Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

He stood
still and stoic
the only movement a steady tap-tap-tap
of the cane’s white marshmallow ball
making constant contact
with the sidewalk curb.
 

Dark sunglasses protected his eyes
or maybe eyeless sockets
from Northwest winds, Scandinavian politeness, unskilled curiosity, pedestrian neglect.
He was handsome in a khaki ball cap, orange cross safety vest
those dark glasses
straight spine
gray-flecked beard shadow
indeterminate age.

 
Oh, the power of a man of indeterminate age
one who has learned his way around a woman
the promise of a scruffy cheek
bristly and soft
the promise of patience
reverence
invitation to a slow crescendo
with steady constant contact.

 
A man strong enough to stand at the busy intersection
Market and 15th
at the height of rush hour
in the midst of record-breaking rainfall
tall and sturdy
blind and deaf
holding a yellow laminated card
beseeching the kindness of an unseen, unheard stranger
to help him cross
the tap-tap-tap of the white ball at the end of his cane
standing – ready
standing – waiting
 

for the long-haired brunette in a double-breasted khaki trench coat and flats
who saw me –
cozy in the dry climate-controlled interior of carpool life –
looking at the man standing next to her
her looking at me again
following my eyes to the man to her right
willing her to turn her head
looking back at me
turning to look to her right,
taking in his clothes, the cane,
eventually, the yellow card.

 
It took a moment for her to read it
for the message to sink in
before she tapped him
made contact
waited while he pivoted 360 degrees to face the Walgreens on the opposite corner.
She took his arm
he moved her hand to his wrist
then slid his hand atop hers
they crossed
turned to face Market
waited to cross.
She briefly dropped his hand
stepped away to press the walk signal
returned to his side
ready to accompany him to the next corner.

 
And what of the man
sans vision
sans hearing
whose sense of touch, smell, taste
are his only ways to know and be known?
What would he think of when he got to his destination?
How would he know anything about the woman who walked with him
corner to corner?

 
When the light turned green,
I too left the intersection
sped north on 15th
fast and blind and deaf in all the ways I tend to be
turned east on 80th
toward a cloudscape
faintly hinting pink and orange
an unexpected break in the rain.

 
I awoke disoriented
in predawn darkness
the soundless prelude before birdsong rouses another day
dreaming of the man
at the intersection
of reverie and longing
who walks corner to corner
sees with his hands
hears with his heart.