Chapter Sixteen

I skipped school on Wednesday, but it had nothing to do with Juice or the fact that I had to pretend he didn't exist. It was definitely hurting me a lot more than it hurt him, if it had hurt him at all. Honestly, I wasn't sure he noticed, but no, I skipped school for an optometry appointment. It was well overdue.

The night before, Mom noticed my eye while Faith and I were downstairs watching Netflix. She had told me I looked like I had a googly eye. I wasn't in love with the comparison, but after how badly my face burned inside of the barn Friday night, I didn't put up a fuss. A slight pulsing pain still lingered, which was unusual, but the pain inside that barn, that pain was next level, a real prodigious bastard.

Solon Optometry and I had a love-hate relationship. That was why I probably never went as often as I should've. I loved Barbara, the elderly optician, but my optometrist? No so much. Since his was the last face I saw each time, I often left with the intention of never coming back. He wasn't mean or rude. He was more unnecessary than anything else.

Barbara was great. She was literally the grandma off of those little Grandma's Cookies snacks sold from vending machines. She had that wavy and impossibly white hair styled up all matronly like she was headed to Sunday service. She had the blue button-up with the white apron on over it and the pearl necklace to remind herself that one can never be too old to look beautiful.

Last, but definitely not least, she had those same librarian glasses that hung way too low on the crook of her nose and those bedroom eyes that were almost inappropriate for baking. Barbara was only missing the seductive grin, the one that all but confirmed Mr. Grandma's Cookies was in the kitchen not too long ago, helping get rid of a bad batch.

No, Barbara was an icon, a master of her craft, the eye doctor's mother and the only thing that made going there bearable.

"Regal, sweetie! Come on back. I'm ready for ya," Barbara said, beckoning with an arm.

She always clocked me as soon as Mom and I came through the door. She must've hated doctors when she was younger. What other medical professional could you go to that didn't have you waiting at least fifteen minutes on principle? I smiled broadly enough that the left corner of my mouth reminded my eye to start pulsing out pain again.

The office was small and modest. It was sandwiched between two abandoned buildings in Solon's laughable downtown area. In the waiting room, sample framed eye wear was hung along its extremely well lit walls, all around me. There were hundreds of options. It was a vivid daydream of colors with a sampling from an ineffable timeline.

Every so often, there were gnarly old things that looked like rivet spectacles or creations straight out of a steampunk fantasy mixed in with more modern styles with sleek frames that claimed to be unbreakable. I would've been amazed if they had taken down a single frame over the years.

In the center of the room, there was a birch wood table with magazines strewn across it. It sat on top of dingy Chindi carpet that hid dirt extremely well. It was flanked by three benches of the same style and a reception desk that looked like it'd be cut from the left over scraps of the same tree. The room could seat twelve people if they all sat hip-to-hip, but I doubt it ever got that busy, not with Barbara wo-manning the ship.

The counter she stood behind was slightly offset from the waiting room and there was a path on either side of it leading to additional rooms in the back. There were six that I knew of, three on each side, but I only ever went in the first one; a bathroom. The room I was headed for was the exam room directly behind the counter. It still had privacy, but Barbara could see out of a small one-way mirror if anyone came through the door while she was in session.

The older generation was efficient in that way.

I sat down on the examination table that she led me to while Mom looked over options in the waiting room. She had already explained my troubles to Barbara over the phone, so all I had to do was wait for her to work her magic. She wasn't the type to waste time rehashing things out. Too many cookies went unbaked that way.

"Barbara, I think I might have a superpower."

She didn't say anything. She kept preparing the eye exam. Technically, opticians couldn't perform them, but she was a retired optometrist, so she could. That was part of the reason her son seemed, redundant.

"I also sort of think it's ruining my life, Barbara."

I spoke louder to get her attention, but she kept humming along to herself as if I hadn't spoken. I wasn't sure I minded. A lot of times, we had one-sided conversations where I talked at her.

Barbara finished adjusting the metal eye window in front of my face, a phoropter I think. "Alright, superpowers, huh?" She wasn't interested. She was appeasing me in exchange for cooperation. "So, you're like that, uh Michael Jordan?"

I nodded. I didn't know where to start with her. She was the love of my life and she had no idea. She could've meant Michael B. Jordan from Black Panther, but that might've been giving her too much credit.

I cooperated through the first round of better or worse as she clicked to different lenses for each eye before I tried again. "My eye hurts whenever I have premonitions. I had one this weekend. That's why I'm here."

There, I'd laid everything out to her, plain as day. When I mentioned my superpower in the most general terms, I didn't have to lie to avoid sounding pathetic. It felt nice.

"Hopefully not in the bad one, mama bear wants us to call the ophthalmologist and schedule something," she said, "better or worse?"

I laughed because I thought of Ronnie when she'd said 'ob-thumb-ma-logist'. Then, my mind connected the dots. I knew the transplant was in my future, but I thought it was my very distant future. I couldn't go through with it now, things had changed. What about Juice?

I coughed up my next words. "That's months off. Worse. Right? Too expensive, still?" Barbara clicked to the next lens. "Better."

"Your pain is from your eye working too hard, soon it won't be able to keep up," she said, "if this next one doesn't help, it won't be elective anymore." She happily nudged me with an elbow, oblivious to my concern. "Insurance will cover it."

I didn't respond. She'd said enough, more than enough. Barbara and I completed rounds of better or worse until her satisfaction. Then, Mom came in and we had to wait for Barbara's son to come in riding her coattails.

