No Blessing
By Wayne Scheer


Cosmic Joke

I knew a man who moved to a nudist resort when he retired, and promptly went blind.

He sounds like the punch line for a bad joke. He thought so, too.

I met Rob and his wife, Holly, when we were young, our bodies firm and our sight clear. We were never meet-for-drinks-after-work buddies, but I'd look for them whenever I visited the nudist resort where they were members. Quiet and unassuming, Rob's wit was as surprising as the tattoo on his ass that read: "Made in the USA."

When Holly died of a heart attack, after forty years of marriage, he quit his job and moved to California, where he bought a house at a nudist resort near Los Angeles. Always full of surprises.

I hadn't seen him for a few years. I was in LA for a business conference, and when it was over I thought I'd spend a day in the sun and see if Rob was there.

I found him right off, lounging by the pool.

"Hey, Rob," I said, holding out my hand. "It's been a long time."

There being nothing unusual about a man wearing dark sunglasses in those environs, my surprise came when he said, "The voice is familiar but the face is a bit cloudy," and pointed to his walking stick.

"Pete Ryles," I said, trying not to blurt out, "My God, man. You're blind."

"Pete. How the hell are you?" Now it was his turn to hold out his hand. We shook and he talked about his blindness as if we were discussing yesterday's ball game.

"A cosmic joke," is the way he described his predicament.

Just then, an attractive woman clicked by in heels and nothing else. We both turned. I looked; I'm not sure what Rob did.

"I bet they aren't real," he said.

"How'd you know?"

"I could smell her make-up. No one that obsessed with her looks would let nature take its course."

"But how'd you know she had some years on her?"

"Young women don't need to wear heels at a pool."

Impressed, I asked what else he learned with his new powers.

"Being in a pool blind feels like swimming in a vat of Jello."

"You've become a poet."

"Nah, I read that somewhere." He laughed. "Truth? The other senses are accentuated, but blindness is no blessing, believe me."

I had dinner with him that evening and left for home.

Yesterday, I heard Rob had pointed a gun between his eyes and blew out his brains. He explained his act in a message: "I was afraid I'd miss."


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Wayne Scheer has locked himself in a room with his computer and turtle since his retirement. (Wayne's, not the turtle's.) To keep from going back to work, he's published hundreds of short stories, essays and poems, including, Revealing Moments, a collection of twenty-four flash stories, available at http://www.pearnoir.com/thumbscrews.htm. He's been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net. Contact Wayne at wvscheer@aol.com.