I travel back down that road. The one we took all those years ago. I wonder what you’re thinking right now. If you can see me, wherever you are. I drive down the winding road, not thinking about going anywhere. Just thinking. Thinking about you. Miles up this never-ending road, there is a mountain. I remember when we came down here the first time.

~~~


“There’s a mountain somewhere up here. I know it,” you said.

“How do you know it?” I asked.

“I’ve hiked it. Felt it. Smelled it. I could tell you every rock and every tree on that mountain,” you mused.

“But, you’re blind,” I replied.

“Yes. And you can see. What’s the difference?”

“What if something happened?” I wondered.

“I had my dog.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to not see?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been this way my whole life. If all of a sudden I could see, it would be overwhelming. Just like if you were blind tomorrow,” you explained.

“Oh, look! I love sunsets, they're so beautiful…” I began, but remembered. “Oops, sorry.”

You smiled. I loved your smile.

“It’s fine. Please describe it to me.”

“Well, the sun is setting over the mountain. The sun is round and a vibrant orange right now. The clouds have been painted pink, purple, and blue. The trees near the top of the mountain are orange from the reflection of the sun.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you whispered. A couple minutes passed. I looked at you. You fell asleep.

~~~

“Molly, it’s going to rain,” you said one day.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I can feel it. I can smell it,” you replied. “Come with me.”
You took my hand and led me to the giant oak tree standing in the middle of my yard. When you thought we were near, you put your hand out in front of you and walked slowly till you felt the touch of rough, rigidity bark. Gripping it, you pulled me near and cupped my chin gently with your hand. You slowly traced my facial features, your fingers lingering when you touched my lips. You seemed to remember why we were there and dropped your hand. I didn’t like that. But then you laced your fingers with mine.

“I want you to close your eyes,” you said.

I did.

“I want you to think about not seeing. Imagine you can’t see at all. Pretend you’ve never seen this place before.”

I did.

“Now, not using your eyes, I want you to tell me what you can 'see.'”

I did. I told him I could feel the moisture prickling my skin. It was humid. I could feel the slightest breeze blow across my face. The wind smelled like rain.

“It’s going to rain,” I smiled. You laughed. I loved your laugh.

~~~

I pull over at the base of the mountain. I find a rock to sit on and close my eyes. I tell myself I can’t see. Just like you told me to. I wash away what I know of my surroundings. I try to imagine what could be around me by tuning into my other senses. Just like you wanted me to. I wait for the wind. And it comes. It’s going to rain. You would like that wouldn’t you? I hope you can see me. I’m still sitting here with my eyes close. I tilt my head up and let the first drop land on the tip of my nose. It rains. I let it soak into my skin and imagine you are the rain. I imagine the drops as thousands of kisses. And for a moment, I feel like it really is you. Maybe it is. I sit here, still. Until the rain passes.