Dr. Robert Nalor—or Bobby as he preferred me to call him—most definitely had a thing for Mom and her for him, sort of. The irony of his last name was not lost on me, nor did I care for it. The only problem I had with Bobby was that he was married and nowhere near as funny as he needed to be for me to overlook that like Mom had.

Bobby was a tall, blond-haired man with the body of a former athletic. He looked soft around the middle, but had strong arms and a solid frame. He had soft blue eyes close to the shade of the house we lived in. He had the type of scruff that wasn't quite a beard, but that women his age were likely drawn to. His smile was white enough, but relied mostly on how the balls of his cheeks tightened around it.

I would've been surprised if Mom didn't find him attractive, but that didn't make his marital status less apparent. If she could overlook the institution of marriage, I have to wonder if there's more to what happened between her and my father, but she won't even talk about it.

Bobby burst into the room with his pants hiked up high above his ankles. He was wearing an extra long lab coat and most notably, my brand new pair of red thick-framed glasses across his face. He gyrated his hips to accidentally knock over a stainless steel rolling tray. He floored countless boxes filled with contact lenses that I could never wear.

In his most nasally voice, he shouted,  "D-d-did I do that?" while posing for Mom, beaming that chipmunk smile.

Mom nearly threw her back out laughing as she screamed, "Steve Urkel! No me digas! Este gringo es muy gracioso!"

She fell to the floor, unable to recover quickly enough and Bobby of course, was quick to help her to her feet. They shared prolonged eye contact as their laughter died down while I quietly stewed on the edge of the examination table.

They both looked at me at the same time as I asked, "How's your wife, Doctor Robert Nathaniel Nalor?" deadpan, in the sternest voice that I could muster. I was in the mood for exactly zero percent of his bullshit.

He mumbled as he bent over to start retrieving boxes from the ground, but wasn't nearly as embarrassed as he should've been. "These new ones, you'll have no headaches with these."

It was pulsating pain, not headaches, but I didn't bother correcting him. He pulled the red frames off his face and handed them up to me. They had a thick red elastic band connecting the ends that I couldn't remove fast enough. The man was entirely useless, his mom had done all the leg work and had answered all of my questions while he merely presented me with the latest fodder for me to be tormented at school over.

"And there's no way I can wear contact lenses." I grudgingly placed the glasses on my face with a frown. Cherry red glasses dealt a considerable blow to my wardrobe.

The question seemed to return the wind to his sails as he hopped to his feet. I knew it couldn't be good. "Well, Mr. Evans," he said, "You can, but because of your kerataconus they'd have to be rigid gas permeable."

"Kerataconus?" I scoffed. "Such a dumb name, what's that even mean?"

"Coning of the cornea, actually," he replied with a smug grin.

I kept quiet as he explained what I already knew. I couldn't deny it was aptly named.

"So, we try the gas contacts then?" Mom asked, after a beat. She turned to me with a hopeful smile and then back to Bobby who didn't seem to share her enthusiasm.

"Sold! What's the problem?" I asked, snapping my fingers to gain their attention.

I was afraid they might find a way to melt back into a tender moment or something. Bobby winced at first, but it nearly turned into a chuckle. I wasn't sure how he planned to turn this into an opportunity for him, but I knew he had something in mind.

"So, they're quite a bit more expensive, but I think I can help with that." There it was. Bobby, you dirt bag. "And they're well, rigid. I'm afraid you're not going to like them very much, but let's get you a sample."

He held up a finger as he retreated from the room in gaudy snakeskin shoes. They were a perfect fit, couldn't have better suited a man of his kind. I pursed my lips and cocked my head to the side. Words weren't necessary for me to adequately express my disdain for earlier. Mom sighed heavily as she sat down on the table beside me. She put one arm around me and the other on top of my head to tousle my hair a bit.

I didn't think she'd ever cross the line with that man, but in a way she already had. It wasn't normal for patients to know their optometrist's middle name, but I did. He had come by the house a few times to hand deliver frames after hours, so I made the right kind of small talk. It was his feeble attempt at moving out of the friend zone with Mom, which I intended to make him pay dearly for if ever she let her guard down.

The sly opportunist returned with a small black felt platter to present me with his latest torture device. There was no way that could've been standard practice, but I had to appreciate the theatrics. On it, there were two shallow bowls prepped with contact solution next to a thick, white plastic box. I was immediately suspicious since contacts usually came in the flimsy paper boxes he had scattered across the floor not too long ago. I watched intently as he carefully set the platter down on top of the tray he'd accidentally cleared.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have said this was all planned out ahead of time. In truth, he'd been too lazy to put the boxes back where they belonged. They sat in the bottom tray for his mom to deal with.

He knelt down to eye level and presented the plastic case to me with both hands like it was Excalibur or something. Two fingers would've sufficed. I picked it up with my thumb and forefinger to prove as much.

Of course, I fumbled it.

Bobby and I exchanged forced smiles as he picked it back up and opened it for me. He removed the first lens and held it out in front of me, pinched between his gloved fingers. It was a lot smaller than I'd been expecting. My lips parted in awe. That man had been trying to scare me the whole time. I wasn't upset. I could take a joke. I held out my hand.

Doctor or not, there was no way I was letting someone else put something in my eye, not willingly. Bobby's smile faded as he dropped it in my hand. I wasn't sure whose faded first actually.

There I sat, with a thick shard of plastic that felt like a glass bullet in the palm of my hand, expected to jab it into my eye.