Part 1
The bell chimes as another tired, lonely soul enters the coffee shop that is hosting a socializing event. A handful of people mill about, sipping their cups, sucking on their straws and making small talk with strangers. Soft, cheery music plays in the background and the smell of coffee permeates the air. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, meeting new people and drinking delicious coffee, except for one particular person.
He sits alone at a table, sunk deep in his chair. He’s wearing a rather heavy coat, even though it is quite warm in the building, and the collar is popped up. He seems to be trying to cover as much of his body as possible, with a hat pulled low over his eyes, and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He has an untouched cup of coffee in front of him that he glares at.
‘Why did I come here?’ he thinks to himself. Anyone who gets a good look at his face quickly looks away, he notices. He always notices. He’s used to this look, and the ones that come after. They quickly glance over to try to get a better look at him without outwardly gaping at him. Kids do stare though, but at least they are more honest and actually ask why his face looks like that. Adults just try their hardest to ignore it. He doesn’t know which he likes better.
He’s only had a handful of people who have actually been able to ignore the burns and scars that cover his face. They are close friends of his, but, like everyone, life gets busy, so he doesn’t see them often. That’s why he came to this. He was hoping, a very slim ray of hope, that he would find someone else who can ignore his hideous face, with no such luck so far. He tries to huddle deeper into his jacket as two people try to sneak a look at him and then quickly look away when they catch eyes with him, chagrin written all over their faces.
He thought this might be easier than the online dating apps. Where someone can see him, and really see him instead of just taking one glance at his horrendous picture and swipe it out of existence. You can’t really do that face to face but you can see that some people wish they could. It’s very hard trying to find someone romantically with a face like his. And even if they get past his face, they then have to face his body which is just as scarred and burned as his face.
“Is this seat taken?” A quiet, musical voice comes from the other side of the table. He’s about to say a smart remark when he actually looks up and sees the owner of the voice and the comment dies in the back of his throat.
She is probably the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Her black hair falls in waves down to the middle of her back, perfectly styled. Her clothes are chic and look rather expensive. Her full lips turn up into a natural smile and her chocolate brown, heart shaped face is smooth and clear. The exact opposite of his. He can’t help but check out her body too, which looks like it belongs to a model. Maybe she is a model. She’s definitely got the face and figure of a model. If only he could see her eyes, but they are currently covered in dark, name brand sunglasses.
“Y-yes,” he stammers, and then remembers her question. “Wait no, it’s not taken. You can sit.” He wipes his palms inconspicuously on his pants. They have gotten inexplicably sweaty in the last ten seconds.
“Thank you,” she smiles and nods, relieved that someone, anyone, finally answered her. She pulls out the chair silently, which is a feat in its own since they are normally so squeaky, and sinks gracefully into it.
She seems to be waiting for him to say something, but he is slightly dumbstruck. He doesn’t know what to say or do in such a beautiful woman’s presence. He has no idea why she would choose to sit here, with him, and not with any of the other, attractive, people in the room. And then a horrible thought occurs to him. She’s probably doing it to get attention. She’s projecting the image that she is kind and caring. ‘Look at me, a beautiful woman, as I sit and talk with this disgusting man. Praise me and my kind heart!’
He scowls, realizing the obvious truth. Well he was not going to give her the satisfaction of talking to her. He will ignore her so she will have to move and socialize with someone in her league. She is not going to get any brownie points from him. He crosses his arms and sinks even further, impossibly, into his chair. He tries to look anywhere but her, but he can’t help himself. He checks on her every half minute to make sure she’s real, and still there.
After a minute or so she reaches to the small backpack at her side that he just notices, name brand also, and pulls out a book. So she’s not intent on leaving, he sees. She opens the book to the bookmark, pulls it out of the crevice and places it on the table next to her coffee. Then she places her hand delicately on the page and it runs back and forth across the page as she reads.
This irritates him to no end. Why did she come here? Why did she sit here? Why is she just ignoring him? Why is she so beautiful? With every question he thinks to himself his mood worsens and worsens. It takes five minutes of these negative thoughts before he bursts.
“I don’t want your pity. You don’t have to sit here,” he tells her in a surly voice.
She looks up from her book, shocked from his sudden outburst. “Excuse me?” She asks politely.
“I said I don’t want your pity. You don’t have to sit here because you pity me. I know what people think when they see me. Don’t worry about it, I don’t need your pity or your sympathy.” His tone is harsh.
