22 They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. 23 He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?”

24 He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.”

25 Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. 

-Mark 8:22-25

Cassandra.  Something about her.  Taps on my window.  Same time, every day.  “Want some bread, Henry?  Made it fresh!”  What does an old man like me need with all that bread?  Soft giggles.  Sounds like rain drops.  Can’t help but to smile; open the door; let her in.  Sweet Cassandra.  

Can’t eat all of it.  Never could.  But love the smell.  Fresh baked bread.  Heaven.  She comes in, holding it.  Knows right where to go.  Right in the kitchen.  Heels click-clacking.  Giggling.  “I made this just for you.  Yes, I did.  You just sit right there and let me cut you a slice.”  Voice like soft church bells chiming high and low.  Sweet melody.  Her voice is sweeter than the bread.

Stays one hour.  Every day.  Every day, she stays one hour.  I breathe her in.  Her church bell voice.  Her clean, fresh scent.  Fresh lavender soap floating all around.  Spirit like satin.  Smooth.  Clean.  Strong.  Beautiful.  She breathes like a blossoming flower.  Gentle puffs after each laugh, each giggle.  “Henry, you are just too much!  Let me get you another slice.”  Makes me think of my boyhood:  Playing in the rain; imagining blue sky break through gray clouds.

She started all this.  Knocking.  Every day.  For almost one year.  Every day, knocking.  “Hello?  Anyone home?”  Didn’t answer for a good while.  Just listened to the door.  Waited for her steps to fade; her voice to stop.  Don’t know why.  Just stupid, I guess.  Didn’t want to be bothered.  Too many strange people around.  City’s got all sorts of clowns.  Schemers.  Thieves.  Do-gooders.  Figured she was a do-gooder or a church goer.  Looking for someone to feel sorry for.  But she kept on knocking.  “Hello?  Anyone home?”  Answered one day.  Don’t know why.  I answered her one day.  Something in her voice that day.  Something made me open that door.  Smell that bread.  Hear those chimes.  Sniff that lavender.  Feel that satin.  And Cassandra came in.

Glad I did it.  One year and we’re friends now.  Told her everything about me.  But she already knew – I could feel it.  Cassandra sees me.  Faces me when I talk.  Faces me like I wasn’t blind.  Faces me like I was worth talking to.  Like what I had to say she heard before but didn’t mind hearing it again.  Regular people don’t do that with blind people.  Regular people don’t even face them when they're talking.  Don’t even look them in the eye – as if blind people can’t tell.  But Cassandra faces me when I talk.  She looks me in the eye because she knows I can tell. 

 Never had to explain that much to her.  Never.  Cassandra already saw it.  Saw that I was born this way.  That I read books with my fingers and my mind.  Saw my first cloud through a story.  Saw colors when my mother described a rainbow.  Saw my mother’s face with my fingers.  Velvet eye lashes.  Pencil nose.  Pudding cheeks.  Rubber lips; tough, thin.  “Little Henry, you’ve been playing in the rain again? Little Henry?”  Stern voice like steel grinding on steel.  “Go dry your hands on that towel, Little Henry.”  Her calloused hand on my shoulder.  Calloused, blistered, tired.  Felt her die.  Felt the room fill with her breath after it left her body.  Never told Cassandra that.  Didn’t need to.  She knows.

Bet Cassandra can see what I see.  Imagine it, at least. Darkness.  Not blackness.  Darkness.  No colors.  No nothing.  Well, almost nothing.  "No such thing as nothing," mother said.  "Always something there.  Even where there’s nothing, there’s something."  Darkness is something.  Always there.  Living.  Responding to things.  A stubbed toe.  A cold shower.  A bright, bright sun.  Like a thick dark curtain that ripples from time to time. 

Something tapping on the front window.  Cassandra.   Tapping with her car keys.

“Henry!”

“Come on in…you know the drill.”  

Bread.  Lavender.

“Henry, how are you?”  

“Fine, fine.”  

In the kitchen.  No heels.  Soft shoes.  Sneakers.  Cassandra moving slow.  Slower than normal.  Plate in front of me.  Touch the bread.  Warm.  Fresh.

“Henry, we have to talk.”  

“About what?”  

Knife scraping against the bread.  Cassandra buttering it too fast like she’s not thinking. 

“Henry, it’s about my job.”  

She’s looking at me.  Looking in my eyes.

“Cassandra, what’s wrong?”  

