Let me just tell you that there is one thing I have always valued about New York life. See in every city you get to know your neighbors in a different way. In the south and the suburbs your neighbors are decidedly friendly. It would be a mar on their social standing if they weren't. Those are the places where you move into a new house and get a knock at your door within the first few hours. Open it and there's a whole family standing there with smiles and a warm apple pie or something standing there to welcome you to the neighborhood. Other cities aren't like that, most of the time people keep to themselves. I guess they immediately assume that you are some kind of a mass murderer or a Jehovah's Witness or something they don't want to mess with.

In big cities you're almost completely left alone. This is why so many people go to the bars. Starving for neighborly love, starving for affection, they search it out among the inebriated masses. They hunt for it in smoke lit dens and dark corners ' and it's rare that they actually find anything but a fast bang.

As for me, I never go anywhere. I've been trying to write for some time now, but nothing seems to go anywhere. Sometimes I'm afraid I might have the much dreaded 'block.'� Anyway, where was I?

New York life, that's right. In New York people don't look you in the eye on the streets. They don't talk to you in the halls. But. You do get to know your neighbors. Apartments are stacked twelve stories high with nothing but a high wall of windows and fire escapes and a little door with a buzzer on the ground floor. Everyone is neatly stacked and ordered and put away quietly for their cubby-hole shelf life. Then they open a window to smoke or air out their laundry. Watch this from the streets with just a pinch of imagination and this looks like sliding open the card catalogues in the public library. I'm filed under, 'N'� for 'neighbor'� or 'M'� for 'Miles.'� That's me, I'm Miles.

My mother named me Miles in hopes that I would hit the road as fast as possible. My father gave me my ridiculous middle name, Hemmingway, in the hopes that I would write the next great American novel and share the royalties with him. So I ended up with my name, Miles Hemmingway Larkin. It's pretty bad, I know. Anyway, for the past five years I've lived in my card catalogue apartment out of sight and tired. As an avid chain smoker with a non-smoking policy on my lease I found myself at the window very often. Twenty times a day if I smoke a whole pack. This is where New Yorkers get to know their neighbors. We talk from our window sills without ever seeing each other's legs. Jesus, for all I know every single one of my neighbors are double amputees below the waist.

This sort of reminds me of that old joke about whether or not the news anchor is wearing any pants behind that desk of his. Every day I visit my window neighbors and catch them up on local news from behind a desk of brick and wood and plates of glass. Unlatch, slide it up, peer out ' this just in, ladies and gentlemen, still blocked and still trying my hardest.

The guy on my right, the one that lives on the other side of the wall, Gerard, he says, 'I tried to be a writer once. I gave it up when I realized that no one would ever pay to hear what I have to say.'�

Next door on my left is Penny, leaning over her windowsill while trying to air out a black corset and a silk robe she says, 'Maybe you should try something to loosen up the machinery upstairs. I'm just like an auto dealership. First time around the block is free. Test drive, y'know what I mean?'�

Yeah, Penny, we all know what you mean. Everyone always knows what you mean. Gerard laughs, he says, 'Jesus Christ, Penny, what happened to you to make you so shameless?'�

'What? Y'wanna hear that my dad did things to me when I was little, is that it? You want some serious Freudian kinda crap? It's nothin' special. A girl's gotta have money that's all.'�

It's Tuesday, but it feels like a Monday.

I say, 'I'm going back to work.'�

Thursday was the day when things changed. I slide open my window and say, 'Hey, Gerard, what's the word?'�

Gerard answers, 'I just need a little fresh air. The wife is in there raving at me about bills again. She says I gamble too much and acts like I'm supposed to take that without firing back. So I say, 'Yeah? Well you drink too much.' Now I'm out here trying to breathe something that doesn't have the scent of bloodshed in it.'�

I laugh and light one up. A voice directly above me says, 'Put that out.'�

Maybe it's human nature. Maybe it's just me. I don't know, but whenever an anonymous voice overhead speaks to you some instinct fires in your brain that says, 'God?'�

