Quentin

Quentin awoke again to a new day in his queen sized bed. He stretched his arms into the air, letting out a guttural yawn from deep within his lungs. Summer had arrived outside, providing a sticky and hot cloud to perspire within while others uncovered their pools and their floated cares away.

Looking around the room, one would identify Quentin as a very ordinary man. His water glass dripped with condensation on his nightstand. This was a ritual of his. Prone to late night thirst, Quentin would keep a glass at all times just in case. Often, he would leave the glass stewing for days on end without refilling. “Just water and particles,” he thought, “No matter”.

His room was decorated in a cost effective, organized way. No paintings clung to the walls to mesmerize the eyes, no photos to bring memories back flooding. The bed spread was a cotton black and white checkered print that did not lend itself to visible stains. The white walls with yellowing and cracks were normal to any home.

Quentin could see none of this however, for he was blind. He had not laid eyes on the world since he was a young boy. The doctor leaned in and told him his bout with scarlet fever had taken his sight. His mother was sobbing in the corner of the room, unable to take in such news.

Sure, some days he was mad about it, but he had grown accustomed to his life. He had always been a resilient guy. “If I wanted to live in the past, I would have to kill myself,” he thought. His friends were not the doting type. The closest confidantes he had were the ones that he could joke around with. They would sit and laugh over a drink and make fun of each other. “Chicks dig disabled dudes, It’s a project” he would often lament.

“Keep talking like that and we’re going to rearrange the furniture in your house when you’re not looking,” they would quip back, never realizing how ironic that was.
The friendly gatherings always involved some new significant other for one of his friends. Quentin always showed up alone. In his entire life, he had never had a serious relationship. He was a romantic at heart. He had purchased every literary giant in the Grommer’s Braille Classics Series. His fingers ran through Jane Eyre, Sense and Sensibility and Romeo and Juliet.

As much as he joked, his blindness had affected his life. Woman paid such little attention to him. He was always the “friend”, the “buddy”, “good ole reliable Quentin.” All he wanted was someone else to be there with him in the dark.
Because of his impairment, Quentin missed a lot of the beauty in the world. He missed the crisp leaves falling in the autumn and the angelic visage of a newborn baby. Today, the most important thing that Quentin missed was the red blood splattered along the walls, across the majority of his apartment. In some cases, it had even trickled down onto the floor where it had dried up. His water glass contained swirls of red amidst the bubbles, evidence of an eventful night before.

Quentin continued about his day, with no hesitations. He nearly stepped into a bit of dried blood as he proceeded, half awake, to the bathroom. The tile, normally cold against his feet, was now burning up. After dressing himself with care and brushing his teeth, he thought of making the bed but didn’t see much point in it as he would be returning there by himself, as always, that night, anyway. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the front room’s stone table, and closed the wooden door behind him.

Outside, the sun was brutal. He could feel it on his face. Sweat poured from his brow and the usual city smells seemed to be magnified. Quentin had achieved a sort of “Daredevil” sense. He could hear and feel the people around him and make a visual map in his head. He very rarely bumped into anyone or stepped on pets. He was very much aware of his surroundings, provided they were moving in some way. This worked so well that he rarely used a cane except for when attention was needed, such as an airport or any other large or unfamiliar place.

Quentin took his walk to work every day, alone. His feet would stomp against the sidewalk, and he would imagine his good friend, Patty walking next to him. They would discuss the weather, or maybe the next dinner party. It didn’t matter what they talked about, as long as it meant walking with her.

His long walk took him out of the heat as he arrived at work and greeted his co-workers. He always shook hands with everyone. Hugs were a little difficult to pull off as he could not always tell if they were sitting or standing. But an outstretched, open hand was a universal sign. Patty was noticeably absent today. This was odd .Patty was supposed to return today from her honeymoon. Quentin tried to figure out who her replacement was.
“Can I help you, sir?” said the unfamiliar voice.
“Oh you must be new here, my dear. I’m Quentin and I work here”, he said with a smile.
“Oh I am so sorry! I’m just a temp. The regular girl did not show up for work and they called me in. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quentin.” She stood up and shook his waiting hand. Quentin gave a suppressed smile and a nod of the head.
With no Patty in the office, Quentin had to set up his massage table and lotions on his own today. He had grown accustomed to not having Patty around, the week before, but he loathed having to go to the stock room and figure out which items were which.

The air conditioner unit seemed blow only hot air around, throughout the day. He called for the temporary receptionist for help but she always seemed to be busy. “Another one, Sheesh” he thought.
It was a light day. Not many clients seemed friendly, not that they were required to be, but it was always nice to have some conversation while not only being trapped in darkness but providing the same monotonous pressure he had applied an hour ago.

Patty had been always there to pass the time. He could talk to her for hours at the front desk about everything; things he would never tell a soul, like, his longing for touch and compassion. She empathized with him more greatly than he realized. Her fiancée had been a strict workaholic. By the time he returned from home, he was too tired to talk, let alone make love.

Often, she would place her hand on his and massage it slightly as they spoke. It wasn’t out of desire but of mutual respect and caring. Maybe, she did it out of abandonment. Her polished nails atop her smooth fingertips were rubbing and caressing his dry skin. Quentin wondered if he had control over his eyes, would they be rolling back, aroused from the sensation? Her smooth and lotion saturated hands were like heaven on his.

Only a few days before her wedding, they sat in this very room. He sobbed in her lap. “Why can’t I have you?” he said. “Why?” he shouted over and over. Patty twirled her fingers through his sweaty auburn hair and took it all in.
“I love him, I made a promise” She said. “I can’t be with you, Quentin.” Quentin knew this was the way it would be, but hoped it would change if he just kept begging. Patty continued to play with his hair. Inside, she knew she wanted him too. Quentin could no longer handle the loneliness and the desire.
“He won’t love you like I will,” he said. “God, I want you so bad.” He continued to sob and moan in Patty’s lap, until she stood up, kissed his hand and walked out the door.

The temp listened outside as Quentin was recalling that day. He didn’t even realize he was saying her name out loud with grief. “Patty! Patty” He missed her already, thinking about her. “I can’t wait to get home and just get in bed.” He thought.

As he was cleaning up his room, the temp entered. “This girl Patty is really throwing you all for a whirl isn’t she?” Quentin stopped and faced the table. He felt so angry that this stranger was commenting on his friend, but knew she was just trying to be friendly.

“I miss having her at the front desk” Quentin said pointedly. The temp formed an awkward smile, missing the dig. She nodded her head and walked back to the front desk.
He stood at the doorway to his building taking in the summer night. The air smelled like the smokey barbecues on the front lawn and the trees in full ambrosial bloom. “Maybe I’m just a curmudgeon.”, he thought. “Maybe it has nothing to do with me being blind.”

Quentin walked home exhausted with only sleep in his mind. He narrowly missed the puddle of blood once again when he was taking off his shirt. He leaned just next to the blood splattered wall when he took off each of his shoes. He stretched out in bed and set his alarm for next morning’s wake up. He leaned over and gave a kiss to the cold body in his queen sized bed. “Goodnight Patty…I missed you”. He then took a sip of water from his drinking glass. “Hmm just water and particles” he thought with a grin. Quentin laid his head on his pillow and drifted to sleep.