Double-blind Taste Test

Have you ever been on a blind date?

All of the dates I have been on are blind dates. That’s right, totally blind. It happened when I was fourteen. How and why it happened, well, that’s an entirely different story for another time. This is about my first, and only, double-blind date.

I enjoy talking to people online. Online they do not know that I cannot see at all. They do not see the sockets where my eyes once were. People just know me as (E@gleEyEs93). I know, a terrible name being blind and all, but you know I’ve come to terms with it, and sometimes when we can laugh at ourselves, it lets others know that we need not have indulgences poured out.

I am pretty upfront about my lack of sight overall, except when I am on a dating site. You would not believe how many women change tone after learning that I am blind. The communication drifts slowly down like the last leaf from a Maple tree in late fall, leaving my message box bare. Now I wait to see if there is a spark before I let them into my dark world. It had been about a year since I had an in-person date, just one, no follow-up. I hadn’t hit it off with anyone since then, but that was all about to change.

She messaged me first, commenting on my profile picture. It’s a great picture of me, from behind, with my seeing-eye dog. Chocolate, (hey, I didn’t name her) faces the camera in this photo. Every girl loves to see a dog, at least that’s what all the magazines say. Though the picture is of my backside, I am slender, tall, and appear to be looking at a majestic sunset. Of course, the photographer had to tell me this, but I can feel the sun’s scattered rays hitting my face. They seem different at sunset than during the day.

AglowHvet: “That’s a mighty fine Golden you have, and what a beautiful sunset.”

I went to her profile before I replied. My computer asked me if I would like to have the screen read, and of course, I did. It was short and to the point, my favorite kind.

Hello there, I will be brief, as I don’t want to waste your time, or mine. Likes: good food, good conversation, animals. Dislikes: poor manners, wild parties, self-importance. Must-haves: a source of income, enjoys pets. Cant stands: violence, BIG drinkers, sulky people. Want to know more? Let’s talk.

E@gleEyEs93: Why, thank you. It was a fantastic sunset for sure. It is my favorite time to walk.

We had more back and forth conversation, in which she learned my name, Burel, and I learned hers, Heather. The opening conversational salvos were good, sometimes even great, but nothing substantial. She never asked for more pictures, a total blessing. Now I just see (Heather is typing) and nothing else. Then she pulled the pin, hit the send button, and potential became movement.

AglowHvet- How about we get together for dinner?

E@gleEyEs93- That sounds great. When and where are you thinking?

AglowHvet- How is tomorrow around 5? The address is 63-79 St John Street.

E@gleEyEs93- Awesome. See you then.

AglowHvet- Wonderful

Excited, no, I was ecstatic. My first date in over a year, and she had asked me! Next up on the buffet of emotions was the mortification. Heather would actually see me. She would see my blindness, no matter how I covered it up, then run away. Even worse, she may stay, all the while showing nothing but pity for me. Flooded with all the chemicals that come with emotion, or is it the chemicals causing the emotional flood; either way, my mind raced. I didn’t even realize that Heather never told me where we were going. It never even crossed my mind until much later. Okay, time for a drink before bed. I got up and took hold of the house cane.

Now a more tricky task; finding the right bottle. I picked up the first bottle, sniffed the cork, and put it back. It was white and slightly sweet, probably the riesling. Next was a bottle of red wine, but this one was for a special day. It was my 1993 Petrus Pomerol, given to me by my mother on my 21st birthday. I could tell just by feeling the label. The third bottle, now that was the one I wanted. An excellent Australian Shiraz I picked up on holiday. As I pulled the stopper, I knew this would be the last glass out of this bottle. I took the bottle straight back to the computer. Aerating the wine helps release the aroma, but I wanted calmed nerves more.

I had my computer read me the news while I drank. My butterflies settled just a little. A chime sounded for bedtime rituals. I am a routine person, with different alarms in each room; they help me know where to go and why I am going there. Nightly ritual finished, I made my way to bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

I woke up just over eight hours later to my morning alarm, +DOPE+, “Take Your Best Shot.” Make it your morning alarm for a week; it’ll get you pumped and ready to take on the big, imperfect, dark world. I showered, shaved, did the necessary, and headed toward breakfast. The Beatles helped me out in the kitchen, telling me, “There will be an answer; let it be.” Pumped for my date, I knew what to do. I would just make sure to get there early and let it all happen as it would. That that will be, will be; that that will not be, will not be.

