humiliation of healing.
My sister stood in front of me on my wedding day and asked, “Are you ready?”
He said that I was “lucky” to have survived.
I wiped my eyes and nodded. Then I walked toward the man who changed my life.
I met Callahan in the basement of the same church where we were getting married.
He taught piano three afternoons a week to children who never counted correctly and sang louder than they played. The first time I heard him, he was correcting a little boy’s timing with more patience than I had ever heard in a man’s voice.
“Again,” Callahan told the boy gently. “Slower this time, pal. The song isn’t running away from you!”
I smiled before I even saw him.
He was sitting at the upright piano with dark glasses on, one hand resting on the keys, the other reaching down to scratch the ears of the golden dog lying beside him. Buddy wore a harness and the patient expression of a creature who had seen all of life already.
I met Callahan in the basement of the same church where we were getting married.
By then, I was 30 and had never really dated anyone. The men I met only saw my scars. After a while, I got tired of those stares.
No one seemed to look long enough to find my heart. They just saw me as damaged goods.
But Callahan was different. Even without sight, he saw me.