She straightens up a little more in her chair, even though she was already sitting straight, and puts the book mark back into her book. She places it on the table and faces him. “Well, sir,” she says in a cool voice, “I did not sit here out of pity. I sat here because this seat was open. And just so you know, to me, you look like this chair I am sitting in. And this chair looks like that coffee machine. And that coffee machine looks like a bird.” She takes off her sunglasses finally. “Need I go on?”
He is shocked into silence once again, guilt ripping through him, as he looks into her unseeing eyes. They are the beautiful dark brown color he was expecting, but they seem to drift off into nothingness. He notices the cane by her side too, further signifying her blindness.
“Are you blind?” He asks her, shocked and embarrassed by his own ignorance.
“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” She exclaims sarcastically.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t realize. I should have noticed and-” he starts, a blush forming on his already discolored face.
“Don’t worry about it,” she waves off his apology. “I don’t want your pity either, so let’s start over. Now, we are just two people, sitting in a coffee shop, meeting for the first time.”
“How long have you been blind.” The question slips out before he can stop it and his blush renews.
“Ooooh, starting with the heavy stuff. Since I was born. My turn. Why do you think people pity you?” Her head cocks to the side ever so slightly.
“We’re taking turns?” When was the last time he has exchanged questions like this with someone?
“Yes. It’s the best way to get to know someone, especially since you decided to start out with the heavy stuff.” She grabs her coffee with exact precision and sips at it.
“I’m sorry.” He drops his eyes. He hasn’t realized it but he has scooted up more in his chair.
“Don’t be. Just answer the question.” She has a small smile playing on her lips.
“I think people pity me because of how I look. What’s your name?” He decided to steer clear of the 'heavy stuff' for now.
A big smile breaks across her face. She holds out her hand across the table and waits for him to shake it. He hesitates but he pulls his hand free, hating the red splotches and white lines that covers it. He hates it even more seeing it around her smooth, clear, brown one. “Karla.” She answers his questions as they shake hands. Her fingers probe a little, trying to get a good feel of his hand but he’s quickly pulling away. He doesn’t pull away soon enough though because she can feel the divots, puckers, and pinches on his hand. ‘He probably works with his hands, like a mechanic,’ she thinks to herself.
“Lincoln.” He says in return, and then realizes his obvious mistake. He should have withheld his name so she would have asked for it and waste a question on it.
Her smile never leaves her face as she says, “It’s nice to meet you Lincoln.” She pulls her hand back slowly, reaching for her coffee. He gets nervous that she’s going to knock it over, but she finds it safely and sips it again. “So, how do you look?”
He should have expected this question, but he’s at a loss for words. Does he tell her? He could lie, and she would never know the difference, but that feels wrong to him. Besides, she already knows there is something wrong with him, so maybe he should just tell the truth, but how does he say it in a way she would understand?
Karla senses his hesitation. “You see, since I can’t," she barely holds back a smile at her own joke, "I like to ask people who don’t like a certain aspect of themselves to explain what it is and why they don’t like it. They tend to realize how trivial it is when they have to explain to a blind person, a person who can never see it and judge them about it, why this little part of them bugs them so much,” she says, nonchalant. She wasn’t trying to provoke him, just help him relax a bit around her.
Lincoln does get upset though. She is trying to play off his face without even knowing. She thinks it’s trivial. “My face, and my body for that matter, is covered with scars and burns. I scare children. People avoid eye contact with me. Tell me again how trivial my feelings are about this, please,” he snaps at her, sitting up even straighter in indignation.
“I am so sorry.” Her voice is filled with contrition. “I didn’t mean to- I just thought that-” She can’t find the words. She of all people should know not to judge people about their feelings.
Lincoln relaxes a bit, seeing her get flustered. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have possibly known. And I’m sure people do realize how trivial their problem is when they have to explain it to you. It’s, uh, my turn now, right?” He tries to ease the tension that sprung up between them. “Where are you from?”
The small smile returns to Karla’s face finally, and it warms Lincoln’s heart. “From here, actually. I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s difficult moving around for a blind person, but since I’ve lived here for so long, I can find myself around pretty easily and the local store owners know me and help me out if I need it. I need some help if I go to other places though, but that’s what my best friend is for.” She gives a lengthy answer so he can maybe trust her some more. “Where are you from?” She decides to lay off the heavy subject too, even though she is burning with curiosity.
He relaxes at her easy question. “North state. North-east actually from here. Small town that you probably don’t know. I lived there until I was fifteen, and then I moved around a lot. I’ve lived just outside of this town for about a year now.” He returns her generous answer with one of his own. “What brings you here?”
