. . .
“In a way, yes. Tomorrow morning, I’m continuing northeast, destination Nova Scotia where my grandparents came from. The war hangs over me like a dark cloud...a soldier has to do horrible things in combat. I’m trying to get away from it. I have nightmares.” Talking to Vista came easy. “My grandpa was so right. He adamantly objected to the Iraq invasion. He died while I was over there. I wish I could talk to him now... all I have of his is a manuscript he left on his laptop. I’m learning a lot about him, and Grandma…she’s still alive. I’ve got to stop spilling my problems on you.”
“Not at all, Justin,” Vista said. “I don’t mind listening.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You are a good person. I hear it in your voice. I feel your presence. You are a tall man. Your presence sends
vibrations I like. You see, a blind person reads people differently than those with sight. We draw our physical world with the remaining senses that tell us things you people don’t feel.”
Vista let go of his hand and touched his face. She stroked his brows, moved her fingers down over his eyes, and then gently felt the contours of each cheek before tracing his chin. Her fingertips brushed his lips sending a pulse through his veins.
“You are a handsome man. You have strong hands...but a few tense facial spots scar your soft features. They’ll go away as you find peace.”
…
“In a way, yes. Tomorrow morning, I’m continuing northeast, destination Nova Scotia where my grandparents came from. The war hangs over me like a dark cloud...a soldier has to do horrible things in combat. I’m trying to get away from it. I have nightmares.” Talking to Vista came easy. “My grandpa was so right. He adamantly objected to the Iraq invasion. He died while I was over there. I wish I could talk to him now... all I have of his is a manuscript he left on his laptop. I’m learning a lot about him, and Grandma…she’s still alive. I’ve got to stop spilling my problems on you.”
“Not at all, Justin,” Vista said. “I don’t mind listening.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You are a good person. I hear it in your voice. I feel your presence. You are a tall man. Your presence sends
vibrations I like. You see, a blind person reads people differently than those with sight. We draw our physical world with the remaining senses that tell us things you people don’t feel.”
Vista let go of his hand and touched his face. She stroked his brows, moved her fingers down over his eyes, and then gently felt the contours of each cheek before tracing his chin. Her fingertips brushed his lips sending a pulse through his veins.
“You are a handsome man. You have strong hands...but a few tense facial spots scar your soft features. They’ll go away as you find peace.”
…
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