Blinded
by Tracy Mumford

--Love. Love means nothing to Magda. She employs her latest acquisition, a police sergeant at the 43rd precinct, for the sole purpose of erasing her legal indiscretions of a younger age. That and all of her dear friends’ parking tickets. The sergeant, Andrew McNally, offers his services in losing certain files related to Magda’s time on 35th Street, and Magda, in turn, offers her 35th Street services.
--And Andrew, who has spent the majority of his life as “Drew,” on the lips of his family and friends, has been promptly christened “Andy,” because Magda already knows a Drew. And there are no repeats for Magda. Ever.
--I am Drew. The first. The only. And this is the story of Magda. The girl I am not in love with.
--Magda was born bored and has spent the rest of her life trying to thrill herself into existence. I was born next to Magda and have spent my life keeping her in existence. I caught her by the left suspender of her overalls when she slipped off the top branch of the tree behind the deli. She dropped to the ground, tumbled on the browning grass, and somersaulted the three blocks home. I broke three fingers and my left tibia.
--“This is Drew,” my answering machine drones from the counter,”Leave a message-.”
--Click.
--Magda. I glance from the couch to the clock - eight. Counting on my fingers makes twelve days, fourteen hours.
--I write it in the record book. Andy lasted twelve days and fourteen hours. I pencil it in beneath Matt, Jake and Xavier. Check the clock again.
--8:02.
--Magda Arrival Prediction: 8:15. Stretching out on the couch, I rest the book on my chest and let the pages flip open. Past Alex and Aaron. Past Frank and Michael. It falls to Colin, two seats behind Magda in Mrs. Sumner’s first grade class. Two hours and ten minutes. The time from first recess to final bell. I had to play with Chuckie Sylings for two hours and ten minutes.
--I pulled open the front door of my childhood cheap-siding house that afternoon to find her on the front step, ringing out the “I Dream of Genie” theme on my doorbell. In stained hands she held out heart shaped chocolate and said nothing. We ate them on the white carpet and blamed the stains on the muddy dog. I forgave her for the two hours and ten minutes and pretended not to see the “Love, Colin” valentine scotch-taped to the wrappers.
--8:09.
--I flip the page, back through Frank and Michael, after Alex but before Aaron. Chet. Nine hours and thirty-nine minutes: the time of a round trip from Aisling, South Dakota to Minneapolis, Minnesota in his red ‘82 Chevy. I sat on her front step with my chemistry books for nine hours and thirty-eight minutes. In the 39th minute it took for her father to chase Chet away with a shotgun, I hid beside her garden hose. She brought me back a Snow Globe and laughed at my study guide I made her. We both got a zero on the test.
--8:12.
--Jason Leery. Twenty-two seconds. The time it took for the senior prom photographer to pose and snap the picture. She gave me a copy, after emergency Sharpie editing. Her in a blue dress, smiling beneath a terrace, embraced by the newly rendered demonic semblance of Jason: horns, tail, and pitchfork.
--8:14.
--The doorbell rings. A chiming reprise of “I Love Lucy,” fills the living room. Magda. I open the door. She brushes past to the Raisin Bran I left her on the table with separated raisin and bran.
--“Catch.” She tosses a raisin. In my eye. I am blinded. But I am Drew. I am the first. I am the only. And this is the story of the Magda. The girl I am not in love with.
--“I called,” she says, rifling through the small bowl of bran. “But don’t worry. Its not like I thought you would ever pick up.”
--“I do too,” I say quickly. I don’t. She runs her hand along my phone, one raised eyebrow calling out my lie. She presses the red button. I wince.
--“You have 43 new messages,” the perky computerized voice betrays me. Both eyebrows go up in victory.
--“See? Anytime I want to talk I have to actually come over here.” She throws her last raisin at me, exasperated. “And you don’t even have anything to eat over here anyway.”
--“Chinese?” I offer. It’s her favorite. She wore that mandarin collar dress for Thanksgiving in the sixth grade.
--“No, it’s okay, I’m having dinner with Andy in a bit - but you can order some-.” She gestures at the phone and turns to me. I’m reeling. Can’t speak. Andy? She rolls her eyes.
--“Right. I’ll call. Why? Because Drew can’t use a phone,” she mutters to herself, flipping through the phone book.
--I turn, shaken, back to the record book and reach for the eraser, furiously wiping at the latest entry.
--Andy - twelve days, fourteen hours.
--Andy - twelve days, fourt
--Andy - twelve d
--Andy - twel
--Andy -
--“Alright, yes, thank you, bye.” I hear the click as she turns back to me. I abandon the glaring blank beside “Andy.” She bustles past, ruffling my hair. “Alright, listen, Drew, I have to run--Andy’s waiting. Just wanted to check in. And pick up the phone once in awhile, will you? Climbing these stairs is killing me! Oh, and I ordered you the chicken in peanut sauce!” she calls over her shoulder as the door slams closed. She’s gone. And I’m allergic to peanuts.
--I sit on the couch. Record book on my lap. Blank beside “Andy.” The imprint of “twelve days and fourteen hours” glares back at me. I could average all the past times, take a comprehensive median-. I shake my head. I need data, real data. I need concrete details to weigh her down or else she flits above me, out of reach.
--The doorbell rings. “Changs!” a voice calls out. I pay the delivery man $9.75. The food sits in front of me fogging up the glass table. Chicken in peanut sauce. There’s a blank beside “Andy.” Magda is gone.

