Page 7 - Scene Magazine 45-06 June 2020
P. 7

 The Way I’ve Scene I
   my own at the moment, because I am desperately trying not to use the words “back in the day...” or “when I was a kid...” Let’s just say, 54 years ago, I sat quietly in a small chair in Mrs. Fowler’s kindergarten class and waited anxiously for my first ever eye exam. When it was finally my turn, I held the black spoon over my right eye, and quickly and cor- rectly identified which direction the E was facing every time. When the spoon was shifted to my cover my left eye,
a shiny penny. I have begun seeing his beautiful face, the confident, capable way he does things the way I did when we were dating. I see vulnerability, humor, love, and kindness. When I
flop on the couch to watch television at night, and he kicks back in his recliner, I can see his white Adidas sock covered feet crossed over one another on the footrest. It is precious and reassuring, because I can clearly see that he is
a hazy darkness covered the land, and the fun was over. I remember hushed murmurs and someone writing a bunch of notes on a page. I had failed that
side of the test miserably. In the end, my right eye was declared to be “lazy,” which isn’t surprising, since some- times, the rest of me is too. If 20/20 vision was perfect, shouldn’t 20/300 be better? Yeah, evidently not. Those of you who share this affliction understand that when you cover the good eye, the bad one works for about 30 seconds,
still with me, and I am thankful for the chemo break and this precious time of good general health. I can see that the worse part of “for better or for worse” is not really what I thought it would be 34 years ago. What is described as “worse” is actually just tender and fragile, so we treat it accordingly. I do know that both my heart and my brown, left eyeball can clearly see without peeking over my patchless bifocals that he is, and will always be, the best part of me.
I can make a teenager roll their eyes in less than two seconds, be- cause I am starting to talk like an old codger. Shoot, I’m making me roll
Do You See What I See?
and then it sort of checks out, and the next thing you know, all you see is the spoon. Lazy indeed.
In the first grade, I enjoyed the trifecta of awkward. I was missing my front teeth, kids were starting to notice that my ears are perpendicular to my head – sure, they stick straight out, but hey, I can hear like a bat, so you just might want to watch your mouth, and if that wasn’t enough, I had to wear a patch over my good eye, leaving me legally blind and struggling. The hope was that my lazy eye would learn to pull part of the load, but it never did. Mostly, I ran into things and people. The crowded hallways were the worst. It was a long year. My sister, covert CIA Operative, Margo Sue Brush the tattletale spent her 5th grade year on the narc squad, and she filed a daily report to our parents about me peeking over the patch that was clipped to my thick, light blue, cat-eye glasses. You bet I was peeking! Seriously, I could not see squat! Thankfully, the season of the patch was a short one, and both the patch and the glasses were ditched.
In the 1980s, I began wearing glass- es all the time. Those looked like they belonged on a hoot owl! They were
as big as dessert plates, but so were everyone else’s, so I was styling.
These days I have perfect vision. Oh sure, my right eyeball is still freeload- ing off the left one, but I see so much more clearly. Like most anyone, I have flawless hind sight. It’s super easy to know which things I would do differ- ently given a second chance. I see the present with crystal clarity. The Hub has inoperable, incurable cancer, and that has made routine, daily life look like

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