It wasn't God. It wasn't Lucifer or the archangel. The voice was from the woman that had just moved into the apartment above me. She says, 'I'm serious, put that out, your smoke is floating directly up into my planter box and poisoning my azalea seeds. It'll be a wonder if the soil in here can grow anything at all.'�

My reaction was far less than gentlemanly, I shout, 'Listen, lady, I've lived here for five years, I've smoked here for five years and I'll be damned if some newbie is going to drop in out of the blue and ruin the time I spend with my neighbors.'�

She asks, 'What neighbors?'�

Gazing around I see that Gerard stuck his head back inside, retreating when his fresh air was poisoned with the scent of fresh blood. Penny's window is closed. I'm all alone out here. 'I don't hear anyone else down there,'� says my new neighbor.

I let out a defeated chuckle and say, 'Well, you just missed them.'�

'I'm sure I did,'� she replies, 'and don't you realize that the chemicals in your cigarettes burn off into the atmosphere and leave residue in my potting soil? You're not making it easy for my azaleas to get a good start in life.'�

'Actually,'� I say, 'I didn't realize that at all. Still, I'm going to have to plead squatter's rights on this one. After all, I was here first, that planter box has been over my head all along and if what you say is true then the seeds you're planting won't grow anyway. So I guess it won't make a difference to them will it?'�

The stranger upstairs sighs longer than necessary ' a favorite gesture of the fairer sex to signify disdain. She says, 'I suppose you're right, we'll call it a draw for today.'�

Closing the window marks my escape and I return to my typewriter. In the corner of my eye I see the dark twitching form of a cockroach nosing around at the edge of the refrigerator. I ignore it and try to write, but my mind wanders. Maybe she just got me more steamed up than I thought or maybe my subconscious would just like to center on anything other than the blank sheet of paper in front of me. Whatever it was I couldn't keep my thoughts away from that mystery woman upstairs. I even found myself fantasizing about bringing her 'Welcome to the neighborhood'� pie and a smile.

What's wrong with me?

Friday now and I'm waiting out on the street for the front door to open and some new face to walk outside. I had gotten a good enough look at her yesterday to spot her in a crowd, strangely though, I wasn't entirely sure what she looked like at all. Telling myself that I'd know her when I saw her I waited patiently.

Then the door pushes open, first I see shoulder length brown hair followed by a pale complexion. I see large dark sunglasses floating dismal like two eclipses over a thin nose and full lips. Muttering under my breath, 'My own Holly Golightly,'� is followed up by thin fingers unfolding something long and slender ' white and cylindrical it folds out in her hands like a wand. She taps the steps down to the street with her long white wand and walks awkwardly toward the pavement. Her cane strikes with a metal ping against the side of a trash barrel and she steps away from it. I'm speechless as I watch her hail a cab, fluff a fur collar up around her neck and disappear behind the yellow door.

'Blind?'� Gerard asks later that afternoon, 'How do you know she's blind?'�

I tell him that I waited for her outside today and he laughs, 'Miles, this is highly irregular, you know we never see our neighbors outside the building.'�

Penny chimes in, 'What? As if there is something wrong with it, you go ahead Miles, if you want to love the blind girl you go right ahead. God knows I've tried loosening you up for years. Why won't you have me, Miles?'�

'Penny,'� I reply, 'you say the first time's free, but I know your type. You're just like those drug dealers across the street. They offer you a free taste so they can get you hooked and drain your bank account slowly dry.'�

Gerard laughs, 'The boy can read you like a book.'�

'Well, I just hope the boy can finish writing his book so we can stop hearing about it,'� Penny says striking her cheapest blow, 'Go ahead Miles, if you won't take it from me then go take it from some blind amateur. Just do whatever it takes to clear the cobwebs in that little brain of yours.'�

Whatever, now it's Monday.

