The coffee shop is empty—except for him. Square black glasses hide half of his face while the other half reveals a button nose and a wide mouth. An almost yellow shade of his hair is as long as his mother's, more dense and less curly. He has headphones on, a pastry plate proudly displays a plump muffin in front of him.

Mrs. Korksov said this place as his spot. He visits this shop on all days, including weekends.

I take my coffee cup and walk to his table and knock on it with my knuckles.

Tut.Tut.

He removes the headphones, "yes?" His voice was low as if he isn't sure he heard the sound.

"Is this seat taken? Can I join you?" I ask.

"Well, sure. I didn't know it got crowded." He says apologetically in a deep raspy voice.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it, that barista guy is shooing people away, not even an inch to stand. Who are these people, eating croissants on a monday afternoon?" I take the seat opposite him.

He smiles—it's like a baby's first steps. Unsure and awkward. "Not crowded, I take it?"

"No. Not another soul around. I tried talking with the barista, but I don't think we speak the same language." I sigh and study his profile. The idea that I can stare at him all day long and he wouldn't know it, is weird. Am I violating his privacy?

He snorts. "He's Lebanese."

He's responsive. That's good.

"Aah, that must be it. Anyways, I can't sit alone. I'm used to crowds. Do you mind giving me company?"

He touches the headphones on the table as if to hint me to leave.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you in the middle of something? Please don't mind me then. I'll just sit here and finish my coffee." I sag back. I've read somewhere—treat physically disabled people like everyone else.

It's difficult. Even though he looks like any other young man with his bright blue sweater and red scarf, he doesn't know how those colors looked, does he? How can I treat him the same?

"It's fine. I'm Erin." He extends his hand in my general direction.

"Sam." I take his hand and shake. His palm is calloused, like a bike rider.

"Sam, what brought you to our sleeping town?"

I chuckle. "More like sleeping village. I was visiting a friend in Rochester and thought of taking a much needed vacation. He suggested this as a hidden gem." I lie, it's the only semi believable thing I could come up with, I wrote it down last night and practiced. I can't lie and there's never a need before.

"It is. Where are you from?" His sharp chin juts out like a bird reaching out for its food.

"Bern."

He angles his head to the side, looking through the window.

Shit, Can I say look? He won't look, will he?

"Never heard of it. Where's it?" He asks.

"Switzerland."

"Oh, okay. Our town does have its perks. I was told that when the lake is fully frozen you would get a spectacular view. And also ice fishing is a well received tourist attraction."

I don't know what to reply, do I say sorry that he couldn't get to see that spectacular view?

"I'm sorry, don't get offended. But you're the first sight impaired person I have met. I've no clue how to respond to that. What's offensive and what's not?"

He smiles that baby step smile. I guess he always smiles like that. "You were doing pretty well. Tell me Sam, why do you think I'm blind?"

Shit, I frantically look around, eyes latch on the one item that will save me. "Your stick. You're not?"

"I am. I thought you'd say my glasses." He bends his head down, his right hand fingers trail around the plate. He has long fingers with pronounced knuckles, my favorite kind. It's mesmerizing to watch their movement. I shake my head to clear the cobwebs forming in my mind and answer him.

"Glasses are worn by all. I wear it sometimes just to avoid talking to people. It gives you that 'I'm busy stay away' vibe." I say.

"Does it? I hate glasses. But I have to wear them."

"Why?"

He removes his glasses in a swift movement. I stare at him unable to form any coherent thought.

His big, round eyes are all white, there is no evidence of iris, like a painter forgot to draw the most important part of the eye, just to shock his audience. I think he wanted to shock me. Without glasses his face is even more odd. A prominent forehead and big eyes don't compliment his small nose. He's not appealing to working eyes.

The silence is deafening as I try to think of something to say.

He smiles again and it's creepy now, with the blank eyes staring into space. As he moves his hand to put his glasses back I clutch his wrist.

"Don't." I say. I don't know why, but I am not ready to look away.

"Seriously? Aren't you repulsed yet?" His smile becomes more crooked.

"Do you wear it for others?" I change the subject.