Three of the clock. It’s time to go. Walking out of my flat, I pluck a single Daffodil walking toward the tube. It smells wonderful. It gives me hope for today. Getting on the Hammersmith tube, I rode with butterflies in my stomach all over again.

“Next station, Farringdon,” The voice on the speaker told me as the train slowed into the terminal. The doors opened, and, as always, I am told to “mind the gap.”

It is a five-minute walk to 69-73 St. John street by GPS, but for me, it takes ten minutes. I still arrive ten minutes early.

The hostess opens the door and says, “Welcome to Dans Le Noir.”

I tell her that I am here for a date with Heather, but I would like to be seated now if possible.

“I am sorry, sir, but your date was seated just moments ago,” the hostess says with some regret.

“If you please, take my arm. I will guide you to your table, sir,” she continues.

I allow her to take my arm and lead me toward the table. As we walk, I overhear strange conversations.

“It feels like a hamburger, but there’s no bun,” someone says.

“How am I supposed to know what this is,” another asks.

We get to the table, and the hostess places my hand on the chair.

“Here is your seat, sir. Do be careful sitting down. Would you like the red, green or, blue menu, sir?”

I don’t know what this means. I ask her to explain.

“The red menu features meat courses, while the green is vegetarian, and the blue menu is seafood-based,” she explains.

I’m sitting here thinking, I haven’t even heard Heather make a sound, and to hurry the hostess away, the idea comes, “I’ll have whatever she is having,” I say.

“Well, I see you are also an early bird,” she says.

“Yes, right, well I was sort of hoping to get here before you, so that if… When…” I stopped putting my foot in my mouth at this point.

“So that if I didn’t look right, you could leave,” Heather said with a laugh that let me know this was a joke, yet not a joke.

“No, no, no, not that at all,” I stammered. “More like if you didn’t like my looks.”

She laughed a genuine laugh and said, “I hope you like meat. I picked the red menu.”

“I do like meat, but what kind of meat is it,” I asked.

“That’s the beauty of this place, we don’t know, and we won’t know until the end,” Heather said with delight.

Our first of five courses came out, and I knew right away that we were also getting wine with our first course. It was to be some sort of goat cheese, and I could smell smoked duck as the waitress, with a slight bit too much perfume, set the plate down. I could also smell some earthy leaves, maybe arugula or radicchio. The wine was sparkling and yet seemed to be a cabernet. This wasn’t so hard, plus once she sees the food, it'll be easy to know. I was entirely wrong.

“What do you think this is,” Heather asked.

I told her what it was. I already knew.

“I think it is some sort of hummus with some fowl, maybe a game hen,” she replied

“Oh, and the wine is one of my favorites, a Cabernet Franc.

I thought we had hit it off right splendidly, though I was a little concerned that Heather hadn’t brought up that I was blind. She didn’t seem to be pitying me, and the conversation was upbeat, brisk, and very playful. As we had our third and main course, a delicious filet mignon, though very under portioned, paired with a lovely glass of merlot, I could sense that something had made Heather a slight bit nervous. She finished her wine and then asked for another.

The conversion still flowed well but took a bit of a lull after desert. I could hear Heather picking at her fingernails, a sure sign of anxiousness. Why was she now all nerves?

The speakers crackled, “Attention guests, in a minute, we will be turning the lights on. Please prepare yourselves. You may wish to close your eyes to let them readjust.”

“Close your eyes? Had we truly been eating in the dark this whole time?”

I couldn’t believe it.

Heather spoke up just then, “I have had a lovely time, and I do not want it to end, but I haven’t told you a few things. I thought you’d ask for more pictures and then see…”

I interrupted her, “I haven’t told you a few things also.”

We were both desperately trying to tell the other something vitally important. It may be a total dealbreaker. We both started talking again when the lights came on.

“Please don’t look at me. The scars are ugly. You won’t want someone like this.” Heather stammered through tears.

Her chair pushed back; she was ready to run.

With great synchronicity, Chocolate barked, and I let out my secret.

“Heather, I will never see your scars. Not now, not tomorrow, not in a year.”

I pulled off my sunglasses, and for the first time in ages, another person saw the hollows where my eyes should be. Heather didn’t gasp as many do; she just walked toward me. Despite all the emotions, she was still polite and asked for a hug. Of course, I said yes. As she came in for the hug, I kissed her on the cheek; just because I am blind doesn’t mean I can’t time things well, and it did go well. We hugged, and then the three of us, Heather, Chocolate, and I, walked out of Dans Le Noir hand in hand.

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