A Normal Day By Alan Eby

Morning Beep. Beep. Beep Slam Reluctantly, I slam my palm on the top of the alarm clock, temporarily silencing it before WEYE comes on and the daily traffic report starts broadcasting. The time reads 9:34, yet I could have slept in. Should have turned off the alarm today Today is my day off from work; a day away from the office will do me good. With every ounce of morning strength I have, I muscle my way to the bathroom where I prep the shower. Inside, the sudden surge of cold water jolts me awake and then is suddenly subdued by the warm water. Shower time is when a person can reflect on the days eventsif taking one at nightor ready the mind for those that are yet to unfold. For me, my mind begins with every droplet of water that comes from the showerhead and ends with every splatter on the floor; my mind wanders endlessly. After I wash my hair and bodycompleting the usual routineI exit the shower, dry off, and dress myself, not really consciously aware of what I put on. 33rd street is quiet on this brisk, summer morning. To my right, I hear Mrs. Iris watering her flowers: a gigantic bed of red roses. Their scent is almost like a high. Hello, Mrs. Iris, I say with a smile. She replies with a half-hearted, hello, and resumes her task. Her husband, Mr. Wright Iris, just recently passed away and I believe that Mrs. Iris is still mourning. With my endless roaming mind, I am surprised I am able to pick up the count of footsteps it takes to walk to the newspaper stand on the corner of 33rd and Vysine. There, I purchase a pack of Oculer cigarettes from the vendor, Samir, a Middle Eastern man who passionately supports the Mustangs. The nicotine cant fill up my lungs fast enough. Before I know it, I have smoked four cigarettes by the time I reach the law offices of Alhazen and Hermann von Helmholtz I can still remember the first time I smoked my inaugural cigarette

Marr, my best friend and I were sitting on her parents back porch, listening to the crickets chirp at the end of a summer day when she pulled a pack of Oculer cigarettes from her front breast pocket; the rustling of the thin layer of plastic around the pack was an unforgettable noise. Try one, Marr insisted, shoving one end of the cigarette into my mouth. The overwhelming, revolting taste was at first, revolting, but after a few seconds of mixing bits of loose tobacco and saliva, the combination became intriguingly delicious. When the butt was lit and I inhaled for the very first time, my mind became hazy and nauseating; the addiction had been created Upon flicking the extinguished butt into a trashcan, I overhear two people conversing about the stock market as they walk by my position. Inside the law office is a grand entrance with a sole receptionist, Heyely, who sits at a long wooden deskmade of cherry by the texture of the finishand spends the majority of her days greeting entering people and answering phone calls. Today, she is wearing LaRetina perfume, a semi-expensive perfume in Madison, Wisconsin, yet the bottlemy mother tells mesays its made and imported from France; its very obvious that she overdid it this morning with the spray nozzle, seeing as a blind person could smell her from a mile away. We exchange a cordial greeting as I walk past the desk and proceed to press the button to signal the elevator to come down and pick me up. Since I have today off, I decided to visit my fianc, Cortexesa, on her lunch break; shes a lawyer here. Her long hours are somewhat of a pain but that just means that the time we do spend together is that much more special. Besides, I will be marrying this woman, so the sacrifice is justified. The familiar ding of the elevator doors opening subconsciously tell my feet to move forward and enter the elevator car. The panel on the right side of the elevator is rough and worn down from multiple fingers coming into contact with its buttons; you would think that the brail bumps would be affected but they are unhindered as I feel them with the tips of my index and middle finger, noticing their tickling effect. It takes about six seconds to reach the fifth floor from the lobby, giving me no time to prepare as the doors open with the once again familiar ding and the sweet voice of Cortexesa echoing throughout the elevator cart and my ears.

Hello, honey, she says with a passionate kiss on my lips; my response kiss is one of level affection. Her soft fingers lace around mine and she leads me back to her office where I guess a lunch of tofu and bean salad awaits us.