“Oh, Henry, everything’s turning upside down!”  

“What is?”  

“My job.  Money.  Everything.  You remember my little job down at the plant?”  

“Yes.”  

“Well, they’re closing down.  We got the notice last week.”  

“Closing down?  The whole plant?”  

“Yes.”

“They’re closing it down here.  They’re just going to keep their main one open in the next state.  They say it’s about lost sales.”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra.  You’ll get something else.  Don’t worry.”  

“Henry, it’s not that easy.  I’m not a spring chicken, you know!  And I don’t have any other skills besides what I’ve been doing for the last twenty years.  I have no choice but to accept their offer even though it’s going to turn my whole life around.”  

“Offer?”  

“Yes.  They want to transfer me to the headquarters.  It’s gonna mean that I leave everybody behind…even you.”  

No rain in her voice.  Not this time.

“I…I’m happy for you.  You’ve got to keep working.”  

“Henry, is that how you really feel?”

“No, not really.  Well, the truth is I don’t want you to go.”

“You don’t?”

Rain is back.  She’s smiling a little.

“No, I don’t.”

She holds my hand.  Darkness moves.

“I don’t want to, either, Henry, but what can I do?  I have to work to make a living.”

Cassandra lets go.  Stands up.  Takes the plate to the sink.  Turns around.  Comes near me.  Touches my shoulder.  Soft hand.  Filed nails.  Holds it for a minute.  A whole minute.  Then leaves.  No goodbye. 

“Cassandra!”

“Jesus, please don’t let her leave me.

I…I love her.

God, please.

Give me the courage to find work.

I can work.

If I can work, maybe she won’t leave.

I’ll marry her.

God, have pity on me.

That’s all.”

Morning.  In the living room.  Sitting on the couch. Slumbering.  Eyes closed.  Drifting in and out of sleep. 

Cassandra tapping on the window.  Too early.  She never comes this early.

“Henry!  Henry!”  

“Come on in!”  

Key in the lock.  Front door opens.  Closes.  Lavender.  No bread.

“Henry?  What are you still doing in your pajamas?”  

“I – I don’t know.  I got up too early.  Just feel slower than normal this morning.”  

“Well, get up.  Come on, Henry. Henry?”  

Something’s different.  Can’t feel the darkness yet.  My eyes?  They’re open.  Blink to make sure.  Something intense.  Powerful.  Big.  Filling everything.  Filling the room.  Filling my vision.  Bursting out.  What is that?

“Henry?  What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

Not wrong.  Just different.  See something splitting the intensity.  Tall.  Like a tree.  Moving.  Limbs.  Fuzzy lines on top.  Coming closer.

“No!”

It touches me.  Touches my arm.

“Henry?”

Blink.  Just keep blinking.  Where’s the darkness?  What is this?  What is happening?

“Henry?  Can you…see me?”  

I touch the top of the tree.  Smooth.  Soft.  Round.  A nose.  An eyebrow.  Touch the fuzzy lines.  Hair.

“Cassandra?

She holds my hand.  Sits down next to me.  Looks at me.  Looks into my eyes.  Her eyes.  Coming into focus.  Better than I imagined.  Shining face.  Clear eyes like the sky I saw.  Nose small.  Round.  Lips full and regular.  Mouth moves.  Cheeks like rainbows my mother described.  What’s that?  What’s that on her cheeks?  Dimples?

“Cassandra.”

“Yes, it’s me, Henry.  You can see?  I can’t believe it!”  

“I – I can’t either.  I must be dreaming.”

Squeezes my hand.  Comes closer.  Mouth against my cheek.  Soft like warm rain.

“If you felt that, you’re not dreaming.”

Giggles.  Sweet giggles.  Cassandra.  My Cassandra.  Beautiful as any imagined sun. 

“I was praying last night and-"

“You were praying?”

“Just asking God for help for you.  For us.”

“Oh, Henry.”

“I love you.”

“Henry, I love you, too.”  

“Is this really happening, Cassandra?”

“Well, God performs miracles every day.  He did when I met you, Henry.”

                            *****************

Months later.  Cassandra and I.  Married.  In love.  Home.  Doctor couldn’t believe it.  Medical miracle they said.  Had to learn how to balance in the light, how to live with the sun and sleep with the moon.  Working as a paid spokesman now.  Go around and tell people what happened to me.  That I found love.  That I can see the blue sky for what it is.  That I was blind, but now I see.