’t you come? I was stuck with her for hours! She can’t hold her liquor. It was a mess.” David is out of breath and exasperated, and I know he ran from the train station.

  “Me? I’m not the idiot who invited her to come with us!” Am I glad that he is here or still enraged that he left me?

  “Sam, you bailed. You could’ve come, too.” He is signaling to Sid for a water.

  “Whatever. You know I don’t want to go out with Julie.” I can’t bear to look at him while I’m saying this because I am afraid of seeing defense in his eyes, and if I see it, I know he will have moved away from me and over to her. Instead I lean to the left to avoid getting elbowed as he plops down in the seat next to me and catches his breath.

  “She’s such a lightweight! We didn’t even make it to Jimmy’s. She said she would rather go somewhere uptown, so we went to that place on Eighty-Fourth with the red-checked tablecloths? You know? And she had two glasses of sauvignon and was done.” He’s trying to appease me, and I don’t want it.

  David and I sit shoulder to shoulder watching the kickoff and I feel the intensity of his touch, but I’m too hurt to address him. He asks me if I want a shot without looking at me.

  “Patrón Silver,” I say without looking at him. David makes a mustache with his forefinger in Sid’s direction, and Sid obligingly pours three shots�
�two Patrón, and one Jameson for himself. He brings the shots over to us and raises his glass.

  “To keeping it classy.” Sid jerks his head in the direction of some assholes in the corner and throws back his shot.

  David holds his glass in front of me, imploring me to clink it. I see his ruddy cheeks and the sincerity in his eyes, so I put down my guns and toast with him. We upend our glasses with smiles on our faces, and I pull him in for a hug that could be considered intimate. Desperation will make you do funny things.

  David and I are standing too close to each other by the bar, and when AJ walks in, my stomach leaps into my mouth. I immediately find myself straightening my shirt, fluffing my hair and sucking my teeth. David hasn’t noticed my shift, so he keeps talking to me, and when I feel his hand creep onto my lower back, I jump like I’ve been burned. AJ hasn’t spotted me yet, and I’m terrified of letting him know I’m looking at him. The entire bar turns into slow motion and I’m standing in the middle waiting for AJ to notice me, and I feel like the kid from Scrubs in that movie about New Jersey.

  DECEMBER 1ST, 8:23 P.M.

  I can’t have AJ and David here at the same time. Oh, God, this is never going to work. If AJ sees me with David, he won’t kiss me again, and I won’t be able to lose myself again, and—oh, God—he sees me. He’s winking at me from the doorway and now he’s walking over.

  He says hi to David; they give each other a handshake and man hug, and then he turns his attention to me. He pulls me into his neck and wraps one arm around my back. He kisses my neck with his scruffy face and leans back while still holding me, and winks again. I’m afraid my face will betray me, so I look down. He keeps his hands on me and swivels to order a drink. Sid gives him a two-fingered wave and makes a gin and tonic. It can’t happen tonight; it can’t happen with David right here with us. We are a tricycle when we should have been a bike. The music starts to fill my ears, my face gets hot, and I want everything to change.

  I see AJ scanning the bar for familiar faces, and all the girls are looking at him. I feel the jealousy rising in my chest, so I reach for my drink, only to find David holding it. I pull it from his hands, and the straw stays between his teeth. He smiles his goofball smile, with the straw sticking out of his mouth, and I know that I love him, but I want him to dissolve into the barstool.

  AJ is calling hellos to various people, and all I feel is special and scared that he’s still holding on to me. David starts to notice this, and he takes it as a cue to return his attention to the Jets game. AJ sits on my barstool and pulls me to stand between his legs. He is asking me about my day, and although everyone is looking at him, he’s only looking at me. I’m trying to be cool, but failing. My lips are trembling, and with the razor cuts to my self-esteem earlier, I’m too drunk to be able to manage this properly.

  I feel the vibration of a text message in my back pocket, and if it’s not David and it’s not AJ, then I don’t care who it is. But I need something to distract me, so I pull out the phone and unhinge my fingers from AJ’s. I read the text message: Where r u? Lucas. I don’t need this right now.

  AJ starts playing with my hair. He’s looking over his shoulder and talking to David, but both of his hands are smoothing the blond strands that have fallen into my face. I feel like I’m being crushed by waves while I debate what to say to Lucas. The electricity from AJ’s touch is making it hard to concentrate on anything.

  I put my phone back into my pocket and pretend Lucas’s text never happened. I’m in the business of pretending and this shouldn’t be anything new. AJ pushes my hair back and says, “So what are we doing?”

  I can’t imagine what a reasonable response should be, so I say, “Shots?” He smiles a Cheshire smile and pulls my face to his and kisses me on the mouth. For a split second the entire universe opens up and I am swallowed into a safe place where everything is warm and soft and the music feels like it is making my heart beat for me. He lets me go and turns to Sid.

  The safety is gone and now I’m exposed again. AJ orders shots and a wounded David looks to me for answers. My guilt is overwhelming and I can’t have David upset with me, so I resume my flirtation with him. He’s still facing the TVs, sitting in the stool next to AJ, and I put my arms around his shoulders and kiss his cheek. He asks me if I’m drunk, and I lie and say I’m fine. He pulls out his cell phone and looks over the messages he had been sending me that afternoon. He’s clearly upset with me, and I can’t handle it.