She's working at her dead planting box with some kind of packaged nutrition for soil and a tea kettle to water her seeds. I shout up to her, 'Hey! Hey, stranger, I didn't get your name the other day.'�

'I know you didn't, I wasn't interested in sharing it with you.'�

'Well, can you give it to me now? Let's call it a peace offering.'�

'Put out your cigarette just this once and we'll call that a peace offering.'�

Desperate to get the facts I comply and say, 'Okay, it's out, now to uphold your end of the bargain.'�

'Was there a bargain? I didn't make a bargain, stranger.'�

'Oh, come on,'� I yell, 'We had a deal.'�

Pouring out the last of the kettle she laughs to herself and says, 'All right, my name is Callie. And if you ever refer to me as 'Collie' I'll come straight down there and toss you right onto the pavement.'�

Her window slams home and Callie is gone.

Tuesday night I wasted too much money at the bars and come home staggering. You'll probably think that this was intentional or some Dr. Phil wannabe out there might say my subconscious desires were projecting or some crap like that. Well, this is my side of the story and I'm sticking to it. Staggering up the stairs I was far too drunk to count floors and ended up going one too far. When I hit Callie's floor I walked right toward her door thinking it was my own. At the end of the hall I see a complete stranger beating on my door, her door, shouting, 'You let me believe we were in love, baby! You tried to lose me, but I found you. Thought you could skip across town and forget about old Hugh, did ya? Come on out, let's talk.'�

Silence on the other side. Callie was being stubborn as usual.

Hugh grows agitated and says, 'Listen, Callie, if you don't open up I'll just bust in this door. You're my girl and we're going to get married, you love me, you just don't know it yet.'�

This guy is a real charmer, he has future wife beater written all over him.

Now, I'm usually a fairly peaceful guy, I have my rage issues perhaps, but no more than anyone else in this city. Still, when I have a few shots in me I sort of tend to forget the rules. You know that old line that says something like, 'Shoot first ask questions later.'� You know that one, right? I guess it was something like that. Hugh was on the ground nursing a broken nose before I even realized I'd given him my less-than-famous right hook. With the classic delay of a drunk I shout, 'You leave her alone before I have to get nasty.'�

Hugh looks at me like I'm some kind of a lunatic and says, 'You got a new beau on the side there, Callie? Well, you're lucky for now. Don't worry, I've got your number and I'll be back.'�

Standing there stupidly for a few minutes leaves me dizzy and alone in that hallway. The door opens up just a crack and Callie says, 'Is anyone there?'�

'It's me,'� I say, 'It's Miles.'�

'Miles?'�

'The guy downstairs that smokes too much,'� I add.

'Oh, Miles, you know you didn't have to do that.'�

Jokingly I reply, 'Actually, I didn't know I did it until I already had.'�

'What does that mean?'�

'Nothing, are you all right?'�

Callie lets out that same sigh and says, 'Yes, I'm fine. One of my many colossal failures come back to haunt me, that's all. Listen, do you want to come in?'�

'Yeah,'� I say, 'you don't happen to have any ice available, do you?'�

'Oh no, us poor blind girls don't know how to freeze water without someone's help."

I laugh and she says, "Miles, I'm handicapped but I am still capable of living in the 21st Century. This refrigerator does make ice. Does that mean you've hurt your hand?'�

'Yeah, I thought I'd take a little souvenir from that absurd skirmish.'�

'What does that mean?'�

With a slight laugh I say, 'I seem to have a piece of Hugh's tooth lodged in the knuckle of my pinky finger. I wish you could see this, it is pretty ridiculous.'�

Callie says in a slightly sarcastic tone, 'Oh, don't worry. You poor thing, I'll fetch some ice right away.'�

Inside her apartment I see pink and red everywhere and find myself thinking about Callie's sudden shift toward kindness. For a second I hear her clanking around in the kitchen and cursing under her breath. After that the lights go out on me and I feel more relaxed than I have in years.

Wednesday morning peaks bright yellow through strange windows. I'm stretched out on someone's sofa with a wet towel and a sagging bag of lukewarm water tied around my right hand. What did I do last night?

