“We’re almost there, I promise.”
“I can’t remember the last time I was blindfolded.”
I have only known everything to go combinations of terrible and perfect. In either case, there is a sort of reluctance that jockeys my rolling eyes when it all falls apart, or the crescendo spoils me speechless.
In truth, I was asking more than too much driving a blindfolded semi-stranger into a pitch black field extremely late at night. Then again I had also given up on appearances, and for the sake of conducting what I believed to be an excessively fun activity, I simply could not bring myself to do it alone.
So when I told her, we’re here, and she took off the bandana that I tied around here eyes fifteen miles and thirty minutes earlier, I have reason to believe that she didn’t scream out of confusion, she screamed out of fear.
When someone screams out of fear they are basically, metaphorically, in the middle of an extremely vulnerable bridge, one made out of only shitty rope and decaying planks of poor wood, and it takes as much effort, if not more, to get them to come back, as it does for them to accept it and move forward.
So when I told her, in ten minutes there will be an electrical storm, she only became more confused. Then when I handed her a drawing pad and a sharpened pencil, she came back to me, at least a little bit, I think.
I was listening when she told me on our first date that back in college she nearly doodled enough to consider taking more art classes, and possibly changing to an art major, instead of environmental bio, which she ultimately settled with.
“In ten minutes lightning is going to strike all around us. And because my car is grounded by rubber tires we are completely safe. I promise. I packed some sandwiches in this bag, and a soft white wine in this thermos. I was hoping we could try to draw our surroundings on these notepads using only the light that the lightning from the electrical storm gave us.”
I watched her pupils shrink as all of these strange truths aligned inside her mind.
In truth, I wanted us to become cameras. I was curious about her lense, she has brown eyes, and mine are blue.
“See, I have a pad and pencil too. I was hoping after the electrical storm we could compare and contrast what we drew. I thought of it as a kind of reverse Rorschach test, where you physically create feverishly what you see, instead of mentally.”
As the storm began we traced our pads with only the combinations of glimpses that we were given. From time to time the thunder that followed the lightning almost caused us to choke back the wine in my thermos.
After one of the first trees that we both originally drew caught fire from a lightning strike in the pouring rain I knew that this was going to be one of the times that everything went perfectly right, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and laugh at it.