Cat Eyes in my Soul?
Posted: Sat Dec 11, 2010 8:57 pm
I told Ron I’d be writing this little event up. And I’m still trying to get in touch with a good friend about it, as well; I’d like his opinion on an occurrence that holds a partial responsibility for my silence. You see, about a week after my . . . um, return, this good friend gave me an antique pair of jewels that, when used properly, would temporarily return my vision. Unfortunately, he told me their use would be limited in many ways.
As many of you know, I’ve never been one to lean on a crutch too heavily or for too long. Truth be told, I want to be as independent as possible. So while the gesture was greatly appreciated, quite honestly, I had no use for them. I’m quite comfortable with the concept of being blind, and it was the price paid; why jeopardize that? So, thanking him profusely, I took the antique jewels and kept them in an accessible pocket of my purse in case of emergencies arising. Besides their being stolen that one night, the tiger eyes had never seen any actual use; through a series of unfortunate events (Ron is still fuming about it), the airline I flew with to visit DC for Hannah’s graduation ended up sending my purse—tiger eyes inside—back home. But with Ron’s own visit last July for the Fourth and their still having seen no use, I thought I might as well rectify that at least once; what better way to celebrate the birth of our nation than actually watching fireworks for the first time, cuddled under a blanket with the man I love?
It didn’t turn out that way.
At first, everything was wonderful; Ron found us a private pathway to walk through Eldermark Park, where we had corn dogs, cotton candy, and root beer, and then strolled through Nu Jin Bi’s topiary maze. I even convinced Ron to buy me a bouquet of her flowers; she’s an extraordinary lady. After we had gotten through the maze, we headed toward Town Square as it neared sunset. Many of my neighbors had assured me that sunset—and the fireworks after dark—were the most beautiful sights the city had to offer.
When I pushed the smooth opals into my sockets, a flush of granular warmth spread from my eyes and throughout my body. I blinked once, and when my eyelids drew back, sliding silkily across the tranquil, glassy surface, something happened.
I saw. I truly saw for the first time in . . . a very long while.
My artificial vision was heavily saturated in amber shadow, as though the gold levels to my grandfather’s old TV had been turned up several notches in excess. It seemed unreal, and so crisply clear . . . so unlike my vision in dreams. Ron had to steady me as I advanced, otherwise I would have fallen. I had been that long without sight that its sudden return served more as an unbalancing impediment than a renewal. This disorientation was accompanied by a dark feeling of strange guilt and morose despair sluicing through my veins so thickly I was sick to my stomach.
We couldn’t enjoy the fireworks. Back at home, I pulled out the eyes, but I still felt soiled, unclean. Worse still, however, was the persistent, demeaning impression of unwanted contact between me and the tiger eyes, so much deeper than the gentle presence that had left my sockets. It was the impression of a man forcing me.
In the meantime, I have not been and will not be idle; unfortunately, my experience with magic items has been negligible. Since my efforts have proven fruitless, I now turn to you—would anyone be willing to study these jewels? However, be warned: they may possibly be dangerous.
As many of you know, I’ve never been one to lean on a crutch too heavily or for too long. Truth be told, I want to be as independent as possible. So while the gesture was greatly appreciated, quite honestly, I had no use for them. I’m quite comfortable with the concept of being blind, and it was the price paid; why jeopardize that? So, thanking him profusely, I took the antique jewels and kept them in an accessible pocket of my purse in case of emergencies arising. Besides their being stolen that one night, the tiger eyes had never seen any actual use; through a series of unfortunate events (Ron is still fuming about it), the airline I flew with to visit DC for Hannah’s graduation ended up sending my purse—tiger eyes inside—back home. But with Ron’s own visit last July for the Fourth and their still having seen no use, I thought I might as well rectify that at least once; what better way to celebrate the birth of our nation than actually watching fireworks for the first time, cuddled under a blanket with the man I love?
It didn’t turn out that way.
At first, everything was wonderful; Ron found us a private pathway to walk through Eldermark Park, where we had corn dogs, cotton candy, and root beer, and then strolled through Nu Jin Bi’s topiary maze. I even convinced Ron to buy me a bouquet of her flowers; she’s an extraordinary lady. After we had gotten through the maze, we headed toward Town Square as it neared sunset. Many of my neighbors had assured me that sunset—and the fireworks after dark—were the most beautiful sights the city had to offer.
When I pushed the smooth opals into my sockets, a flush of granular warmth spread from my eyes and throughout my body. I blinked once, and when my eyelids drew back, sliding silkily across the tranquil, glassy surface, something happened.
I saw. I truly saw for the first time in . . . a very long while.
My artificial vision was heavily saturated in amber shadow, as though the gold levels to my grandfather’s old TV had been turned up several notches in excess. It seemed unreal, and so crisply clear . . . so unlike my vision in dreams. Ron had to steady me as I advanced, otherwise I would have fallen. I had been that long without sight that its sudden return served more as an unbalancing impediment than a renewal. This disorientation was accompanied by a dark feeling of strange guilt and morose despair sluicing through my veins so thickly I was sick to my stomach.
We couldn’t enjoy the fireworks. Back at home, I pulled out the eyes, but I still felt soiled, unclean. Worse still, however, was the persistent, demeaning impression of unwanted contact between me and the tiger eyes, so much deeper than the gentle presence that had left my sockets. It was the impression of a man forcing me.
In the meantime, I have not been and will not be idle; unfortunately, my experience with magic items has been negligible. Since my efforts have proven fruitless, I now turn to you—would anyone be willing to study these jewels? However, be warned: they may possibly be dangerous.