FanStory.com - Just a storyby GWHARGIS

I'm a dinosaur. That's what the kids at The Patterson Gazette call me. I use pen and paper when I write. Not a laptop, or a recorder, just a good old fashioned Bic pen and a stenographer's notebook.

I'm a relic and I know it. Two years from retirement. Over the last couple of years, my role at the paper has dwindled. I get it. The younger ones can pull four to six articles a week. I can only manage one or two. This old dinosaur is headed to the tar pit.

I eat my lunch at the park every day when the weather allows. Today is no exception. I carry my brown paper bag, with my usual ham and cheese, over to one of the park bench beneath one of the live oaks.

The old blind man is there again. Another relic who spends part of his day tossing bread crumbs to the squirrels and birds.

We've never spoken. Not in all the years I've been coming here. Don't even know if he realizes I'm sitting here.

He raises his face as the wind blows, happily accepting this gift of the breeze. Then he turns in my direction.

"Oh, you're here. Sorry, I didn't hear you coming."

I look behind me. There's no one else, only me.

"You talking to me?"

"Who else? You're here almost as much as I am. You ever bring peanut butter and jelly?"

"Only when I'm out of ham."

He nods. "Name is Kurt. And you are?"

"Ryland. Ryland Cooper."

"The reporter?"

I look around. Maybe I'm being pranked. A blind guy who reads the paper. "Yep. That's me. You, uh, read my stuff?"

"I listen to it. I get the audio version. It's a special subscription."

My hackles go down a little.

"You want to come sit over here? It'd be nice not to have to yell across the way."

So, I pick up my half eaten sandwich and walk over to the bench where he is.

He slides, giving me wide berth. Once I'm situated he leans my way with an extended hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

"You, as well. Since you already know I'm a nosy reporter can I ask you something?"

"How'd I lose my eyesight or have I always been blind? Why don't I have a seeing eye dog or a companion? How do I know when it's safe to cross streets? How do I know if I'm wearing clothes that go together?"

I laugh. "I take it you get asked that a lot?"

"Yes. But it's okay. I never understood how people could function without their sight. At least, before my accident."

"Car accident?"

"Desert Storm jeep accident. Mine buried under the road. I got off lucky."

I shudder to think that losing your sight is lucky.

"And, I had a service dog for several years. When she died, I could have gotten another but I decided to fly solo. So my grandson, God love him, found this old stick and sanded it, then varnished it, and voila. I have a one of a kind walking stick.

"Do you miss it? Seeing things, I mean."

He sighs, but that smile never leaves his face. "Of course, but a funny thing happens when you lose one of your senses. The others flourish."

"I've heard that. But still, it's gotta suck."

He holds out his hand, fingers extended, palm up. "I can't see the sunset or sunrise." His thumb folds in.

"I can't go see a movie." His forefinger curls in. "I can't drive a car no more." Another finger curls in.

I watch as everything he says draws his fingers in.

"What do you see there, Ryland?"

"Your fist."

"Think you can fit anything in there?"

I shake my head then remember. "No."

"Exactly. I can feel the rain, and smell it before it starts. I can listen to the birds and enjoy the warmth of the sun as it rises in the sky. I can run my hand over the bark of this live oak." One by one his fingers splay open again. "Now, what do you see?"

"An open hand."

"My friend, you can fit a lot more joy in something that's open than you can in something that's closed."

I glance at my watch. Time to head back. "Nice to meet you, Kurt. But my lunch is over."

He smiles again. "Same."

I ball up the trash and drop it in the receptacle bin. I stop about fifteen feet away and turn back. "What kind of jelly do you like?"

"Um, grape."

"Just wondering."

After dinner I sit at my computer and start to write. It comes easy tonight. I write a story about gratitude. Something I've never truly understood until this afternoon. It takes thirty minutes. I forward a copy to my editor and prepare to turn in.

I go to the kitchen and pull out four pieces of bread. Ham, cheese and mayo on one sandwich and peanut butter and grape jelly on the other.

Then I put them both in the fridge and head upstairs.

As I welcome sleep to this tired old body, I open my hands to start catching some joy.