There was a party in full swing backstage. There was the enticing scent of catered food and the sharp tang of alcohol- beer and liquor. Hip hop banged loudly from a radio. I was pleased to find that my ears weren’t ringing. Josh showed us to a bathroom where Harley and I cleaned up with wet paper towels in the smallest sink ever made. As we exited the bathroom, I sank into a metal folding chair because my knees were still trembling. I intertwined my leg around the cane so no one would trip over it as they passed by.
All around me people were conversing, drinking and making merry. Harley disappeared with our nice savior, the good Mr. Josh. Before they had slipped off, she’s asked quietly if I would be okay, concern in her voice. I waved her off with a flip of my hand. She handed me drink before she left, vodka tonic, she was so thoughtful. The folding chair directly to my left squeaked.
“Hey.” A male voice. Soft but slightly worn.
“Hey.” I said lightly, not bothering to turn my head in the new arrival’s direction but still wanting to be sociable. “Damn good show.”
“Yeah, you looked like you were having fun. I saw you.” At the voice I turned my head. What a nice voice, ragged and smooth at the same time. I reached my hand towards him timidly.
A well shaped, long fingered hand met mine. “Hi.” I said it lamely. “I’m Fornie.”
The softspoken voice chuckled. “Fornie, huh.”
My hand trembled as badly as my legs had been minutes ago, the endorfin rush leaving me in a downward spiral. I felt a little shakey all over. The hand that held mine was steady though. I lifted my hand away and asked quietly, “May I?”
I felt him nod permission. The shapely hand with the long fingers once more grasped mine and brought my palm to rest lightly on his cheek. As I leaned closer, the smell of fresh soap and wet hair enticed my nostrils, a good, clean scent.
I brought the other hand up as well, so that both my hands cradled the face in a touch that was feather-light. I ran my fingers across the cheeks, my sensitive fingers reading the contours nearly the same way they read the Braille books. I ran my thumbs over the scratchiness of his mustache, over the softness of his lips. I felt with the very tips of my fingers all the features of his face, placing them in a picture in my mind as they came- the mouth, the nose, the eyes, the brows- the long, almost coarse hair.
He never shifted once during my exploration. I was very close to him, so close that I could feel his breath on my face and hear each exhalation. Again I smelled the deep male scent of him, a comforting smell I associated with sweat and leather. I smiled shyly. My hands still on his face, I felt the skin stretch into a grin beneath my fingers. I added that to the picture in my head. I was lucky- I had seen faces before. I could fit them together like a puzzle.
Only for a moment did I wonder how close my puzzle was to reality, wondering if perhaps the contours of his face and the poems of his soul could tell me just what kind of man he was. Just for a second I felt sure, felt positive that this was a beautiful man with a beautiful soul.
He whispered. “One word has a thousand meanings for a thousand people. Tell me, Fornie, what does Blind mean to you? ”
“Everything.” I answered, and I knew I was right.