* * *

--Magda brushes my hair back. I stare at her, hazy, above me. I reach a hand up.
--“Jesus ,Drew!” she smacks my wrist, “You scared me!” I crack a smile around the plastic tube down my throat. “God, who knew you were allergic to peanuts?”
--Magda’s kitchen - seventh grade. An “F” stamped on a report card under “Home-Ec,” stuck to the fridge under a car wash magnet. I’m wearing a pink ruffled apron. She laughs at me. I make her laugh, I smile. She reads me the recipe out of the book as I pour ingredients into the mixer. Tommy Thomasino rides his bike in the driveway. She stares at him out the window, circling pavement on a red Schwinn. “1 cup peas - ,” she starts, staring, “I mean, I mean, peanuts!” she snaps back to the recipe.
--I yank my hand away, the pilot light now glowing, and turn back to the counter from which her legs were formerly dangling. Upon which now sits an overturned cookbook. In front of the window framing Magda on a red Schwinn.

--I watch her until the oven dings. I sample her Home-Ec homework. My throat begins to swell. Magda bounces in, smiling. I lay on the floor, my face swelling. She looks down, my cheeks puff. She laughs, and I can’t smile.
--“Sucks you’re allergic to peanuts,” she says, beside my hospital bed. She shifts her weight. “Got an “A” in Home Ec! And Tommy Thomasino said I could ride his bike later today so…” She’s gone. I shake the vision of her leaving the room with seventh-grade braids bouncing, and turn back to her.
--“That’s just so weird! I mean, here you are, 24 years old, and we hadn’t figured this out yet? Weird!” Magda laughs beside my bed.
--“You know you’re lucky she found you-,” a nurse cuts in. “You would’ve been a goner without that CPR-.”
--The heart monitor beeps in rapid succession as I turn to Magda.
--“Yeah, lucky I forgot my purse,” she smiles, brushing back my hair again. “And that Andy had to take that CPR class before he earned his badge…”
--Andy. He walks into the my room at the mention of his name.
--“Yeah, buddy. You gave us a real scare there,” I hate him. I am not his buddy. “Magda? You ready babe?”
--She smiles and turns. “I called your mom, Drew, she took the first flight down.”
--I close my eyes as they walk out. Magda’s hand is replaced by my mother’s as I wake.
--“Drew,” she calls, seeing my eyelids flutter,” Drew, I came right when Magda called…What a lovely girl. So lucky to have her. What would you do Drew, what would you ever do without her?”

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