I hear Callie's voice behind my head and I look up. She's standing there in a pink silk robe tied sloppily, those weird dark sunglasses and nothing else. 'Are you up?'� she asks.

'Yeah, what happened?'�

'You passed out last night after beating up my ex-boyfriend. I think you were a little humiliated, but I thought it was very noble of you.'�

Laughing I say, 'You could smell my noble intentions through all that booze?'�

'I've had to smell a lot of things through booze over the years.'�

'Like Hugh?'�

Callie giggles, 'Yes, just like Hugh.'�

'Listen,'� I say, 'would you mind if I just crashed here for a few more hours? I haven't had a hangover like this in years.'�

'Sure, you can have the bed if you like, but I need to go out.'�

Moving to the bed makes my head twirl like a supersonic carousel and I crash helplessly into her pillow. I smell vanilla and lipstick on a silk pillowcase just before the lights dim and I know nothing for a few more hours.

Waking up is a much better scene than falling asleep, the lights fade in and there's Callie's hand on my forehead. She's whispering, 'How are you feeling, my drunken prince?'�

'Fantastic,'� I groan, 'I think God invented hangovers, headaches and sore hands to remind us that we're still alive.'�

'So how alive do you feel right now?'�

'I've never felt more alive in my life, Callie. Maybe too alive, do you have any pain killers so I can deaden myself back to normal parameters?'�

She hands me a few pills right off of her nightstand and smiles.

'Thanks, Callie. Callie? Why do they call you that anyway?'�

Her smile fades and she says, 'Because it sounds better than my real name.'�

'Which is?'�

'My mother named me Calypso after the character from Homer's Odyssey. I guess she thought if she gave me the name of a literary character that ensnares men and enchants them with her feminine wiles that she might have herself some grandchildren that much sooner.'�

'Yeah, don't we make a pair?'�

'What does that mean? There's nothing wrong with 'Miles.''�

I fire back at her, 'Yeah? What about 'Miles Hemmingway Larkin?''�

'Okay, that's not great, I'll admit, but at least you aren't named for a mythological femme fatale.'�

'Fair enough, so listen would you like to go out and get a drink with me?'�

Callie shifts her weight uncomfortably and says, 'I don't know, Miles, we only just met and I don't need you to go falling in love with me.'�

'Listen to you,'� I say, 'I don't want to give your mom grandchildren any more than you do so you can just relax. I just want to have a drink with you. Consider it therapeutic, we've played doctor so well already. Why not get 'a little hair of the dog' as they say?'�

Callie nods her head and helps me to my feet. Outside her door she starts to unfold her cane and I gently take it from her saying, 'You won't be needing that. Tonight I'm your seeing eye dog.'�

'Oh, I like the sound of that, Miles, only I'm not sure I can trust you. After all, a real dog wouldn't try to get me drunk and in the sack.'�

'No, a real dog will just leave messes on your floor that you can't see to pick up.'�

'Now that's unfair,'� she says giving me a little push, 'besides, you already left me one of those last night.'�

'What?'�

'Just kidding,'� she laughs, 'I'm just really enjoying the advantage here. I mean, you don't remember much of anything from last night. I could tell you we had sex and you would have no idea if it were true or not.'�

I fire back, 'No, I'm pretty sure that's not true. When I'm that drunk I'm pretty much useless to a woman.'�

There's a bar just on the corner that we walk toward under a New York moon and the sound of taxi horns blaring in the streets. A street performer blass jazz through a trumpet on the sidewalk.