Afternoon My stomach rumbles with lingering hunger as I talk about the latest album by the rock band, Visionarie, with Dreyeson at the local record shop. I guess that tofu didnt fill me up I think to myself. Dreyesons record shop was his passion; music was his passion and mine as well. We get together every week for a jam session with his brother and his brothers girlfriend. Together, we play a range of music, but mainly we do it because playing music is what we love to do. The first time I ever sat down at a drum kit, I had a nostalgic feeling that I already knew how to play The kick pedal to the bass drum was cold as my bare foot came into contact with it. BUMP. BUMP BUMP. The pulse of the bass drum shook my entire body, all the way to my core; it was an awakening feeling. The melodies that Lultz plays on the first chorus of Time to See are fluid, says Dreyeson, a slight anxious tone to his voice. When it came to anything music Dreyeson was involved. After an hour and a half in Dreyesons shop, talking with Dreyeson and the other music fans in the shop, I depart the store and make my way back to my apartment on 33rd street. The corner of 30th and Thomas is unmistakable because of the monotone voice that bellows out to pedestrians the location and when its safe to cross the street on a red light. My foot steps off the sidewalk simultaneously with the prerecorded alert beginning. With long strides, it takes about fourteen steps to cross the street; I counted one day. However, today, I am in no hurry, so I take my time, feeling every roll of my heel on the concrete. Finally on the opposite side of where I started,twenty steps this timerain begins to drizzle down from the sky. Water begins to accumulate on my hands as I start to jog home. Its basically a straight stretch until I reach my door, something I have done a million times, so I dont even bother about worrying if Ill run into a moving car.

Since morning, the temperature has dropped fifteen degrees. This is what the weatherwoman says on channel 6 news. I usually dont listen to the news at this hour but I am curious about the sudden change in the weather. From the kitchen, the vocal clock chirps out the time: 1:30! A sudden shroud of exhaustion and fatigue overcomes my body and mind. From the bedroom, I retrieve my pillow and a wool blanket, settle down on the couchI turn the television off also because I cant sleep unless there is near complete silenceand tell myself its time for a nap.

Evening Cortexesas return home awakens me from my temporary slumber. I rush to greet her at the door, pausing to catch my breath before I make contact with her lips with mine. We decide that the consensus for dinner will be Chinese; she calls and orders vegetable lo mein from the Ming Ong Chinese Diner. While we wait for our food to arrive, I give Cortexesa a foot massage and we discuss the events of our respected days. My recollecting of my day doesnt take very long because I didnt do all that much. Cortexesa then proceeds to tell me of a case her firm just took on that involves a lawsuit against a contact lenses company. From her case files, which she draws from her briefcase and reads aloud, I understand that the lenses were manufactured for trial purposes only, yet the company executivesin major debt from building the company up from nothing decided to release them to the public for sale. A buyer named Antony Optique purchased the contact lenses and after a few months of use slowly started to lose the sight in his right eye; thats where the lawsuit stemmed from. The food arrives in synchronization with my stomach as it grumbles from hunger. That damn tofu. The lo mein is beyond delicious. Containing broccoli, mushrooms, lettuce, and egg, my serving is gone before I know it. For some odd reason, I cannot get enough of the delicious taste when mushrooms, usually bathed in grease, are mixed with fried rice; its a taste that I treasure. Cortexesa takes her time to slowly consume her plate, believing that eating slowly aides in better digestion. After dinner, we spend the time watching mindless television shows that we dont follow. Cortexesa watches for the clothes the characters wear and I listen for the absurd dialogue. Cortexesa becomes bored within an hour and starts to continue knitting a scarf for her sister who lives in a colder part of the country. So I dont bother Cortexesa with the absent noise of the television no one is watching, I turn it off and grab my acoustic guitar from my study.

One of my most beloved activities is playing guitar while Cortexesa knits. To her, I am her own personal radio. From her all-time favorite, Eye Can See You, an indie band from a neighboring city, to her childhood obsession with Brush Aside, an older group from our parents generation, the music comes from me and I am proud that I can facilitate. Two hours pass and my fingers become sore; I havent played guitar in weeks, seeing as in my weekly jam sessions with Dreyeson I play the drums. Cortexesa has finished her sisters scarf and we both decide its time for bed. The guitar is returned to its stand in the corner by the window in my study that overlooks 33rd street. In bed, after my habitual routine of preparing for night sleep has been completed, I lay on the right side of the bed, waiting for Cortexesa to finish her routine in the bathroom that contains marble countertops; the words from anyone in the bathroom echo throughout the bedroom when spoken, hence the knowledge that marble is in there. Although I am not in the shower at the moment, I still cant help but reflect on the events of the day. I soon realize that I am a very observable person when it comes to the world: I smell many things others would not notice, I hear odd noises that not even a cat could detect; my taste buds are top notch as well. For me, I am just happy that I am able to live my life the way I have been living it. Most people would think that I have it very rough, beyond comprehension, but thats untrue. Im just a normal person just like everyone else exceptCortexesa finishes readying for bed and climbs under the covers and snuggles up against me, draping her right leg across my thighs and rests her hand on my chest; she always loved to feel the rhythm of my heartbeatthat I am blind.