My Little Eye

It took all the courage I had to pick up the looking glass and peer at myself. I focused on my pupil until it grew large. It was beginning to heal, but the gash where my eye had been still looked shocking. Clumsy black stitches and swollen clots ballooned in size under my scrutiny.
“How will you ever marry now?” my mother asked over and over.
A freak occurrence is how the doctor had explained the loss of my eye, one of those things. A rapidly progressing disease that had forced the surgeon’s hand. It was funny. With my good eye I could now see for miles. I could see lightning behind the rain clouds. Sneaking up. Pulsing and flashing with life; like the veins in my arm when I squeeze and stop the blood.
I had my hair cut by Vidal Sassoon himself. My step-father paid. Vidal created a clever fringe that partially covered the hole in my face. Nobody is supposed to make eye contact on trains. I’m sure it’s like an unwritten rule or something but I could feel the eyes burning into my back. I stepped out of the underground and saw a thunderstorm approaching from two miles west. I trudged home dreading the night. I was scared of lightning now I had seen it up close.
My mother entered my bedroom to a chorus of rumbles and crashes. She saw the fear in my eye and rushed over to hug me.
“It’s okay my darling” she cooed while stroking my new fringe “I have an idea.”
Dread overtook me and I sunk down into the duvet. All of my mother’s schemes turned out disastrous.
“You are to be married!” she exclaimed triumphantly. I knew she had my best interests at heart but I thought arranged marriages went out of fashion in the dark ages. I mean I’m not even Asian! It was bad enough to trudge around all the wedding fayres she had made me go to, but now she wanted me to marry a stranger. I’d rather eat my other eye.
His name was Gordon and he was fifty-three. He’d lost his wife to breast cancer a year ago and was lonely. Lonely enough to marry Cyclops I thought to myself. My mother invited him around to dinner and we sat next to each other in uncomfortable silence. I could tell a life with Gordon would be one witty anecdote after another. I stared into my soup until eventually Gordon spoke.
“What terrible weather we’ve been having.”
“It’ll be bright sunshine tomorrow” I said looking across the horizon watching the swirls of cloud that lifted off and floated away. They all just stared at me, trying to think of what to say next I guess. It took a while.
“More sprouts Gordon?” my mother asked with fixed grin on her face. She marched towards him with her ladle of vegetables in mortal combat mode. I felt sorry for him.
It was decided. We were to be married in May.
“We’ll have to get an extra thick veil!” my step-father joked. I felt a tear prick the edge of my eye and I ran upstairs to my room. I hated them all. The bridal magazines my mother left piled up outside my door began to resemble a tower. I felt a bit like Rapunzel except I had no handsome prince and flowing locks, I just had a very expensive fringe and according to my step-father, a bad attitude.
I began taking daily walks to the park. I loved to sit on the mossy bench by the duck pond and plan my escape. I would pack a bag and….
“Excuse me.” I was jolted out of my daydream by a man’s voice. I looked up to see two deep brown eyes staring at me. “You dropped this.”
He held out his hand clutching my purse. “You were in a world of your own.”
“Thanks” I said flustered. I rose from the bench and begun to turn towards the path.
“Don’t go” he said and gently held my arm. I pulled it away in fear and looked up at him ready to scream. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you” he said and smiled. “Stay a minute. Please?” His eyes drew me in and suddenly I wanted to place his hand back on my arm and kiss his eyelids.
He was so different to Gordon. His name was Peter and he was a trainee eye surgeon. He’d seen me walking every day through the park on my own.
“You make me curious” he told me the second time we met. By the third I was slipping down my knickers feeling his long fingers discover me under the sycamore tree. He stroked the downy hairs on my thighs and whispered my name in my ear. “Jessica, Jessica.” I had forgotten all about the farcical marriage, Gordon, my eye. I just wanted to be here with Peter while he closed his eyes and reached inside me. For weeks we met like this. My lips aching for his touch the nearer to the park I got.
“Is everything okay my darling?” my mother asked me at breakfast.
“Fine” I said twisting my spoon through milk-soaked cornflakes.
“You haven’t looked through those magazines I left for you yet.” There was nothing to say to this. I hadn’t.
“The wedding is less than three months away dear. Have you made a decision on the dress?”
I shook my head and reached down to tighten my laces.
Her nostrils flared before she composed herself. “I’ll telephone Gordon” she said “I’ll say you’re under the weather.” With this decided I reached for my keys and made my way to the high street.
The butterflies in my stomach were flapping as if they were caged. I was so excited. Today I was meeting Peter for lunch. He had something to ask me he’d said. I started to imagine myself sashaying down the aisle. I opened the door with a jangle and saw Peter sitting in a booth at the back. I made my way towards him grinning and waving. Calm down, I thought to myself, you look like an idiot. I reached the faux-leather seat of the booth and slid in. Peter took my hands in his.
“Jessica” he began. I closed my eyes imagining him whispering in my ear, exploring me. “Jessica?” I opened my eye with a start.
“Yes Peter?” I looked at him expectantly. He looked so happy.
“I’ve found out about a new procedure” he said “A radical new surgeon is doing great things for people like you.” I looked at him bewildered.
“People like me?” My eye drooped.
“Come on Jess. I’ve found an amazing guy performing eye transplants. The iris won’t be an exact match, but it’s amazing what they can do with contact lenses now. You can be normal.” I knew I should have been happy, but I couldn’t help the disappointment appearing on my face. Peter told me to think about it as I left. My wedding dreams crashed like hail on a tin roof.
I decided against the new surgery. The idea of two uneven eyes seemed worse than my now patterned pink scar. Peter and I stuck to our balmy afternoons in the park. May had come and gone like frost in the morning and to the complete horror of my mother, Gordon met a divorcee on the internet and they married a month ago. I think she was hoping that eventually I’d change my mind.
Peter began coming to dinner a few weeks ago. Isn’t it weird how things change at night? Yesterday we looked up at the sky from the porch. Peter put his arm around me and pointed upwards.
“That’s the north star” he said “It’ll always guide you home.” He cupped my hip and pulled me nearer to him.
“Actually that’s just gas” I told him “And it’s travelling fast. Too fast really for lunar gas. The north star is over there” and I pointed in the opposite direction. Peter dropped his arm.
It’s funny. I can see for miles, predict what’s coming even. I couldn’t see what was right in front of my nose though. An extreme case of long-sightedness, I guess. I didn’t make him curious anymore. A two-eyed nurse called Katrina did. I saw them ten miles away in a seedy hotel. I willed for lightning to hit them.
Something in me has changed. I ran to the looking glass and felt along where the empty socket had been. It was beginning to open. The skin is soft and if I’m careful, I can prise it open gently with my fingers and peer inside at my new baby eye. I’m going to look after this one.