Blind Date

The Blind Date

S. Hileman Iannazzo

It was snowing the day I finally met him. I had spent months trying to imagine what he’d be like, what he’d look like, even what his voice would sound like. Everything I knew about him was vague, but instinctively, I knew I’d love him. I had no idea that I would fall so hopelessly and irreversibly in love with someone at first glimpse.

I was sent into a room to wait for him. Hours went by. Everyone kept telling me he’d probably be late, everyone said be patient. I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Doubts and fears permeated my mind. What if he rejected me? What if I screwed this up? He could hate me, and then what? So much hinged on this first meeting going smoothly. The hands of the clock moved excruciatingly slow. I was growing more and more upset. My thoughts became desperate and irrational, I could feel frustration and anger mounting. He wasn’t going to come! Unbelievable! He’s going to stand me up! Typical Man! Oh God don’t let him be like all the rest. The what ifs and unknowns were physically painful.

I called my mother. Who else could say all the right things? “Ma, I don’t think he’s coming, I really think he changed his mind” She laughed. So much for comfort. So much for maternal concern. “He’ll be there,” she said “how could he not?” “He hates me!” I wailed into the phone, “I’ve been waiting forever!” “Maybe he hit traffic?” She suggested. I hung up.

I flipped on the TV. May as well watch General Hospital. Won’t be long now, they told me. Yeah right, I thought. I began imagining they were all part of a conspiracy to keep us apart, that they were enjoying a cruel prank of some kind. Maybe I was losing my mind? I was getting hungry and asked for a tuna sandwich. I had thought we’d be having lunch together! No one would give me a tuna sandwich, sadistic assholes. It seemed nothing was turning out as I had planned. A wave of self pity washed over me. I cried a little bit. I really wanted that tuna sandwich.

Around one o’clock, the mood in the room changed. Suddenly and intuitively, I knew that he was close. My anticipation mounted. I could feel myself becoming giddy. He was really coming! We were finally going to meet! I felt all the apprehension and worry melt away, I chastised myself for ever doubting him. How could I have ever thought he’d let me down?

“Here he comes!” they said. With the release of one painful moment, he entered the room.

I looked down towards my feet, past the mound that was no longer there, at my newborn son. With one swift movement, they placed him on my stomach. His eyes were screwed tightly against the blinding lights of the delivery room, and his fist were balled in tiny little knobs. His skin was reddened and raw from the journey, and his not so graceful entrance had left a small dent high on his forehead.

No one was ever so perfect.

A sob, from the depths of my soul, wracked my chest. Reaching down, I placed my hand on his fragile, tufted head, and felt for the first time the most powerful surge of love a human being must capable of. Everything I had wondered, everything I had hoped, every miracle, every dream, everything was here. Sleeping in my arms.