togetherness. He is certainly being true to his word when he said he wouldn’t waste a minute of it. So I calm myself down, snuggle into his back and rest my head against his shoulders. The engine’s rhythm between my legs provides a consistent, pleasant, low-level vibration. My other senses are completely soaking up and absorbing the whole experience. It feels fantastic and I am really, honestly enjoying the ride. I hug him a little from my position behind him.
‘Jeremy, this is really amazing. I would never have dreamt of doing this and I’m loving it.’ His hand gently pats mine as if to acknowledge my words. I immediately freeze.
‘Please, please, please keep both hands on the handlebars. I don’t need to be freaked out more than I already am.’
He laughs as he returns his hand safely to the handlebar. ‘Okay, fair enough.’
‘Thank you.’ I can’t stop myself smiling, just as I can’t deny enjoying the ride. The wind, the speed, the engine, the closeness is awesome … even the blackness is exciting, in a strange, surreal way. I allow myself to submerge in the exhilaration of the journey, not knowing where it will lead me.
We eventually slow down after quite some time, maybe an hour or so, maybe more. I’m not sure and I’m not going to ask. Jeremy assists me off the bike, my legs slightly numb from the ride, and removes the now-constricting helmet from my head. It’s good to stretch my legs, as they are a little shaky from being in the same position for so long. I’m more than a little self-conscious and adjust my sunglasses nervously.
‘Don’t worry, nobody is looking at us.’ He is able to read my discomfort.
‘Are you sure?’ The words leave my lips before any filtering can occur.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Because I can see and you can’t.’
‘Right, point made.’ My nose greedily sucks up the air around us when the fumes subside. There is a real freshness to it. The smell of it, combined with the gentle breeze and birdsong, reminds me of fond childhood memories with my cousins during school holidays.
I remain standing in place until he reaches out and holds my hand in his and we start walking.
‘I can’t believe you never told me you got your bike licence.’ I try to sound indignant.
‘There are many things you don’t know about me, Alex. Hopefully that will change over the coming years.’ Years? I think to myself that even when I try to be light and conversational, he manages to insert a hefty undertone and it keeps taking me by surprise. We pause as I hear him ask for two skim flat whites, no sugar, and could we have takeaway cups, please. Once again, the lack of consultation is a little astounding. Let it go … I relax my mind.
‘Coffee, how perfect,’ I say, thinking it gives me a hint that it must be between 10 or 11, Saturday morning. Or perhaps Jeremy has orchestrated the coffees to make me believe it is morning tea-ish. Stop thinking about time, I lecture myself. You have no control over it so forget it.
‘I thought this might be easier for you than a cup and saucer. Be careful though, it’s hot.’ He sounds like me instructing my kids to be careful when I take something out of the microwave for them. He places the container in my hands and leads me to an outdoor table and helps me to sit.
I raise the cup slowly to my mouth, happily anticipating the aroma and taste, although I certainly don’t need the caffeine to wake up as my nerves are more than fully engaged. Keeping the adrenaline pumping through my veins doesn’t require any additional assistance.
‘Great coffee,’ I comment, after taking a long, cautious sip. I am beginning to realise how much of human conversation is dependent on questions or visual indicators. My lack of both makes my small talk sound shallow and superficial. It’s almost as if we are on a first date that isn’t going very well. My conversational flow is dismal and I don’t know whether Jeremy is experimenting with this, or leaving me in limbo deliberately. Maybe my whole conversational style is question-based these days and, given my background, I suppose that would make sense. Perhaps I find it difficult to develop other short-term strategies when placed in an unanticipated circumstance? How strange that I have never noticed this about myself until this moment, when I’m sitting next to Jeremy, with my coffee, in leather, unable to see.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Jeremy finally breaks the silence between us and grounds me back to the present.
‘Funny you should ask. I was actually just pondering the idea of how much of human conversation is based on questions, either direct or indirect. And whether I actively engage in real conversations in any other way than asking questions. And as I say the words out loud, the concept horrifies me if it is true. It’s only an underlying thought at this stage, but the more I consider it in theory, the greater relevance it appears to have for me.’
After my speculating comes to an end, there is an excruciatingly long silence.
‘Jeremy?’ Has he left me? Gone to the toilet?
‘Are you still there?’ I ask. Shit, I am prattling on to myself like a lunatic and he isn’t even here. I curse my blindness yet again.
‘Yes, I am still here,’ he says quietly, taking hold of my hand across the table. ‘I’m really pleased you’re beginning to understand this about yourself. Do you think it is fair that you ask the questions and we don’t ever get to hear about you? Your thoughts? Your feelings? You are so caught up in your professional self it has overflowed into your personal relationships. You are so busy trying to work out everyone else, I sometimes think you forget about yourself. Who you are. What you stand for.’
I am a little taken aback. Well, that’s an understatement. I am a lot taken aback. ‘You really think I’m like that?’
‘Yes, I do. You always had that tendency and it has become more acute with your profession. That is why you are finding it so incredibly difficult to refrain from asking questions this weekend, and letting go, as I knew you would.’ I suddenly feel much younger than Jeremy, psychologically small somehow. Stuck somewhere between the parent/child and doctor/patient relationship. This paradigm is exceptionally uncomfortable for me. I can’t say with any authority how it is for him, although I could calculate a guess.
‘How are you feeling, by the way, about not being visually stimulated?’ His curiosity has a slightly analytical tone to it.
‘It’s not as if I haven’t been stimulated in other ways …’ I say, trying to lighten the mood.
‘No, seriously Alex, tell me.’
Given he has just provided me with feedback on not being open I decide to answer honestly. ‘It is really, really difficult, as I’m sure you would assume, Doctor Quinn. Harder in some ways than I ever imagined … There’re times when I just feel like screaming at the complete and total frustration of it and there are other times, when I am totally caught off-guard and it’s, well … it is …’ I can feel my cheeks warming.
‘Go on.’ He strokes my cheek, gently encouraging more words to flow.
‘It’s just so strange being unable to anticipate, well, anything really. No actions, no words, I just don’t know where the twists and turns are coming from or whether we are coming to a complete stop. Conversations can feel a bit like the bike ride for me, figuratively speaking.’
‘And the other times?’ I notice I’m fidgeting and almost squirming in my seat. I’m used to being
