I turn off the alarm on my phone. I sleepily roll over to the other side to snuggle back into Devin’s protective embrace for a brief moment, but the dream image is suddenly replaced by the thought of the maths test that awaits me. My pulse quickened to an excited rhythm, but instead of my usual desperation, I am filled with a bubbling curiosity. Maybe this time I won’t panic during the test…
And if I do, I’ll be more depressed than ever before before Devin’s lesson. After all, he’s been tutoring me, investing his time and energy, believing in me… If I fail, I’ll shame him.
I put my glasses on, but as soon as I open my eyes I feel dizzy and take them off.
Shit… My eyesight is getting worse again? And so quickly, by so much?
My hands… I stare at the sharp outlines, my pink fingernails, the texture of my skin, as if I’m seeing it for the first time. My room, the furniture, is drawn in the morning sunlight with sharp edges rather than in patches of colour. The fluff on the worn sweaters, the logo on the crisps’ bag, the books on the carpet… I can read their titles!
I wait for the illusion to fade and the world to go back to it’s usual blurry mess.. Maybe I’m still dreaming…
I run to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. It’s icy, almost painful, but I keep washing it. When I looked out from between my fingers, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Not the white-skinned, red-haired nightmare, but my own pale face. The pimple on my temple, the dried teardrops on my eyelashes, my eyelashes – I can see them… all of them! Brown irises with a few greenish flecks. How much bigger my eyes look without the lenses! Of course, I wouldn’t call myself beautiful… But still…
I laugh.
I can see!
How can it be? – The question, eager with happiness, echoes sinisterly inside me. My smile fades and I stare into the mirror as if I am seeing a terrifying, abnormal apparition. It all started with the hallucinations, then my strength improved, now this…
Is this even possible? If so, how? I should see a doctor. I can almost see their confused faces as they search for logical explanations, force me to undergo various tests and examinations, take blood, dissect me…
No. I’m not going to visit a doctor. Why should I? I have no complaints. They’d laugh at me. Or they’d show me something I’m not prepared for.
Mutation… insanity…
So what do I tell my Mum? I haven’t even told her about what happened in PE. But how can I keep this a secret?
Somehow I have to.
I go back to my room, put my glasses back on, try to force the blurry silhouettes into shape, but all I achieve is a headache. Too dangerous to wear. I put them in the case and slide them into my bag, like a kind of mascot to protect me from embarrassing questions.
I get dressed and go downstairs. Meanwhile, I pray that Mum is still drunk and sleeping the sleep of the righteous.
But I have no such luck. She’s sitting in the living room, turning towards me at the sound of my footsteps.
“You’ve fallen asleep aga… Talia, where are your glasses?”
“In my bag,” I avoid her gaze. “I’ll pick them up at school.”
“Are you seeing your prince in the morning now? I understand if you want to look pretty to please him, but you’re hardly going to impress him by falling through cracks in the pavement.”
Devin… My heart jumps into my throat. What’s he going to say? What am I going to tell him? He’ll think I’m torturing myself just for him.
“If it bothers you that much, you should consider contact lenses. But this way, you’ll only strain your eyes and make them worse. Is that what you want?”
I’m going to get my shoes without a word. She came closer so I can properly hear every word, but despite all her efforts, in my head, Mum’s sermon fades into the background noise.
Contact lenses… All my life I’ve been reluctant to put anything in my eyes: I’m never going to have anyone, so why should I suffer the stinging, the inflammation? But now, going out with Devin is a great excuse for a change. That’s what I’m going to tell Mandy and anyone else who asks.
Even to Devin?
My shoelace knitting fingers pause.
Would I lie to him? He’s always been honest with me. He has his secrets, but what he tells me is like opening his heart to me. That sad, black look…
“…does he really mean that much to you?”
I look at my mother as if she can read my mind, then realise she’s still worried about my eyes.
I’m overcome with anger. When has she ever truly cared about me?
“Yes,” my voice interrupts her confident monologue. “He accepts me. Even if I am fat, with greasy hair, in boy’s clothes. No glasses would keep him away from me. I decided to take them off. Believe me, as soon as I feel bad, I’ll put them back on.”
Her dark eyes sparkle with silent rage.
“Do what you want. Destroy your eyes, get yourself pregnant, I don’t care…,” she sits back on the sofa and pours wine.
“Exactly. Everyone ruins their own life as they please,” I close the door behind me.
With a force that frightens me. The handle loosens in my hand.
What is happening to me?
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