Callie leans her head close to my shoulder and says, 'Maybe I should watch how much you drink tonight then, eh?'�

'Whoa, hang on there. We only just met each other.'�

Now it's the bar ' wooden floors, wooden paneling along the walls. There's a clock hanging over a mirror that's trimmed in a green neon light tube. The clock tells me that it's two minutes to twelve. I see myself reflected back at me in her sunglasses. My face warped out of proportion from the curve of her lenses. When I talk my mouth arcs up over my eyebrow and my jaw swells in and out like an expanding bubble. I lean in just a little and my entire face gets big in the center and small on the outer edges. Callie breaks my distraction by saying, 'Why are you so quiet?'�

'Oh, sorry,'� I say, 'it's just'�well, I was wondering.'�

'Go ahead.'�

'Why do you always wear those?'�

Callie blushes a little and asks, 'Do you mean the sunglasses?'�

'Yes.'�

'Simple, Miles, if people look into my eyes they can see the future. I've had far too many strangers look me in the eye on the subway and deduce the winning lotto numbers or who will be their soul mate and I just didn't think it was fair that they could see those things and I couldn't.'�

'So you hide it behind dark shades so that the only person that might be able to see it is you.'�

'Only I can't see it.'�

'I know, Callie. I know you can't see it.'�

After a quiet minute I say, 'No really, tell me why you always wear them.'�

Callie clears her throat and says, 'So enough about me, let's talk about you. What do you do, Miles? What keeps you afloat?'�

'I'm a writer,'� I reply, 'Although lately I feel more like I've been drowning in it than keeping afloat. But please don't say it. I already know what you're thinking. You're thinking how you meet so many people claiming to be writers in this city, but you should know something.'�

'What's that, Miles?'�

I down the last of a glass of scotch and say, 'You're right, there are a lot of us, but I never said I was original. I'm just doing my best.'�

Callie smiles and says, 'Actually, I've never known a writer before. I've had all sorts of men, athletes, painters, musicians'�Hugh, whom you just met, was an ex-cop. Still, unless I've lost track I see no writers in my long checkered history.'�

Apparently Callie's file for 'boyfriends'� is a long one. I wonder what she means by 'had all sorts of men,'� but I shrug it off and tell her some fluffy crap about feeling lucky to be the first. She makes this sly half grin and says, 'Men always want to be the first at something when they meet a new woman.'�

Callie has loosened up after a few and says, 'I don't know what it is, for some reason every man I spend any amount of time with inevitably falls in love with me. It's some kind of gypsy curse or something.'�

I tell her that I'm hanging in there so far, I don't feel any magic in the air.

'Oh, great, thanks a lot,'� she laughs.

'Just trying to set your mind at ease, that's all.'�

Now the night is winding low and I get back to my apartment.

Thursday morning.

Gerard says, 'Hey, man, where were you yesterday?'�

Penny says, 'I know where he was. You were upstairs with the blind hussy, weren't you? Woman's stealing my business.'�

'Look Penny,'� I say, 'I have not been nor will I ever be 'your business.' So don't worry, there are plenty of other men out there willing to make a donation.'�

Gerard howls, 'Oh! What sort of donation is that, Miles? That was a low blow, man. Well done.'�

Penny's window shuts and Gerard keeps at it, 'You were over there, weren't you? Tell me all about it, I want details. You know you're the only one to make it in, everyone else in the building thinks she's a recluse or something.'�

I brush him off with the tried and true, 'A gentleman never tells.'�

For the next three days Callie doesn't come to the window. She doesn't answer her door and I never seem to catch her leaving the building. Gerard and Penny both force me to admit what I already know is the truth. From my right Gerard says, 'Face it, man, she's avoiding you.'�

It's Saturday now and I'm waiting out front for Callie. Penny told me I was being obsessed. Gerard told me I have nothing to worry about, it's not like she can see me spying on her.

Callie walks out front as usual, sunglasses, cane, you know, the works. I follow her quietly a few paces behind and she turns a corner into a parking lot. 'Must be getting a ride,'� I think, 'maybe I should hang back so no one sees me.'�

I'm leaning against this cold brick wall when I see Callie pull up beside me in a silver Taurus. Sunglasses still in place, her cane sitting in the passenger seat, she looks right at me and flips on her blinker. Standing there stupidly I watch her make a right turn and blend perfectly into the flow of traffic. She stops at a red light and then disappears out of sight.

