Come and Gogh

The Beginning and the End

Have you ever heard the saying: "The eyes are the windows to the soul"? Well, does it still apply if you are blind? Because if not, then I'm calling a double standard. On the bright side though I'm only like 50% Hellen Keller. So - you know - there's that.

It's easy to say that I have a strong dislike for most things. One of the rare exceptions to my constant estrangement of human life is an art gallery. Specifically "Spazzo's Art Cluster", a hidden gem in a truck stop of a town that you can pass through in ten minutes flat.

Lismore, Montana (the aforementioned geographical horror) has been my little parochial prison for 18 years now. The only exciting thing that has ever happened in Lismore was a new traffic light installation on Main Street - and that was four years ago. Thankfully though, more tourists are passing through because of the art gallery, giving some sort of life back to the town. They don't stay for long though, like the smart people they are.

After three seconds with Spazzo, you could easily call him a quaint character. Other people just call him a psychopath, - but that's only slightly true. In a town full of dull people with vacuous minds, Spazzo's frequently dyed hair and idiosyncratic tendencies quickly made him to become Lismore's infamous black sheep. If you extract the ridiculous rumors from the truth, few things are truly known about the man. Such as that he mysteriously came into a large sum of money from an estranged, long lost relative's will and decided to go for a celebratory cross-country road-trip - and fortunately for us - his car broke down in Lismore. Something must have stricken his fancy though - because a year later, "Spazzo's Art Cluster" finally gave the town something considerably more interesting to gossip about. He was like a modern Jay Gatsby to us, minus the extravagantly wild parties, and the -you know- whole murder thing.

I was one of the few people who actually welcomed the - so I'm told - intricately designed building with open arms, and because of that, Spazzo and I formed an odd relationship where he wouldn't completely treat me like I'm helpless and I wouldn't completely judge him. So now I spend my time at the art museum daily, even though I can't see, which may seem ironic to you, but truthfully,I couldn't care less. It's fun to hear everyone's opinions argue with each other as they look at the same thing yet in a different way.

\//\\//\\//\\/

My hands slowly follow the pages of my book, the small bumps continually giving my brain the words to create an entire world in my head. I'm so focused on chastising the protagonist for being a douchebag that I don't sense the new presence that has entered my little world.

"Is this seat taken--" The intruder paused for a half-second, and I knew he'd probably spotted the white cane propped against the bench. "Oh, sh-"

I smirked. "Wow that wasn't subtle at all."

"Sorry? Oh...um," the man asked while shuffling uncomfortably.

"I'm just messing with you! You can sit here if you'd like, but you have to promise not to be weird or creepy." I laugh internally at his behavior.

"Define 'weird'." The strange man asks uncertainly.

I smile as I decide that I definitely find him more interesting than my book. "Acting like you just did will only get you a smack across the head...or at least where I think your head will be."

"Sounds fair enough." I can feel his weight as he sits down on the bench. The air around him smells faintly like apples and cinnamon, one of my favorite scents. I almost tell him that he smells like a candle that I have in my bedroom, but quickly chastise myself over the fact that telling someone you just met that they smell like your bedroom will either be construed as a really weird pick-up line or a serial killer's invitation. Neither of those are my intentions.