Seeing
Posted: 27 Jun 2015, 15:46
Seeing
She had black eyes. Her eyes are like two perfectly round pieces of coal. Sometimes, I imagine them with a hint of orange like fire when she is mad. My eyes are similar to hers, but it doesn’t look quite as intense. At least I don’t think so.
Now, she lay there on the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around her eyes. She had to choose. She had to choose whether to lose her eyes, or to live but risk dying any day. It is not much of a choice. She is an artist, and sight is everything for her. Even now that her bandages covered her eyes, I knew how intense they would have looked right now, as she faced a difficult to decision. Her forehead would be creased and her eyebrows scrunched as she try to find the right answer, as if it was nothing but a simple logic puzzle.
The telephone rang. I answered it after three rings. It was her son. He told me that he was outside. I hung up and told her.
I helped her sit up and then onto a wheelchair. After asking the doctor’s permission, I wheeled her out of the room and out into the hospital park. From the door, I spotted Mark sitting on one of the park benches, his legs crossed, and he wore his glasses while looking down and reading a book. When we were only a few steps from him, he looked up and smiled warmly. It was a pity that his mother couldn’t see his smile.
She looked up at Mark as if she was seeing him despite the bandages that covered her eyes. Mark looked at his mother. I felt like I was invading a private moment.
Then I told myself, “Hide yourself!”
She had black eyes. Her eyes are like two perfectly round pieces of coal. Sometimes, I imagine them with a hint of orange like fire when she is mad. My eyes are similar to hers, but it doesn’t look quite as intense. At least I don’t think so.
Now, she lay there on the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around her eyes. She had to choose. She had to choose whether to lose her eyes, or to live but risk dying any day. It is not much of a choice. She is an artist, and sight is everything for her. Even now that her bandages covered her eyes, I knew how intense they would have looked right now, as she faced a difficult to decision. Her forehead would be creased and her eyebrows scrunched as she try to find the right answer, as if it was nothing but a simple logic puzzle.
The telephone rang. I answered it after three rings. It was her son. He told me that he was outside. I hung up and told her.
I helped her sit up and then onto a wheelchair. After asking the doctor’s permission, I wheeled her out of the room and out into the hospital park. From the door, I spotted Mark sitting on one of the park benches, his legs crossed, and he wore his glasses while looking down and reading a book. When we were only a few steps from him, he looked up and smiled warmly. It was a pity that his mother couldn’t see his smile.
She looked up at Mark as if she was seeing him despite the bandages that covered her eyes. Mark looked at his mother. I felt like I was invading a private moment.
Then I told myself, “Hide yourself!”