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Jimmy the blind Man Says He’s in Love

Donal Mahoney | Cait Maloney

Remember, a blind man can see things a sighted man can’t. So let me tell you about her and then you can tell me whether I’m right.

The first time a man meets her, his eyes flicker and dart. Desire, an appropriate reaction.

The first time a woman meets her, her eyes pop out and coil on her forehead. Envy, another appropriate reaction.

Today, who can blame either? Today, who believes the canard about the true, the good, the beautiful, in theory or in a woman? I never believed it till the day that I met her.

And you won’t believe it either unless you do what I did—frisk her for flaws that will allow you to live as you are, as you were, as I was when I met her. As for me, I’m no longer the same. Perhaps you can help me. My cane and my dog are no help in a matter like this.

The day that I met her, I was sitting on pillows propped against the wall of a building not far from Walmart. I had my cane and my cup properly positioned on the sidewalk. I was ready for business. And then I heard her heels type out on the pavement the story of my life. I could hear in those heels a woman who knew me although we had never met.

I had my baseball cap upside down on the sidewalk between my outstretched legs. It was full of my wares—pencils, spearmint gum and Tootsie Pops, free, for the children.

When her heels stopped in front of my spot, I sensed this lady, whoever she was, had bent over my cap and was checking my wares. Her hair was a waterfall licking at my knees. I was inebriated by her scent.

She selected two pencils and didn’t ask price so I knew I had a real customer. And then with a wave of her hand she let paper money float through the air into my cup.

Believe me, a blind man can see with his mind the butterfly of paper money float to his cup. Any denomination, large or small, is a Monarch afloat on a zephyr.

Customers, you see, usually drop change. A blind man can tell you what coins a customer has dropped by the clink in his cup. So when I heard her Monarch take to the air, I forgot about my teeth and smiled up at her.

I usually don’t smile on weekdays. I used to smile on weekends till that Hummer ran over my mother. She lived for a while but she was never the same.

On Saturdays she used to bring meals wrapped in tinfoil and labeled in Braille to tuck in my freezer. She wanted me to know which meals were where but I was never able to read her Braille so I ate whatever the microwave served.

This new lady in heels, however, has dissolved my bereavement and taken me captive. She has me smiling on weekdays. I’ve been stoned on her musk since the day that I met her and I’m becoming ever more wobbly. Everywhere I go her scent surrounds me. I’m an addict now and I need my cane and my dog just to get around the apartment.

So, please, tell everyone now in the parade passing by to listen to her as I did. In time they may hear, as I can hear now, a year later, the cherubim sing as she blooms with our child like a sunflower in summer while I wonder, I try.

About Donal Mahoney

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction published in print and web publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa.

Visit the author's page >

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