“I always get coffee here?” She says it like a question, and then she realizes. “Oh, are they throwing another event? Since I can’t read flyers or anything I never know when they happen.” She waves her hand airily, showing her dismissal of the problem.
“Yeah, it’s a meet and greet of sorts. A socializing event, to get to know people and stuff,” he explains, feeling awkward. She’s right, things seem more silly or embarrassing if you have to explain it to a blind person.
“Ah, I see. I probably would have come to this event anyway. I enjoy meeting people in this town. For some reason people think you are less of a person if you are blind and can’t hold normal conversations with me. But people who come here are expecting to socialize so I might actually get to have a decent human interaction. Why did you come here?” She turns the question on him.
“Um,” he hesitates. “Well, I’m not sure. I just… hoped, I guess, to meet someone who could look past my face.” He answers honestly, dropping his eyes.
“Well, you did end up meeting someone who could see past it. You ended up meeting someone who can’t see at all!” She laughs at her own expense.
Lincoln can’t help but chuckle. “That I did. A-are you okay with those kinds of jokes?”
“Of course. I don’t have a problem with my condition and I know it makes other people uncomfortable, so if I joke around about it, it tends to ease them up a bit." She hesitates for a moment. "I’m sorry but it’s eating at me, what happened? Why are you covered in scars and burns?” She couldn’t hold out any more.
“Well,” Lincoln sighs heavily, “I got in a car accident when I was fourteen.”
Karla inhales sharply. “Were you driving?” She asks in a hushed tone.
“Ahem," he clears his throat. “No, my drunk father was.” He says dryly.
“Oh no. That’s…” She trails off, not knowing how to finish.
“Yeah. Luckily I made it, and the kid in the other car made it. But my father and the kid’s mother did not. I was in the hospital for a long time. In a coma for part of it, the rest for just healing and rehabilitation. I had a collapsed lung, a ruptured spleen, and multiple fractured vertebrae. I have chronic back pain now because of it too, unsurprisingly.” He finally drinks some of his bitter coffee which has cooled off considerably.
Karla sits quietly for a minute, absorbing all he said and formulating an adequate response. “I am very sorry that happened to you. And especially now when people treat you differently when they don’t even know about the horrible thing you went through. I’m sorry life hasn’t dealt you a very nice hand either, Lincoln.”
He shrugs, and then realizes she can’t see him. “It’s okay. I’ve dealt with it for this long, and I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring people’s stares.”
“Now you see, that’s something I’m quite good at too.” She’s smiling again and Lincoln laughs along.
“Okay, I have a question, and I’m sorry if it comes off as insensitive or something, but-”
“Trust me, I’ve been asked it before, so it’s not going to bother me,” she cuts him off, reassuring him.
“Okay, how do you get dressed? I mean, besides the obvious, like, how do you know if the clothes match or go together?” It’s a question Lincoln has always wondered.
Karla laughs out loud at the question. “I’m glad you clarified because I almost gave you a sarcastic answer, like, ‘the same way as you do.’” She laughs again, and he notices how rich and full it is. Pure joy, no inhibitions. “But seriously, I do need help buying clothes when I want new clothes. All of my clothes are labeled, which I need help with labeling them too, but they’re labeled and placed in specific locations so it’s easy for me to find matching clothes to wear. I mean, you could find where you put your clothes in the dark can’t you? An underwear drawer, shirts hanging in the closet, pants in their own drawer and so on. Mine are just labeled in a way where I can tell if they are going to match or not.”
He considers it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I could get dressed in the dark fairly easily. My only concern would be if I was matching or not, but it seems like you got that figured out.”
“Well, after twenty-eight years of being blind you’d think I’d have an efficient system to get through everyday life.” Her carefree nature is very soothing to Lincoln. He laughs with her and realizes that she is someone he could get along really well with.
Someone walks up then, interrupting their conversation. “Karla, honey, how are you?” The man says, placing his hand on her shoulder, and then shooting an apprehensive look to Lincoln. Lincoln barely resists rolling his eyes.
“Dylan, is that you? I’m great, how are you?” She turns towards him, putting her hand over his.
“I’m good. It still amazes me that you can recognize people’s voices.” His tone is almost patronizing, and Lincoln frowns.
The intruder suddenly leans into Karla and whispers in her ear, low enough that Lincoln can't hear. “Honey, I know you’re blind so I’m gonna help you out. You probably shouldn’t be talking to this guy, he looks like bad news. He’s covered in scars and stuff, might be gang related or something. You should come with me, hopefully he won’t be upset.”