Now it's mid-afternoon and back to my card catalogue life. The Dewey Decimal System in action. File me under 'confused.'� File me under 'betrayed.'� File me as just another one of Callie's notches in her proverbial bedpost.

Gerard says, 'But you didn't sleep with her, did you?'�

'I don't think so.'�

'Then how can you call yourself a notch in her bedpost?'� asks Penny.

'I guess I can't,'� I reply, 'but that's how I feel.'�

'So she pretended to be blind,'� Gerard shrugs, 'So what? I've pretended to be lots of things just to get ahead. You know, I once pretended that I was gay to get a promotion at work.'�

Penny adds, 'I've pretended to be things too, you know. One time'�'�

'Whoa, whoa, Penny, that's enough,'� I shout, holding up both hands in surrender, 'I don't want to hear your horror stories, thank you. I would tell you to leave your work at home, but in your case there's no distinction.'�

Gerard leans a little farther out of his window and looks me right in the eye, 'Hey, you said you saw one of her exes outside her door, right?'�

'Yeah, Hugh'�his name was Hugh.'�

'So why not look him up? You two could compare notes.'�

Sunday afternoon finds me in the same bar Callie and I visited that night. Perhaps my methods were unprofessional, maybe I showed my inexperience, but the only thing I could think to do was start at the beginning of the phone book listings and go on dialing every police station in there asking if they used to employ an officer named Hugh until I got some answers. After about seven different numbers a voice on the other line says, 'Hugh? What of him? We ran him out of here on a rail for lewd conduct. If you want to know about Hugh you must be just as bad as he is.'�

I told the voice to just give me the damn number.

Now here we are, same bar stools, same dim bar lights ' it's really dark in here.

'So what do you want?'� Hugh says, 'Don't think I don't remember you.'�

Then I state my case, I tell him that the reason we're talking is obvious. It's Callie, of course. I want to know everything I can about her. Her past, trouble she might be in, anything that might help.

'Help with what?'�

'Listen, Hugh,'� I reply, 'let's be honest. You don't like me. I know that, truth is, I don't like you either. But something is going on with Callie and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Let's start with her other boyfriends.'�

I get a few rounds into Hugh and he lightens up, he ponies up a list that he already had on him. Apparently Hugh had been working the same story I was working on. 'Thanks, Hugh,'� I say as I turn to leave, 'Oh, one more thing. Was Callie blind when the two of you were dating?'�

'Blind? Hell no, Callie ain't blind,'� Hugh slurs and flops his head down for greasy bar slick slumber.

Monday morning gave me quite a search, as did the following two days. However, Thursday found me with all of the answers I needed. Everyone I talked to said the same thing. I talked to the musician. I found the painter and asked him. There was an accountant, a construction worker, a bonds trader and a New York firefighter. All of them said the same thing. When you meet Callie something overtakes you, she gets into your blood and you can't stop thinking about her. Callie might just be the perfect woman, but the trouble is she knows it. All of them, her exes, they all told me that Callie knows how good she is and that's what makes her so hard to keep.

The painter said, 'When I told Callie I loved her I could almost see her running away before it happened. It was in her eyes, you could see the walls closing in on those beautiful eyes.'� Her painter told me he loved those gorgeous eyes, said he couldn't paint anything else anymore.

The musician said he could hear her tearing through the bars of her cage. When I asked what cage that was he said, 'Love, for Callie love is a cage.'�

And I remembered Hugh outside of Callie's door that night, 'You let me believe that we were in love,'� he said.

