Post by Jaysie on May 27, 2003 17:29:04 GMT -5
Questioning eyes... that is the name of our game, although I'm not entirely sure how it is played. I remember exactly the moment this game started- I was the first one to move. It was a Tuesday, maybe twelve p.m. The room was cold and smelled way too clean. I remember my eyes were dry, wide, and drinking up the slight Asian form in utter disbelief. Why is she saying this to me? I look up to the fluorescent light overhead, as if expecting an answer. It only flickers in the most irritating manner, a most welcome distraction.
Snapped away from my appreciation of light fixtures. Snapped back to reality. She says, “I can see you have a million questions in your eyes”. Let the game begin…
“We will start with an easy course, just two or three days a week. I’ve arranged for you to meet with Dr. McKee on Tuesday. Is 9:30 good? The mold shouldn’t last more than an hour, provided you don’t move. It’s just a great, big machine… no, you won’t feel a thing. No, I won’t be with you, I told you Dr. McKee’s the Radiologist. Now, everyone reacts differently, so it is hard to tell you what to expect. Hair loss is common, but not necessarily a condition. You’ll need time off following surgery. Electro-surgical-something, I said. Don't be upset... ninety-nine percent success rate. Stage 1-B-1, I told you that already… would you like me to write this down? Tuesday… Dr. McKee… call me anytime”.
I drove straight to his house, and let myself in without ringing the bell. I silently wandered the house until I found him, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked up from his book surprised; he hadn’t heard me come in.
“Why aren’t you at work? What’s going on? What’s wrong?” I look to the ceiling, this time there’s no overhead light. No answer brings him kneeling in front of me, eyes questioning.
“I came home sick,” I began truthfully before turning to the lie, “I thought we could check a movie out. But my stomach is really beginning to turn. I guess I should go home.” I couldn’t find the words to explain that day or even the next few weeks. Finally, someone who assumed he already knew, let the secret slip to him. Then came the second appearance of his questioning eyes and me still with nothing to say.
“Why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you trust me, why didn’t you let me in? How long has this been going on? I could’ve helped you through this.”
I am not your problem. That was my response. Then my I can’t see you anymore.
“Anything you need,” he stressed, “any time of day…” I promised I’d call soon. Days turned to weeks, one surgery turned to six, thick curly hair now a skinny ponytail, and patience wearing way too thin. Finally four months later, I felt it time to call. No answer, no answer again. I left a message just that I called, but left out my good news. I wanted to save that to see him react. The call went unreturned, even though it was ‘anytime of day’.
I was out celebrating my success with my friends last night. I turned around quick and literally bumped into him. I took a step back and looked him in the eye. The game ends where it began... my turn for the questioning eyes.
Snapped away from my appreciation of light fixtures. Snapped back to reality. She says, “I can see you have a million questions in your eyes”. Let the game begin…
“We will start with an easy course, just two or three days a week. I’ve arranged for you to meet with Dr. McKee on Tuesday. Is 9:30 good? The mold shouldn’t last more than an hour, provided you don’t move. It’s just a great, big machine… no, you won’t feel a thing. No, I won’t be with you, I told you Dr. McKee’s the Radiologist. Now, everyone reacts differently, so it is hard to tell you what to expect. Hair loss is common, but not necessarily a condition. You’ll need time off following surgery. Electro-surgical-something, I said. Don't be upset... ninety-nine percent success rate. Stage 1-B-1, I told you that already… would you like me to write this down? Tuesday… Dr. McKee… call me anytime”.
I drove straight to his house, and let myself in without ringing the bell. I silently wandered the house until I found him, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked up from his book surprised; he hadn’t heard me come in.
“Why aren’t you at work? What’s going on? What’s wrong?” I look to the ceiling, this time there’s no overhead light. No answer brings him kneeling in front of me, eyes questioning.
“I came home sick,” I began truthfully before turning to the lie, “I thought we could check a movie out. But my stomach is really beginning to turn. I guess I should go home.” I couldn’t find the words to explain that day or even the next few weeks. Finally, someone who assumed he already knew, let the secret slip to him. Then came the second appearance of his questioning eyes and me still with nothing to say.
“Why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you trust me, why didn’t you let me in? How long has this been going on? I could’ve helped you through this.”
I am not your problem. That was my response. Then my I can’t see you anymore.
“Anything you need,” he stressed, “any time of day…” I promised I’d call soon. Days turned to weeks, one surgery turned to six, thick curly hair now a skinny ponytail, and patience wearing way too thin. Finally four months later, I felt it time to call. No answer, no answer again. I left a message just that I called, but left out my good news. I wanted to save that to see him react. The call went unreturned, even though it was ‘anytime of day’.
I was out celebrating my success with my friends last night. I turned around quick and literally bumped into him. I took a step back and looked him in the eye. The game ends where it began... my turn for the questioning eyes.
