Blind Dates - Revised Draft

I was sixteen years old when I got my first job at a nursing home kitchen.  While I was in high school, I worked there part-time, mostly after school and on weekends.  It was a decent job and I was paid well for my service.  I worked mainly in the kitchen, preparing meals and food trays for the residents in the building, and then cleaning the dishes when the meals were over.  After I graduated high school, I started working there full-time and began serving in the dining room.  That was when I met Mary Alice.

            Initially, I was quite nervous to work in the dining room.  I was somewhat shy, and I would have one-on-one contact with the residents, taking their orders and serving their food, all while ensuring their comfort and delight.  My first day, I went around the dining room awkwardly, taking the residents’ orders patiently.  Each resident was unique in that they had different capabilities.  Some residents could read and talk quite well and knew what they wanted.  Others needed help reading the menu or making their decisions and others couldn’t speak at all.  The one resident in the room who needed the most help was Mary Alice.

            “She’s blind,” the activities coordinator told me.  “You’ll have to read her the menu and describe the items.”

            I walked over toward Mary Alice where she was seated in the corner of the dining room.  She was a small, elderly woman with short hair that had likely gone gray quite some time ago.  I couldn’t see her eyes because she was wearing a pair of stylish sunglasses, bejeweled on the side and with big rims. She wore a bright yellow sundress that made the corner of the room glow.  Mary Alice sat with two older black women, named Loretta and Mary.  Loretta was almost completely deaf and Mary had a hard time saying what she meant.  Loretta was a larger black woman with long, gray hair, wearing a heavy sweatshirt because she was often cold.  Mary was a very thin, taller woman with thick glasses and a blanket over her.  The three were having a lively conversation about Loretta’s family when she was growing up.

            Arriving at the table, I approached Mary Alice cautiously and knelt down next to her chair.  I felt a little nervous before I greeted her.  I had never met a blind person before, and I wasn’t sure if I should act any differently.  They definitely did not train me for this in the kitchen.

            “Hi, Mary Alice,” I said.

            “Why, hello there, friend,” she said.  Her voice was soft and sweet.

            “I’m here to take your order for lunch,” I told her. 

Mary Alice explained that she had a hard time eating foods that were hard or crunchy, so she selected menu options that were easier for her to chew.  She told me that I had a lovely voice and that I sounded like a sweet young man.  She made me blush and smile, but she didn’t get to see any of that.  The first day I met her, I helped her eat her food and let her know where all of the things were on her plate.

“At 12 o’clock is your roast pork,” I told her.  I was instructed to use the visualization of a clock to help her out.  “At 3 o’clock are your peas, and your mashed potatoes are at 6 o’clock.  Can I get you anything else?”

“Could I have more coffee, Rob?”

“Of course, Mary Alice,” I said.

“Just a little cream and no sugar.”

My initial contact with Mary Alice was brief, but I gathered that she was a really sweet woman from her polite manners and how soft-spoken she was.  Despite being blind, she was quite capable of eating by herself, and could even walk with the guiding hand of a nurse.

After working in the dining room for a few weeks, I began to get the swing of things.  Upon meeting Mary Alice, I would usually go up to her and tell her that it was me, but one day, I didn’t do that.  I walked up to Mary Alice with a smile and greeted her.

“Hi, Mary Alice,” I said to her.

“Hello, Rob,” she replied.  “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“You knew it was me,” I said in surprise.

“I never forget a voice,” she grinned.

As I began reading her the options for lunch, she stopped me and said, “You know something, Rob, I can really hear the smile in your voice.”

Her compliment caught me off guard and made me smile even more.  Hearing Mary Alice say that bolstered my confidence and made me realize the kind of positive energy I exuded when I worked in the dining room.  Those kinds of interactions with Mary Alice were the most rewarding parts of my experience at the nursing home.

As Mary Alice and I became closer, she eventually disclosed to me the story of how she became blind.  She told me that she was an alcoholic, and that she drank so much that she severely damaged her stomach and needed surgery.  As a result, she had a much smaller stomach now and could not eat as much.  Toxins in her body from the drinking and the stomach damage led to her blindness.  She told me that she used to be a terrible person and neglected her family because of her alcoholism.  She was in a dark place.

“You know, Rob,” she began, “I wasn’t always this nice.”

Her frankness always made me smile.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m in an alcoholic, and I used to drink so much and forget about my family.  It was really bad.  I would drink every night, and I would leave my kids alone.  I didn’t like myself very much back then.”

“You are very lovely now, Mary Alice,” I told her.

“Where’s your hand, Rob?” she asked.

I put my hand on hers and she smiled.  She then gripped my hand lightly and said to me, “Do you take good care of your mother?”

“I do,” I told her confidently.  “I love her a lot.”

Mary Alice smiled, and then I left to take care of another resident’s table.  

Even though I was working in the dining room and assisting other residents, I often sat with her after the meal was over and talked.  Over the course of my time there, she talked to me about many things.  She asked me if I pray to God and whether or not I had a girlfriend, and also talked to me about stories from her childhood and life.  She was a great listener, and she would always hold my hand gently while she talked to me.  I told her about my plans to go to college, and she always supported me.  Mary Alice was especially sweet to me and complimented me often.  She said that I was one of the sweetest boys she had ever met.  She made me blush nearly every day.

When I moved to California for college, my friend Kim, with whom I worked at the nursing home, texted me to say that she let Mary Alice know that I was studying in California.  Her health has been more compromised lately and she is only able to eat pureed foods.  Over winter break when I return home to Pittsburgh, I hope to visit Mary Alice and ask how she is doing.  I will never forget the times I spent with this woman, who taught me that seeing a person involves a lot more than looking with one’s eyes.