�So, your name’s Blaine.� he said, after I sat on a dust smelling sofa. He had accompany me there with kindness and attention. I imagined he knew how I felt: for the first time I was in a new unknown place.
� May I ask how old are you?� he asked to me.
� Is this the acceptance routine? �
He sighed. � This is my acceptance routine. I don’t like talking with people I don’t know. �
I wasn’t sure to understand him, but I pleased him. I wanted to trust him so bad that it was almost strange and it scared me at the same time.
� I’m seventeen. �
� I’m seventeen and a half. � he pointed out proudly.
I smiled, thinking about how easy did life seemed to him. He didn’t create boundaries, he didn’t put cold walls between us. During that two months I almost seemed to be filled by the obstacles that my blindness had created between me and the rest of the world.
� Are you born blind? � he continued imperturbable.
I hardly swallowed.
� No, I wish I was. Maybe it would be easier and now I would be able to move without overturning vases or falter to every step. � I murmured, holding my hands for giving me courage. Talking about being blind made me sink in a dense and freezy awkwardness pond, and I couldn’t swim.
� I can’t tell you if you’re right. I’m not born blind either. A domestic accident: my father didn’t really know how to cook. There had been some problems with the gas, everything took fire and, well, here I am. � he resumed with a dark tone of voice.
� I’m sorry this is happened to you. � I tried to seem really, really sorry, instinctively I lifted my head searching for his eyes but, as usual, I had forgotten an important detail: my eyes didn’t work anymore and I had to deal with it.
� Oh, I didn’t get hurt so much, comparing me with my mother. She died in that accident. � he added coldly. I stayed in silence, feeling the blood freeze into my veins as if I had drunk liquid nitrogen.
� I... I... � He sighed, making the heavy atmosphere softer.
� What about you? � he asked.
� A car accident. I was with my best friends. The one who drove was completely drunk so, when we crushed on the other car, I had jumped out from the vehicle and my head hit the ground. I should be happy to be alive. �
� Yeah, you should. � he commented. � Were you at a party?� he asked, trying to – without many results - make that conversation – irremediably icy – lees cold.
� Yep. You know, I had to meet a boy there, some friends o’ mine wanted us to date... � I realized too late that I have said too much, that conversation had just been ruined. I had implied my homosexuality, I had let myself unbend.
I had messed up all.
� Yes, also my best friend was always organizing me dates with other guys. I’ve to say that she still do it. � he grumbled, laughing.
I gasped. He didn’t seem shocked about my confession and, even stranger, he had just implied to have been in my same situation, so...
� ... wait: are you gay too? � I asked, shocked. I really didn’t expect to meet other homosexuals in that fancy school.
� You’re the first who seems surprised. � he exclaimed, enthusiastic.
A huge smile exploded on my face and my heart seemed to take new life.
I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t forced to hide it, there.
� It seems impossible to me. � I muttered, shaking my head and bursting in a joyful laugh.
� Well, believe in it, dude. � he answered, making an exasperate sound. I felt so free to being talking with someone so similar to me and so helpful.
I really wanted to see his eyes in that moment, so I could have seen his soul.
� Why did you touched my face, before? � I asked, turning my head on a side and imagining Kurt sitting in front of me, with an embarrassed smile and two bright eyes.
� ‘cause I want to imagine the person I’m talking to. It’s my fetish, forgive me. �
I heard the rustle of the cloth and I guessed he might have crossed his legs.
� Don’t apologize, it’s a terribly wonderful thing. � I whispered.
� But I couldn’t get your colours. � he growled with melancholy.
� I don’t want bother you, but…can you describe yourself? � he asked, embarrassed. He had been so self confident until a couple of minutes ago and now he seemed to lurch.
� Well... No, it’s okay. � I pleased him.
The sudden change in his tone of voice made me guess that he had suddenly become particularly happy.
� Hair? �
� Dark brown, almost black. �
� Eyes? �
� Uhm, I would say green. �
Kurt clapped his hand and sighed.
� I love green eyes. � he murmured, and he said that with such an innocence that the fact I was blushing seemed terribly out of place but, luckily, he couldn’t see me.
� T-thanks. � I stuttered.
� Do you want to touch me? � he asked.
At that point my face became purple, I felt my cheek becoming instantly hotter and my ears pulse. What was I thinking?
My silence made Kurt understand what I thought he meant and he suddenly come to correct what he just said.
� No, no! I didn’t mean in that…. sense! I meant… I meant the face! As I did before. � he laughed hysterically, evidently embarrassed.
I almost couldn’t move thinking about with which kind of person might he think to be talking to.
Oh great, I had become Blaine, the maniac. In a scale from one to ten, I doubted that the impression I was showing would went over the two.
� Well, you can analyze my face if you want. It’s a great sensation, I swear, it’s really useful. � he insisted.
I sighed.
I stood up and tried to reach him without hitting something. The floor was in smooth and slippery marble, it didn’t help. Some hands came to take my wrists and made me touch the soft and smooth skin of his face. My fingers, compared to that, were terribly rough and callused.
� You are a musician, aren’t you? � he said. � You’ve got callus on your fingertips. Guitar? Violin? Ukulele? �
� Guitar, you’re right. You’re good, I should be the one analyzing you. � I smiled. I loved the way he behaved. He was genuine and strong, but also shy and inexplicably innocent.
� I’ve always wanted to sing with a guitar. � he whispered and, while I was passing my thumbs on his lips as he had done before on me, I felt him smiling. His cheekbones were delicate, he had big eyes with long eyelashes, arched and regular eyebrows, his skin similar to porcelain and his hair lacquered and soft. I wondered how could he have such a perfect hair without seeing himself on the mirror. His nose had a strange form but it was soft and cold.
� Can you sing? � I asked.
� Sometimes. � he answered, shrugging.
Kurt was right. The idea about exploring a person without seeing her was like wondering, in the dark, what could you have into your hands: magical. I felt like I was a child again. That sensation gave me shivers.
� What colour is your hair? �
� Light brown, or better, it’s a mix between brown, the color of ash and the color of honey. � he specified, and I laughed at his precision. � So it’s more detailed and – because I am a stereotyped fashion obsessed gay – I really like to play with colours. � he explained without stopping chuckling.
� What about your eyes? Just tell me the colour, please, I’m not as good as you with fashion. �
� Light blue. � he smiled again. � A really good one, to be honest. � he boasted, swelling his chest.
He was adorable. This word usually was for a very few people, but he really was adorable.
� Once, I liked light blue eyes. � I said without thinking.
I felt his eyebrows arching surprised under my hands.
� Once? �
I nodded.
� Now I can’t see them anymore. �