  “What are we drinking to?” AJ spins his chair to face me, and David hands me a shot over his shoulder. “You okay, man?” AJ asks David.

  “Yeah, man. Just had a long day at work.” David turns to AJ to respond, but doesn’t look directly at him.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, sounds like you need this shot, then.” AJ is smiling at me as he says this. I’m smiling back and struggling to care that this is hurting David. I pour the tequila down my throat, and the sweet burn helps me care even less. I put my glass down and close my eyes. I start swaying between AJ’s knees and forget everything I know.

  I feel David’s lips on my cheeks as he leaves, and I reach for him, but he is already out the door. We are alone. I have been waiting for this moment, and now AJ and I are alone at Nick’s, and Lucas is missing, and David is hurt, and all I can see is the pale of AJ’s eyes and the dark of his eyebrows, and all I want is to fall into the abyss.

  He puts another shot in my hands and bites his lips between his teeth while looking up at me. I throw back the shot and lean down to kiss his mouth. He tastes like hot alcohol and cigarettes and cinnamon gum. His tongue is soft and warm and it’s sliding around my mouth, and I’m suddenly panicked with the idea that we are in public, so I pull back and lick my lips.

  I’m still dancing, and the music is so loud, and the crowd is packed in. There’s a breeze coming in from the open door and it’s so cold that I get goose bumps on my neck and all I can feel is the intensity of AJ’s hands as they creep between my legs.

  “Stop.” I smile and pull his hands away. “We can’t do this. I have a boyfriend. We can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what? I’m not doing anything.” His sly smile is so convincing, but I know we can’t get caught making out at the bar.

  “We can’t do this, AJ. We can’t.” I’m biting my lower lip, giving him the opportunity to convince me otherwise. “I can’t kiss you here.”

  “Where can you kiss me?”

  He’s fucking with me. He’s fucking with everything.

  “What are you doing with Lucas anyway?”

  “Lying.”

  “Let’s go.” AJ is signing the bill, and he’s leading me out the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to my place.”

  “No, no, no.” I’m pulling against his hands like a dog against a leash and trying to refuse to go home with him. “AJ, I can’t—I can’t go home with you.”

  “Yes, you can.” He pulls me into his chest and backs me into the shuttered window of a bodega. He pushes me up against the cold metal and starts kissing me. His mouth is so warm, and the air is so cold. We are lapping at each other like hungry teenagers.

  People are walking by and I don’t care. I feel myself lifting my right leg to wrap around his waist, and he holds it up with his muscled arms and pushes me harder into the shutters.

  I know he lives nearby, but I’ve never been to his place before. As we take the last drunken steps to his building, I feel like a movie star being shielded from the paparazzi by a hulking bodyguard.

  We get in the same slot of the revolving door and walk into the warmth of his lobby, and all the while he hasn’t let go of me. He greets his night doorman, who reports the Jets lost, and I shyly smile, knowing I shouldn’t be here.

  At the twenty-seventh floor, AJ leads me down the hallway to his apartment. He has his keys in one hand and me in the other, and he opens the door to reveal a dark apartment that smells like aspen.

  I’m taking mental inventory of his thin
gs, looking for red flags, looking for evidence of other women, looking for something that would make me run the other way and save myself from making this terrible decision. I see nothing. Everything appears tidy and organized, except for a bath towel strewn over the handlebars of a bike.

  He has several wineglasses in his sink, and I’m straining to see if there is lipstick residue on any of the glasses. He leads me to his living room couch and instructs me to sit down and take off my coat. He lets go of my hand and walks to his refrigerator.

  “You want a drink?”

  “Yeah, for sure.” I probably shouldn’t have another drink, but I need something to steady my nerves.

  He brings two Heinekens over to the couch and sits almost on top of me. He leans forward and picks up a remote that I don’t recognize, clicks on some unseen machine, and sounds of The National fill my ears. He leans back, and his shoulder is crushing my shoulder into the couch cushion, and he places his hand on my knee and sips his beer.

  I’m feeling exposed and nervous, and I’m struggling to appear confident and sexy. When we were in Nick’s, the crowd made me feel sure of myself, but now there’s no noise to shield me, nothing to keep me safe.

  He’s looking forward, listening to the music, but attentively rubbing my thigh.

  “I have to pee,” I say, needing a temporary escape.

  He points to the bathroom, and I grab my handbag and walk in. Everything is in order; he has extra rolls of toilet paper stacked on a shelf above the toilet, magazines neatly arranged on a small table and several open bottles of the same cologne in various locations.

  I check my face in the mirror and have to blink away the drunk to see how I actually look. After wiping the errant flecks of mascara away, I fish in my handbag for my emergency sleepover kit.

  I kick off my sneakers and pull my pants down so I can take off my underwear and replace them with the fresh ones stashed in my bag. I dab some concealer under my eyes, wishing I had a tan. Afraid I taste like cigarettes, I put a dab of AJ’s toothpaste on my finger and run it over my gums. I pee and put my pants and sneakers back on.