Sledge Hammer 11 (English)/Sledge Hammer 11E.adf/blindate.txt/blindate.txt

Text File | 2020-05-02 | 10KB | 256 lines

BLIND DATE


George  was  upset,  sure  he  was, he
wasn't  used  to blind dates, actually
he  wasn't  used  to dates at all, for
this reason he tried with a blind one.
It  all  began  as  a  normal  pen pal
relation.   He  found her address in a
magazine   for  lonely  souls  and  he
decided to write, also because she was
from his same town.

It started like this, a simple letter,
quite  banal and superficial.  A reply
and  then  the  reply  to  the  reply.
George wasn't even a great writer, his
letters were written in a simple style
but  it  was his own style and in that
pieces of paper he used to write about
himself.  That seemed enough.  Slowly,
letter  after letter, word after word,
they   started   to  know  each  other
better,  to  throw  away more and more
formal  masks, to hide themselves less
and less.  The letters were many, they
took  very  few days to cross the town
streets,  he knew where his words were
delivered, he knew her address, but he
had never dared to check directly that
number,  to  control were actually she
lived.  Their relation got deeper with
time,  they  never  sent  photos, they
never  commented  things  happening to
the  world or to their town.  It was a
sort  of  taboo  talking  about it for
them,  they  both  knew that the other
could  be  just the anonymous face got
across   on   the   bus   or   in  the
underground, still they never referred
to  that.  In those letters there were
two    pure    spirits,    two   minds
communicating,   the  bodies  and  the
lives   were   something   else,   not
written, thought but not said.

It  lasted  a  year, many many letters
sent  and  received,  always  with the
same  hearts bumping while opening the
envelopes.    They   were   having  an
epistolary love relation and the texts
soon became love declarations.  At the
end   they  were  real  love  letters,
feeding   a  sort  of  platonic  love.
George at a certain point decided that
he  had  to make the big step, to meet
her for real and to love her for real.
Their relation was already so firm and
established  that  the  physical  look
couldn't  change  anything.   Love was
and love had to remain.

George  knew  that  it could have been
dangerous,   he   knew   that  he  was
physically  ugly,  that  was  also the
reason  why  he had put so much pathos
in  his  letters.  It was the only way
to  feed the need of love of his soul.
While  he  was  walking  to the date's
place he checked again his dresses, he
controlled at every mirror the look of
his  hairs,  he touched his pockets to
control  if  everything was there.  He
was  worried  and  excited, scared and
anxious.   While  coming closer to the
place,  counting  second after second,
moving  faster  or  slower in order to
arrive  at  the  right moment, not too
early  not  too  late,  while  walking
among  the town's streets, whose chaos
was  completely unnoticed by his eyes,
he was thinking at the first things to
say,  at  the first acts, at the smile
to  offer.   The  thoughts in his mind
were  fluctuating  in  a  strange  and
frantic state of stillness, no thought
could manage to stay fixed and it soon
got   lost   in   the  flow  of  other
thoughts.    Without  pauses,  without
order.  He also was wondering what was
her  look;  often, reading her letters
he  tried to figure out how physically
she was.  At the end the rational part
of  his mind was sure that she was not
looking  too, that she was as ugly and
frustrated   as   himself,   but   his
feelings,   his   emotional  part  was
different.   For  that  half  she  was
beautiful  and  sweet,  very  cute and
very  nice.   He thought that her look
wasn't  important,  that  he loved her
the  same,  he loved the name who used
to sign those letters, the hands under
it,  the mind moving those hands, what
there could be covering that soul, how
could be her body wasn't important.