"Yes, Niz-the barista won't let me sit here without it. He's afraid I would scare off his customers."

It makes sense, but is it fair to him?

"Get up, you can take my seat, so that you won't face the entrance. Niz should be okay with that." I pull him up by shoulder.

He chuckles, resisting my tug, "I don't think so. What if someone comes to talk to me like you?"

"I'm here and will answer for you." I guide him to my seat, once he sits down, I go to his chair and push his plate to him.

He's holding my coffee, smelling it. "Vanilla Latte?" He guesses.

"Yes, you want one?"

"Only if you're ready to share the muffin." He says tilting his head. His hair hangs awkwardly to the side. If he can see himself he wouldn't do it. In that aspect he is a child. A child whose actions and postures are weird yet we allow them because they don't know any better.

Will I ever get over his impairment? Everything he does is somehow a by product of his blindness. Or is it me who thinks so?

I pull the plate closer to me. "Deal. You can take it. I have not drunk."

"Okay, are you sure you don't want me to wear the glasses?" He fingers it.

I pluck it from him, "No. I don't think it's fair to you, I'll get used to your face. You don't have to coddle me."

He laughs, it starts as a small barely there sound and becomes a high pitched chortle. His big wide teeth are on display as he laughs. It isn't a beautiful sight, not in any far-fetched way. But oddly it is satisfying.

"What's funny?"

He wipes his eyes. "That's my line, you know. I tell my mom daily. I wasn't aware I did the same to others."

"Hmm. This is tasty." I say taking a bite of the muffin.

"Tell me Sam, what's the first thing you notice when you meet someone?" He asks, his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand, a pose of a curious kid. Like a kid, he uses my name in every other sentence. I should stop comparing him to a kid. He is a man with great...knuckles. For now that's all I can come up with.

I think back to his question. What's the first thing I noticed about him?

"It depends on the person. When I saw the barista I noticed his big mustache, when I saw you I noticed your bright red scarf. On the way here I watched a dog because of its enormous mane. What do you notice?" I take another bite, it practically melts in my mouth.

"My options are limited, don't you think? Their voice if they talk, their scent if it's overpowering. But those things don't give away much." He sips the coffee.

"True, what would you like to know?"

He bites his lip- a big tooth plunges on his lower lip like a blunted knife.

I can see that he hesitates to answer. "I won't judge you, you can say." I encourage him.

"Their age. It's hard to guess the age when they are adult. For instance you can be anywhere from eighteen to fifty. Your voice doesn't tell." He takes another sip.

He is wondering how old I am. He doesn't want to ask outright. Interesting.

"I'm twenty-five. You're around the same I'd say."

"Yes, I'm twenty-two."

"What else do you want to know?"

"That's it." He smiles.

"Come on, don't you want to know how I look?"

He chuckles. "How?"

I try to describe myself without using any colors.

"I have thick hair cropped short, I envy your long hair. My eyes are as big as yours, my nose is longer, bigger. My mouth, I don't want to sound very vain but my exes have said its sinuous.The devil's lure." I say with a hint of a smile in my voice.

He grins, "are you flirting with me Sam?"

I didn't realize it, but yes, I am. "Are you interested, Erin?" I grin back, I wish he could see my grin. That's my best feature.

"Um. I-" His wrist watch beeps, "oh, it's already five? I should go." He reaches for his head phones. I hand him the glasses. He puts them on hiding his blank stare.

He gets up and takes his stick.

"It's nice meeting you, thanks for your company, Erin." I don't know how to ask him for a repeat. I haven't dated in a long time.

He tilts his head to the side, I guess it's his thinking pose.

"If you're free, we can go to the lake tomorrow, I'll try to persuade you about how happening our town is." His awkward smile peeps up.

My heart races like a teenager's. He is interested even though he couldn't see me.

"That would be awesome. What time?"

"Let's meet here around two?" He asks.

"Deal. It's a date." I wink and wince. Shit.

His smile widens. "Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Erin."

I watch him as he walks to the door. He's not shy, he's easy to talk to and friendly. Why would he be single?

I sigh. Men are dumb creatures—excluding me of course.