Denny’s Blind Discovery

Unilateral Happiness

Jim Hasse

Aug 14, 2024

Smiling white man against light blue background with graying hair in blue jacket and white, open-color shirt. His arms are folded, eyes closed. — *dtiberio photo*

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-6:09

Some 40 years of living had prepared Denny for this moment, but he didn’t realize it then.

“Denny?!” he heard a woman’s voice say. He looked up and saw Linda’s broad smile.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered clumsily, struggling to stand up from a bench in the waiting area. “Denny Benson. You’re Linda?”

“That’s right,” she said, still smiling. She was petite and wore a blue suit. Her right hand, which he shook, was so small it covered only half of his palm. He noted her right wrist was scarred and came out of her sleeve at an odd angle.

“Well, welcome to the Boar’s Head,” Denny said lightly, prepared for another bland blind date.

Denny retrieved his crutches, and the couple followed the maitre d’. He noticed a slight wobble in Linda’s gait. She did not seem surprised by his crutches, which he parked beneath the booth.

“I have cerebral palsy,” he said factually.

“I know.”

“Have had it since birth,” he added, anticipating the next question.

“I know,” Linda repeated in a slight accent.

Denny was curious about the postcard he had received from her. It read: “I work with a man who knows a friend of yours. I would like to meet you. Linda Gould 322-9836.”

“How did you get my name?” Denny asked bluntly.

“I’m a nurse at the clinic on campus,” Linda explained in a louder than normal voice. “Professor Lister knows someone you used to go out with.”

“Teresa?” Denny asked, suddenly recalling the pain of a failed relationship.

“Some nurse — I’m not sure,” Linda conceded. Her soft, hazel eyes met his and then rested on her wine glass.

“When we broke up, she said I would never meet anyone like her again.”

“Once I had a guy say the same thing to me,” Linda offered in a lower, more intimate voice. “But that was 20 years ago.”

Linda grinned. “My mother didn’t like him because he wore white socks.”

They looked at the menu. She ordered the northern pike; he decided on the tenderloin tips.

“Anyway,” Denny continued, “I’ve found life doesn’t end at 20. It’s just a different game at 40.”

“Oh, that’s true,” she allowed. “Especially at our age.”

“I’ve dated one person who is suicidal,” he related. “Two were obsessed with their fathers. One was so intellectual she was cold. Another was manic-depressive ...”

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“I see you’ve been around,” she interrupted with laughter. “I can’t match your record ...”

“Anyway,” he continued, “how can you build a relationship with a person, if you don’t know who you are?”

“That’s why I’m comfortable living alone,” Linda replied. “Group living gets old. Now I have my own apartment, and it works.”

“I know what you mean,” Denny added. “I bought a condo four years ago. Living alone has its advantages ...”

“... And, disadvantages,” she admitted. “It can be lonely.“

“Yeah,” Denny agreed. “But it’s better than living with someone who isn’t on your wavelength.”

“The more I think about it the more I think we got this marriage thing all wrong,” Linda said more softly. “Two can’t become one. You’re still separate individuals.“

Denny was a bit more idealistic. “But the right two people, together, can create a third dimension that is greater than just putting two people together and calling them a couple,” he tried to explain.

Over coffee, Linda broke the cadence of their dialogue with more firmness. “There’s something I must tell you,” she insisted. “I have cerebral palsy, too. I was premature and have always been deaf on my left side.”

“I understand,” he assured her. Relief swept over her face. “But what happened to your hand?”

“I had a bad car accident about 10 years ago,” she explained. “Put it through the windshield.”

It was 11:00, and the Boar’s Head was closing. Outside, they again shook hands, and Denny said he would call her. She turned and walked to her car.

The uneven clack-clack-clack of her low-heeled shoes echoed off the pavement. Denny slowly opened his car door with a singular impression: He had just met a fellow survivor.

Jump ahead 40 more years — and into the 42th year of his marriage with Linda. Denny, now also visually impaired, realizes they met at the right time in their lives because they were happy and thriving as single adults — and were ready to commit to helping a partner further grow as an individual.

That’s why this observation from William Hazlitt stands out in Denny’s mind:

“Even in the common affairs of life, in love, friendship, and marriage, how little security have we when we trust our happiness in the hands of others!”

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