He  always  wrote that in his letters,
and   she   always   wrote   the  same
referring  to  him.  At this point the
look  was  just  pointless, there were
two  loving  persons,  two  souls that
liked   each   other.   The  rest  was
useless.    With  this  certainty,  he
walked  more  resolute  and  surer  of
himself.   He  was  wearing  a pair of
blue  pants and a red shirt, just like
he   promised  and  she  had  to  wear
something  that  he  could immediately
recognize.   Finally  he arrived. She
didn't  seem to be already there.  The
place  was ideal, not very crowded and
not      desert,     impossible     to
misunderstand  and  easy  to find, the
way from which she could come was only
one  and  he just sat down facing that
direction.   He  started  to  smoke  a
cigarette,  to  relax,  to  calm  down
himself.   He  checked the watch, five
minutes  earlier.  They discussed much
about  the  time,  the  place  and the
date,  and,  at  the end, letter after
letter,  they had decided.  They could
phone   themselves,  but  they  didn't
dare.   They  had  never talked on the
phone,  he  wondered also how could be
her  voice.  Time passed, every second
seemed  eternal,  time  passed and she
wasn't there yet.  Often he saw in the
distance  women  coming closer dressed
with  colors  that  could be the right
ones.   He  then  started to stare the
distant  point,  while  his  heart was
mumbling  faster  and the mouth seemed
almost  to  freeze for the fear.  They
were  false alarms, anyway, at the end
the  distant  dress resulted different
from the waited one, and he started to
get  worried.  Minutes passed, painful
minutes of excitement, expectation and
disappointment     till    resignation
started  to  grow and invade his mind.
Half  an  hour  was  passed and he was
already thinking to leave, desperately
sad  and  resigned.   Then  the moment
arrived.   A new spot in the distance,
new hopes, new attempts to see farther
than  his capabilities.  He looked and
she  was  coming nearer, more and more
similar to what he was awaiting.  When
she  was  near  enough,  when  he  was
almost  sure  that she was really she,
he  looked  in another direction and a
new  inferno  of sensations flooded in
him  mind.   He forgot all the acts he
had  prepared  and  thought before, he
was  just  a  ship  lost in a tempest.
She  got  closer,  looking the ground,
when  she  was very near he raised his
eyes and looked her.

"George?"  She  asked  with  a feeble,
high   pitched,  voice.   He  mumbled,
"Yes,  I  am  George" and he looked in
every   direction   trying   to  catch
somewhere  the fixed point he couldn't
find  inside  himself.   "Nice to meet
you",   she   attempted,   keeping  on
looking  the  ground.   "Nice  to meet
you", he replied, trying to glance her
face.  They stood there, mute, for few
never  ending  seconds, then he asked,
trying  to  find  some  strength "What
about  drinking  something?" his words
were  embarrassed  and awkward.  "Yes,
yes,   good   idea"   she  immediately
replied.   Now he had seen her, he had
given  a face to a name, a voice to  a
handwriting.     She    wasn't    very
attractive, actually she was quite bad
looking  and  somehow  he was strongly
disappointed  by  that.   They went to
the  nearer  bar,  they  sat  down and
embarrassed they found their salvation
in  the  list of cocktails.  They read
it  much  more  time  than  necessary,
pretending to be interested by it.  He
tried  with  "I  take  this  one"  and
attempted  a  smile.   She said with a
very  low  voice  "I take a coke".  He
called  the  waiter  and ordered their
drinks.   He  said again "It's nice to
meet  you".   She  said,  looking  the
table  "It's  nice  to  meet you too".
The   drinks   arrived   and,  somehow
relieved   by   the   possibility   of
shifting  their attention to something
which  wasn't themselves, they started
to  drink  them.   He  tried a comment
about  the  weather,  she  said "Yes".
She  told something the weather of the
day  before  and  he said "2Sure".  The
drinks  were  finishing,  very slowly,
tasted  in  the  deepest  silence.  He
called  a  waiter  and asked the bill.
When  it  arrived he said "I pay", "No
No",  she  replied immediately, "No, I
have to pay", he insisted and she just
added  "If  you  want  so".   With the
brain  completely  empty,  without any
sensible    words    that   he   could
pronounce,  having  forgotten  all the
brilliant sentences he had prepared he
almost  shouted,  after  having looked
the  watch and without having seen the
hour,  "I  must  go  now, sorry".  She
said  "There  is  no problem".  He was
already  standing  and  repeated "I am
very sorry, I have many things to do",
she replied "No problem, no problem, I
have  something  to do too".  "Hope to
meet you again", he said, "Yes, sure",
she said, "Bye", "Bye".  He almost ran
out  of the bar, he ran home, confused
and  empty.   He laid down on the bed,
he  took  all the letters she sent, he
remembered  the strong feelings he had
reading  them,  he remembered the love
of  those  words  who  had  filled his
life,  he touched the sheets, caressed
the  envelopes.  He thought that those
letters  weren't  written  by the same
woman  he  had met few minutes before.
The  rational  part  of  his  mind was
losing  the  battle with its opponent.
He  looked  the  letters,  he  touched
them,  he  smiled comforted and turned
off the light.


Macno

maineditor of

Abnormalia