Thursday night falls on my shoulders like a stage curtain and now I'm at her door. For some reason I keep thinking about Hugh and now I'm knocking, now I'm knocking louder. I'm beating on Callie's door and shouting, 'Callie, let me in! We had a good time, didn't we? Why won't you talk to me?'�

I think about Hugh and I know this is all wrong. Telling myself to calm down and speak quietly, I say, 'Look Callie, you think I'm like those other guys but I'm not. I'm not here to trap you. I know how you feel. I've felt that way too. The thought of getting stuck with one person, with only seeing that one face for the rest of your life, it's suffocating. Still, you can't go on hiding either. The trick is to find the one that makes you feel okay with that idea, when you can know that you never want to be pinned down and yet you find yourself willingly chaining yourself to that person ' that's how you can know you've found true love.'�

Here I am bearing my soul to the broad splintered face of a door and feeling like a real fool, I say, 'Callie, you can't shut your eyes to what's out there just because you're afraid it might be bad. It could be good too, right?'�

The door opens wide and she walks back to her sofa and sits staring at me. Wandering in awkwardly I sit in a chair across from her and wait. Her dark sunglasses are still shielding her eyes from me. She hangs her head and whispers, 'It's not like that, you know. I'm not what you think. I don't run away from love because I don't want it to catch me. Actually, it's quite the opposite. It's just that I want it to be real. Every man I've ever been with has told me he's loved me almost immediately. They never even get to know me. They just see my face and want it to belong to them.'�

Watching her sit there so afraid but still telling me everything right out in the open causes something to crack inside of me. There was some anger or past doubt that had been hanging there like a wall of glass that I was viewing her through. When I saw the choices she made I saw them through that wall, she was painted with all of my pain and baggage and I thought she was just like all of the other women that took my love for a mat to wipe their feet on the way out. I gazed hard through that wall and saw her sitting there thin and pale in her silk robe and dark sunglasses. Then I saw her for what she truly was and the glass shattered.

I don't really remember crossing the room to be closer to her, but I do remember when my lips touched hers. It wasn't electricity or fireworks, it wasn't red hot or breathless, something about kissing Callie was different. It was as if a slow-growing ache had begun at puberty and gotten stronger over the years but with the touch of her lips that ache slowly subsided. Something heavy and untouched for years was kissed away and when I opened my eyes Callie was taking off her sunglasses.

With my hand on hers I stopped her and said, 'No not yet, I want to say this without looking into your eyes.'�

'What do you mean, Miles?'�

'I want you to know that I get it. I understand why you pretended. Men look into your eyes and immediately fall in love. You don't mean for it to happen and you don't understand it yourself, but when they gaze in they are hooked. So you wear the glasses and you keep them on. You wear them for protection from what you consider to be phony love. This is what I might call infatuation. Callie, I want you to hear me. I felt this when I thought you were blind. I saw this in you before I saw your eyes. You are beautiful, not just your face, but I mean you're beautiful in the way that you have always wanted to be seen.'�

Callie kisses me again, softly at first and then very hard. She pulls her head back and slips off the glasses slowly saying, 'I let you in here because you said something I've never heard another man say. You told me that the way to find true love is to make yourself not want it and yet grab on when it finds you anyway. Do you remember that night in the bar when you asked me why I wear these?'�

'Yes,'� I say, 'you made up some story about how your eyes can show people their future.'�

'Right, well the truth is that I wear them because I wanted to find a man that could love me without seeing into my eyes.'�

Anything I might have said to her felt all wrong, instead I just kiss her like I'm saying yes. Taking the glasses out of her hands I stare deeply into her eyes and feel like my heart is breaking. Not in the usual sad way, but in the way we level the earth before we lay the foundation for a new home ' a new life. Her eyes leveled my heart flat and I knew that she was building something new in there. I see things. I see her tending that little planter box with the dead seeds inside and something finally growing. I can see her moving her flowers downstairs to my window and the two of us leaning out to grow something big while talking to the neighbors. There's so much there and I've never seen my life like that with anyone before.

Now I see her eyes for the first time, I see this moving, living green on the surface and deep beneath that a blue like an afternoon horizon on a Pacific beach. Her eyes are that horizon and I stare as far as I can see. Now I'm smiling and I tell her, 'Callie, you were right, I do see my future in your eyes.'�

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