Chapter 1 - Blind Spot

Tap! Tap! Tick! Tap! Tap! Tick!…

My shoes struck the ground with rhythm. Each step as an invitation to welcome my path ahead. Like a man with a mission, I proceeded along the sidewalk. The sound of my gait was met with the crescendo of ticking where my white cane struck the ground. Such noises were very normal for me in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Along with the hubbub of people conversing, traffic moving, and even the faint sound of water flowing.

For a person that was born blind like me, I could not miss a sound. Every honking horn from the nearby vehicles would startle my adept hearing the way you could shake a person awake from a deep sleep. I have never seen with my eyes, not even a glint of color. Total blindness from birth. But I was long past mourning this loss. At the age of 38, I was firmly accustomed to letting my sensitivity of sound and touch serve as my colors of the world. My white cane ahead of me with my sensitivity to any impact would normally help me to detect telephone poles, fire hydrants, and even abrupt grooves in the concrete as I walked the path. The shoes I wore were specially curved to adapt to uneven ground more easily. They weren't the latest and greatest design with ultrasonic sensors or anything, but they did the trick. Different acquaintances I made through the years would often tell me about technology's advancements for the blind. I wasn't obsessed over it since I was already well accustomed to my way of life.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

My musings and senses were interrupted by a ground shaking noise. I hate jackhammers. This one was likely several streets away, but it still interfered with my rhythm. This was normal in the city. I was not too worried. Even with the vibrations rising in my legs and my sense of sound muffled, I was not worried about reaching my destination. I knew this path by heart. Genuine Funk Brewery had been my go-to stop three times a week ever since I turned 21. The brew was good, and the company was even better. The fact that the place was only an eight-minute walk from home was a bonus. The heavy oak door opened easily on its hinges as I entered the building. A waft of familiar smells greeted me, which left a grin on my face. I was accustomed to the scent of earthy hops and citrus along with the slightly sulfuric smell of fermentation.

I slowed my pace as I approached my familiar bench seat near the bar counter. As I slowly maneuvered around the tables, avoiding any collisions, I heard the lovely voice of one of my most favorite people on the planet.

"Nicky! Is it 6:00 already? Of course it is! You never disappoint me with your timing."

Valerie Grisham. Her friendly tone and generous compliments always lifted my spirits. She had a voice where I could hear her smiling. That always cheered me up. These three nights a week were more like therapy for me than recreational drinking. Valerie was in her late twenties and was still romantically unattached to anyone, as far as I knew. I never considered her as a potential love interest, but she ranked highest in my mental friends list. You could say that Valerie was my weakest point. I allowed myself to be a bit vulnerable around her. Not once did I feel disabled when I was in her presence. For her, I could lay bare my faults and not be ashamed. She was, for all intents and purposes, my blind spot. Ha ha ha! What a goofball I can be.

Over the years, I came to understand that Valerie is a cute redhead girl with nerves of steel. Despite her small frame, she would insert herself in arguments, kick out the drunks and unruly, and defend those that could not defend themselves. I could only dream of being as capable as she.

"Hey Val! Um, thanks, I guess. I uh- never want to miss out on my time here."

"You're my favorite customer, Nicky, I wouldn't give you up for the world! Take your seat and tell me what's on your mind. You want the soybeans and ale?"

"Er, yes please."