I’ll tell you what I couldn’t begin to try to explain to them. Decide for yourself.
The last time I lost my appetite, I was with Cindy. We were together that evening, as we were every evening…
SHE SET THE MEAL BEFORE ME WITH A SMALL FLOURISH. I STARED at it, only half-listening to her prattle mindlessly as she fumbled around in the kitchen, dishing up her own dinner. She insisted on this, this “eating in” every evening. And believe me, she was no gourmet cook. I could barely force myself to eat the unappetizing lumps in gravy that were supposed to resemble beef stew. Not that I know the first thing about cooking, but I wouldn’t have minded going out once in a while, nabbing a bite on my own. Fat chance. Cindy wouldn’t let me out of her sight.
Out of her sight. Poor choice of words, Alex.
Cindy was blind. That sense of duty I felt toward her, that protectiveness that is a part of my nature, welled up in me and made me feel ashamed. As penance, I finished off the last of the tasteless gruel.
Don’t let me mislead you. I didn’t stay with Cindy out of guilt or pity. I knew she was blind when I met her. I thought, at the time, that I was fully prepared to live with that fact. Being with her gave me a sense of purpose unlike any I had known before. I thought I loved her. I had even thought she loved me.
From the moment we met, though, Cindy had taken over my life. I admit that I allowed her to do so. In the beginning, I had an illusion of power. I was piloting her through the obstacles of life. What I failed to understand at the time was that I was also becoming completely dependent on her, not just for material things, but for companionship and a sense of being needed.
I was shuffled around a lot as a kid; I confess that I wouldn’t know my own mother if I met her on the street. Cindy offered stability, a chance to stay in one place. You don’t know how much I longed for that as a kid. But even the chance to have a place called home doesn’t explain how much I needed her. The praise and affection she lavished on me in the beginning became all-important to me; I would have done anything for her. But these days, she doled out her praise and affection in a miserly fashion.
Some might say I was ungrateful. After all, I was better off than a great many others. I wasn’t homeless, begging for a handout. Many in my position, with my background and limited education, would never live so well.
To our friends, we still appeared to be devoted to one another. Few of them realized that my devotion was a chore or knew how hard I had to work at it. Even the ones who knew how demanding Cindy could be still idealized our relationship.
I wondered at that, scratching my head in puzzlement. She heard the sound, of course. “Alex! Will you quit that scratching!” she snapped. I silently sulked off to my favorite chair. I didn’t like admitting she was right. Lately I had gotten into the nervous habit of scratching my head, and it annoyed the heck out of her. I’m sure it bothered her as much as her whistling between her teeth bothered me. Our nervous habits had started grating on each other.
Face it, Alex, I thought with a sigh, everything about her is grating on you.
Perhaps you think I was unnecessarily harsh in my evaluation, especially considering her physical challenges. Not so. Through my association with her, I met other blind people, and have found that they are as varied in personality as the sighted. I can honestly say that I would have been happy to be a friend or even more than a friend to a great many of them. Cindy would have driven me crazy even if she’d had 20/20 vision.
But I was stuck with her. My dependency on her for my livelihood was never far from her mind. Or mine. At night, I often dreamed of running away, living on my own. So vivid were these dreams that I would often startle myself awake. “What were you dreaming, Alex?” Cindy would ask sleepily. “You’ve been running in your sleep.”
I’ve been running away from you, I wanted to say, but it was no use. She always fell right back to sleep after asking the question. What did she really care about my dreams?
I HEARD HER WHISTLING TO HERSELF AS SHE FINISHED CLEANING up the dishes. That damned whistling was the worst of it. I tried in every way I could think of to let her know it annoyed me, but to no avail. She didn’t understand me at all.
Sure, the age-old complaint.
By the time she suggested an evening walk, I was more than willing to get some fresh air. I anticipated a stroll through the nearby park; maybe a chance to run into a friendly neighbor. But as I made the turn outside the door of our building, Cindy tugged at me so hard I nearly lost my balance.
“Oh no you don’t, Alex. I know what you’re up to. Well, we’re not going to the park. Not this evening.”
Well, okay, I admit it-there was a good-looking gal who often took a run through the park about that time of day, and she and I had exchanged some tender looks of longing. But it never went any further-how could it, with Cindy never more than two feet away from me?
I guess Cindy picked up on even my most momentary lack of attention to her and her needs.
I was soon distracted from all thought of the park. Cindy was, as usual, directing me in rude and abrupt tones. “Left, Alex.” “Right, Alex.” It was humiliating, being treated more as an errant child than as her partner.
I suddenly realized that this was what she envisioned every day of our life to be like. She would never trust me completely. She would depend on me, but not as a trustworthy companion. Not someone to really love. Knowing that I wasn’t trained for anything that would allow me to live as well as I did with her, she meant to use me shamelessly. She would rely on me to guide her from corner to corner, to keep her from bumping into things, to listen to her, to sleep beside her. But my own needs-to be treated with dignity, to be loved-those were of no consequence to her. She was in control.
“Slow down, Alex!”
All of these commands! I thought angrily. Couldn’t you think of some gentler way to let me know what you want?
She started whistling again. If it had been real whistling, real honest-to-God whistling, I think I could have lived with it. But there we were, walking toward the intersection, and she was doing it, whistling through her teeth. A tuneless, maddening sucking in and out of breath. I wanted to howl from the irritation of it.
It was just at that moment that she insisted on crossing the street. There was a van coming. I saw it, knew she was unaware of it. Knew without a doubt that the young driver was too intent on beating the light to pay attention to anything but the color of the signal.
Cindy tugged at me.
I stopped to scratch.
She lost her balance, losing her grip on me as she stumbled off the curb.
I let her go.
IT’S GOING TO BE HARD TO FIND WORK AGAIN. MAYBE YOU CAN explain to them that I won’t fail next time. Tell them, if you would be so kind, one other thing: please don’t give me a whistler.
News Item:
BLIND WOMAN KILLED
A young blind woman was killed by a hit-and-run driver yesterday evening at the corner of Madison and Oak. Police report that Cynthia Farnsworth, 24, was struck by a blue van driven by a white male youth.
Farnsworth, who had a guide dog with her, stepped off the curb just as the light was changing. James and Lois Church, who witnessed the accident, said the dog refused to cross the street, but did not attempt to prevent Farnsworth from doing so. One other witness, who asked that her name be withheld, claimed Farnsworth was thrown off balance and into the path of the van when the dog stopped to scratch his ear.