Color Blind by Sheila; Sobel

Would you like to come in? Have you had breakfast? I could fix you something to eat if you’re hungry.”
    Miles stepped into the hallway, “Nah, I had breakfast already, but thanks for asking.”
    He looked around, admiring the architecture. “Nice place.”
    “Kate fixed some lunch for us. She’s a chef, you know. Should I bring it?”
    “A chef, really?”
    “She is.”
    “Then, yes, absolutely bring it! I made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us, but I doubt they would even hold a candle to what your aunt fixed!”
    “Peanut butter and jelly? You are such a little kid!”
    “Part of my charm, don’t you think?”
    Now my smile was real. “Yep, definitely part of your charm.”
    Miles handed me a lime green tee shirt with a Tulane logo on the front and
VOLUNTEER
plastered across the front and back. “We should hit the road.”
    I shrugged the tee over my tank and pointed down the hallway. “Would you please grab the insulated bag and thermos off the kitchen counter? I’ll go get my purse.”
    I raced up the stairs, reached for my purse, and, in my haste, knocked it over instead, spilling the contents everywhere. Hurrying to collect everything, I found the little bottle of anointing oil. I read the bottle again:
For spiritual strength, dab forehead and temples.
What could it hurt? I dabbed my forehead and temples, inhaled deeply and put the bottle on top of the dresser.
    At the top of the stairs, I stopped and took a moment to appreciate how unbelievably handsome Miles was and to wonder what he saw in me.
    He turned, looked up at me, and asked, “You okay?”
    “Never better.”
    “Nice perfume,” he said, opening the Jeep’s door for me.
    “Ummm, thanks.”
    Miles guided the Jeep slowly through the French Quarter to avoid spooking the mule-drawn carriages filled with tourists.
    Miles began again, “Jackson Square was named after . . .”
    “Please! Enough already with the tour guide routine! I’m on information overload,” I faux-complained, putting my hands over my ears.
    “You mean I can impress you no further with my vast knowledge of our beloved history? I am wounded to the core,” said Miles, doing his best Rhett Butler.
    “Okay, then, tell me about yourself,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “Why not?”
    “My dad and I moved around a lot.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we just did. That’s why.”
    “You must have loads of friends all over the place. Anyone special?”
    “No, no friends. Nobody special. Too many schools. No interest in getting involved.”
    “Okay, then, what does your dad do?”
    “Miles, can we talk about something else? Maybe you can give me another history lesson?”
    “Okay, my mysterious maiden, we’ll do it your way. How about I throw out some random facts that you could use at parties or when a conversation lags?”
    I nodded. “Sure, why not?”
    “Did you know that New Orleans was the first Confederate city to be captured by the Union and was occupied the longest by the Yankees during the Civil War?”
    “I did not know that.”
    “Did you know that in 1791, the first two West African slave ships to arrive in the United States landed at the Port of New Orleans?”
    “I did not know that either. Should I be taking notes?” I asked.
    “Okay, here’s a really creepy one for your next Halloween party or Girl Scout campfire. Did you know that the small crypts that fill some of the walls in New Orleans’s oldest cemeteries worked like ovens because of the heat and the humidity? That the vault interior heat accelerated the decomposition of bodies and created a process of slow cremation?”
    Aghast, I stared at Miles. “Seriously? A weirdly disturbing factoid like that would certainly be an ice-breaker! I must say, this is quite the educational first date we’re having.”
    “Date?” said Miles lightly. “Let’s just call this hanging out together. If by the end of today, you’re still interested, we’ll talk about a real first date . . . You