Karla abruptly pulls away. “Excuse me but that is very rude of you to assume something like that!” She doesn’t bother to keep her voice quiet like he did. Lincoln’s frown deepens with confusion.
Dylan glances up nervously at Lincoln. “I’m just saying-”
Karla cuts him off, “I understood what you were saying, and what you were saying was very rude. You don’t know him. You’re just judging him by his looks.”
‘Oh, they’re talking about me.’ Lincoln thinks to himself. His look of confusion is replaced with a look of annoyance. The dude was trying to be a hero and save the pretty girl from the scary looking guy. But she’s not a girl who needs saving.
“You would understand if you could see him.” Dylan straightens up and stops whispering too.
“No, I don’t think I would. In fact, I think you are the blind one in this situation. Lincoln?” Karla turns towards Lincoln now.
“Yes?” He answers, shocked she’s bringing him into this, even though it is about him.
“Have you ever been in jail or have any outstanding warrants?” She asks him.
“No. I’ve never even gotten a ticket.” He’s slightly offended.
“Do you get in fights regularly?” she continues her interrogation.
“No, my last fight was when I was fourteen, and that was because my abusive, alcoholic father hit my mom,” he spits his answer at her.
“Do you drink alcohol on a normal basis, in excessive amounts?” She completely ignores his anger.
He finally understands what she’s doing and calms down. “I have never had alcohol, because of my aforementioned father, so no, I do not.” He copies her cool manner.
“Do you partake in any hardcare drugs?”
“No. Well, I mean, I smoke pot on occasion and use CBD oils and stuff for my chronic back pain that I have from the car accident I was in many years ago.” He looks smugly up at Dylan who is red from embarrassment.
Karla turns towards Dylan again too. “See, Dylan, he isn’t a bad guy at all. The awesome thing about my blindness is that I am able to see someone more clearly than you people with sight can.” She says it with the slightly condescending tone as he did before.
He hesitates for a moment, looking between them. Then he huffs angrily, turns on his heel and stomps away. Lincoln looks back at Karla with a newfound appreciation for her. She was incredible.
“Is he gone?” Karla asks, tilting her head, trying to listen harder.
“Yes. You scared him off.” Lincoln chuckles slightly. “You handled that really well.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry about that. He was being very rude. I didn’t mean to bring you into it but I had to shut him up. People really do judge books by their covers.” She shakes her head in disappointment.
“Let me guess, people treat you nicely and offer you help all of the time?” Men like that probably trip over themselves to help her out.
“Yes. People think I am helpless because I’m blind,” she answers him.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “They offer to help you because you’re beautiful. You don’t see yourself as well as you can see others, and that’s true for all people.” He informs her.
“No, I don’t think that’s it. I mean, I don’t look like I normally do right now. My roommate insisted on straightening my hair and doing my makeup. I probably look a lot better than I normally do.” She dismisses his words. “By the way, what time is it?”
“Umm,” he consults his watch, “Quarter to eleven.”
“Oh shoot. I have to go or I’m going to be late. Do you, umm.” She falters for a minute. Lincoln is shocked to actually see her search for words. She just seems to always know what to say. “Can I give you my phone number? I want to keep talking to you but I really have to go…” she trails off slightly.
Lincoln blinks, stunned. “You- you want to give me your phone number?” No way could she really want to do that. Why would she? He isn’t a pleasant person to talk to. Why?
“Yes. I was rather enjoying our conversation and I would like to continue it. And if you could put your number into my phone too, that would be greatly appreciated, if you want to, that is.”
“Uh, sure, I guess.” They both pull out their phones. She recites her number to him and he puts his number into her phone for her. She then gathers all of her things and stands up.
“Well, until next time then, Lincoln.” She sticks out her hand again and he doesn’t hesitate this time and shakes her hand again.
“Until next time, Karla.” He watches her walk away, now noticing her stick that helps her navigate her way through life.
He decides it’s probably a good time for him to leave too, since no one else is going to want to talk to him. Besides, he doesn’t want to talk to them anyways, they don’t even hold a candle to Karla. He’s going to be spending the rest of the day, maybe even the rest of the week, thinking about her. Will she call him? Should he call her? He has no idea if or when they’ll ever talk again.
He gets up to leave and notices Dylan, the man from earlier, glaring at him. Lincoln can’t help but to raise his coffee cup in solute and nod at him with a smug grin on his face. For once, he got the girl, even if it was just for a conversation at a coffee shop. He leaves with the sound of the tinkling bell behind him and he tries to go back to his normal life.
