“Give me your hand,” said the blind man. She did.
“Where do you want to go?”
“The moon.” He’d never seen it. He’d never seen anything. The idea of art and beauty and colour were as alien to him as to an unborn child.
“Are you sure? There’s not very much there.”
“You will be. That’s enough.” She squeezed his hand. That meant she was smiling.
She walked him a few paces, and down a step. “OK. We’re there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We’re the only ones. A whole world to ourselves. The ground beneath our feet is dusty and hard. It feels like grains of sand on a promenade. In the distance, rocks jut and undulate at random. Everything is identical – there are no landmarks and you couldn’t, say, map your surroundings – but it’s unique at the same time.”
“Everything the same, yet different. Huh. Like people. I think I’d rather imagine people rather than see them.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t judge someone differently based on their creed or their walk or their dress. A person’s a person, y’know? And…I imagine if I were to see the moon I’d find it very dull. But in my head, well, it’s joyous.”
“Sometimes you make blindness sound more of a gift than a curse.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Anyway. It’s cold here. And quiet, too.”
“Yes. We don’t belong, really. Couldn’t be further removed from the bustle of Earth.”
“Tell me about the sky.”
“OK…well there are millions of dots. All of them are bright and look down upon us without judgement.”
“The fault, dear Brutus…”
“Mmm. The Earth is vastly more at fault, but you couldn’t tell from here. It’s as smooth as a glass marble, and about as big. All of the humans who have ever lived seem perfectly insignificant from this distance. Smaller than germs.”
“But just as deadly in the right situation,” he said. He couldn’t see the best things on Earth, but he could unfortunately study the worst.
“You have a wonderful way with words.“
“I have nothing but words and my imagination.”
“That’s not true. You have me.”
He squeezed her hand, but she could see his smile for herself. “Where are we really?” he said.
“On the moon.”
“No. Really. I’m old enough and ugly enough to find out where you actually take me on these trips.” Where they were (really) was a utility room. There was a washing machine. Dirty laundry. Water-stained walls. A mop. It was grey and drab and cold and dreary.
“We’re on the moon,” she said.
“But…OK,” said the blind man. “Well, I like it here, wherever it is.”
“So do I.”
They stayed on the moon a while longer.
Shane Rynhart 