Look Again

I nod under my arms. “I’m fine. You can go.”

Ginger barks out her percussive laugh. “Go? Are you insane? Sure, I’ll just leave you here to go blind on your entryway floor.” She gasps. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say…”

I reach one arm over and pat Ginger. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to offend me. And you really can go. I’m okay.”

Ginger takes my hand. “I’m not going. So tell me. What is this?” I hear her shift on the floor; she’s probably leaning her back against the wall.

I start to explain, as well as I can explain this weirdly inexplicable thing. Ginger stops me once in a while to clarify, but mostly makes noises of understanding.

“So, I try not to get too hot, or let my heart rate go up too high. Or get overworked or too excited, and usually that keeps things where they’re supposed to be.” It sounds so simple. If only. I might be overdoing it. I’ve been so tired. So stressed out. And that’s just with teaching. Add the chair competition on top of that? I may be doing all of this to myself.

“And what happened this afternoon? Did you get all worked up in the arts department meeting?” Ginger is trying to make this better, and I appreciate it.

“Kind of. After it.”

Ginger seems to be waiting patiently, but I squirm just thinking about what I’m about to tell.

Come on, I say to myself. You’re a grown-up. Out with it.

“I went home with Dexter. And we were talking. And flirting. And then we were kissing, and suddenly my whole head tried to explode.”

Ginger clears her throat. “Did you just slide the word kissing in there under that very medical explanation of what happened to you?”

I push myself up on my elbows and test out gravity. Better now. I sit up and open my left eye. Out of habit and hope that it will stem the pain, I cover my right eye with my hand. I can see enough to make eye contact with Ginger.

“We will discuss the covert kissing later. For now, what’s actually happening to your eyes?” she asks.

“It starts with a little darkening. A little shadow around the edges of my vision. Then the pain comes, and it—well, you saw. Sometimes it makes me sick. Sorry you had to witness that, by the way. And the darkness moves toward the center of my vision until I kind of black out. It’s only actually happening in my right eye, but my left eye doesn’t seem to remember that. It goes dark, too, even though the MRIs show there’s nothing wrong with that side.”

Ginger looks at my face, as if she can see what’s happening at the backs of my eyes. “Huh. That’s empathetic. You have a very compassionate left eye.”

I nod. “I hear that a lot.” I try to make it a joke, and I think she can tell I don’t want to say more. But my heart is so full of the more.

I have walked away from the full-time creation of the art I love. I have made a huge pivot in my career. Maybe it’s necessary. Maybe it’s all for the best, but it hurts. It stings. It burns. I love photography. I love creation. I love gallery shows and articles in magazines about my work. Could I stay? Could I continue making art until the tunnel ends and I’m in the dark?

Maybe. But it scares me so much to be left there with nothing. So I decided to back off. I step more carefully now. I reorder my life to make room for healing. And it’s working. And its’ so sad.

“Are you hurting?”

So much. “Yeah, a bit.” It won’t really help to try to describe the stinging thump of pain at the back of my eye—the pain that both sits there and radiates through my entire head, down my neck, into my shoulders and on and on.

“How about tea? Water? Juice?” Ginger pulls herself off the floor, and I try to stand up, too. I don’t make it far before the pain tries to crack my skull in half.

“Will you help me get to the couch? I think it’s best if I don’t stay right here in the doorway.” I hold my hands up, and Ginger grabs me by the forearms.

“Come on, then. Up you go.” She pulls me into the living room and leads me, slowly, gently, to the couch by the window. “Blinds down?” She makes a sharp inhale. “I mean, do you want me to cover the window?”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter too much now. The light doesn’t hurt me. It will take a few days for the vision to come all the way back.” I lean back against the cushions. “In the meantime, I just get to make do with half sight. It makes me awesome at sports. No depth perception. Remember frisbee?”

Ginger sits on the chair opposite. “Yeah, I was there. I’m awesome at sports, too, and I don’t even have to contract some terrifying eye disease. It’s just natural sportiness for me.”

I smile at her. “Thanks,” I say. Thanks, I mean, for being in the right place. Thanks for helping. Thanks for staying. Thanks for joking.

After a minute, Ginger asks, “So what now?”

“Now you should probably go do your grading or organize some chemical explosions or something,” I answer.

Ginger shakes her head. “I mean you.”