blinded by the light

ON MY WAY TO THE AIRPORT TODAY I SPOTTED A GIRL WALKING IN THE RAIN. She wore a gray summer dress as she shuffled down 43rd St., feeling her way along the wet road near the curb with the help of a cane. The Texas School For the Blind isn't far from here, so it's not unusual to see folks tapping the sidewalks with their red-tipped canes as they stroll through town.

But it had just started to rain and I wanted to help this girl.

"Do you need an umbrella?" I called out as I slowed my cab. "I've got one in the trunk."

The girl stopped walking and leaned down to look into the passenger window. She gazed where she thought my eyes might be and smiled.

"Oh, that's okay," she said as I tried not to stare at her milky gray eyes. "My house is just another block down the road here. Thanks, though."

"You want a ride then?" I offered as the rain continued to fall on her chestnut hair. "Get you out of the rain?"

"Sure," the blind girl answered brightly as she folded up her cane and grabbed for the passenger door. She slowly lowered herself into the front seat, then turned to me and offered her hand.

"I'm Karen. What's your name?"

"Bob."

"Hi, Bob."

She turned as if to look out the front window. A big, blissful smile of total serenity washed over her face.

"I just love Austin," she beamed.

"Why do you love Austin?" I wanted to know. Because cab drivers pull over to help blind girls stuck in the rain? I unsuccessfully fought off a little snicker. Her enthusiasm was disarming.

"The people are so NICE here," she replied.

I wanted to tell her I tried doing nice things for people back when I lived in LA, too. And from what I've heard, Austin has its share of surly cabbies. But why fog up her rose-colored glasses?

"Didn't you hear it was supposed to rain all week?"

"I guess not," she laughed. I noticed a large green dragon tattoo just above her knee.

"Do you have an umbrella?" I asked, ready to give her the small black hand-me-down someone left in my cab weeks ago.

"Not only do I have an umbrella, but I've also got a raincoat," she said proudly.

"Really? Galoshes, too?"

"Yep. That's what happens when you move from Seattle."

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Turns out, she was more than a block from her house. (Did she get it wrong because she's blind?) It was more like 5 blocks. Far enough to learn that Karen moved to Austin less than a year ago – but too close to find out exactly why.

"I moved here last October," she confessed as we approached Duval. "And I just love it here. I don't ever want to live anywhere else."

"Wow. Really?" I was being completely sincere. I'm still a little amazed every time I hear something like this – even though the sentiment flows through my cab on a regular basis. But to hear it out of the mouth of a blind girl from Seattle who's been here less than a year? For some reason, her Austin-induced bliss seemed a little more . . . mysterious.

"So what is it about Austin that's got you convinced you never want to live anywhere else?" I wondered, turning right at Duval in front of Julio's.

Karen didn't have to think long about her answer.

"It's the people. Everyone is SO friendly here."

She pointed to the big shaded house her roommate found for them on Craigslist. "That's me right there," she said, while I silently contemplated the degrees of blindness and just how bad your eyes have to be to justify using a cane.

"Thank you so much, Bob," Karen said with a warm parting smile.

"You're quite welcome. See you around," I said like an idiot.

As I watched her move quickly up the stone path to her front door – barely slowing to unfurl her collapsable cane – I felt guilty for wondering just how blind Karen really was.

Or did she just see things most of us could only hope to see?