This one is different. He doesn’t flinch or wince. He smiles the way mortals smile when they’re in over their head but keep going anyway. He tells me not to worry. Readjusts his reflective face shield. Jokes about the giant footprint embedded in the floor. He tells me to ignore the burn marks on the wall. Assures me he has seen cases much worse than mine. Including ones with one less eye.
He says not to worry; I haven’t overshared. It reminds him of the moment he met his One and Only. The one who is with him still. How he retreated when he first saw her. Afraid he’d make some ferocious misstep that would drive her away. I tell him that’s nothing compared to the problem at hand, then I overshare again. About the sighting. The rocks. The climb. The one who shouldn’t have been there, but was. How I made myself look away. Like I want to do now. He nods. Then he says, what’s the point of a challenge, if it isn’t for love? Let’s see what we can do.
He pulls the mirror closer to his attentive face. Asks about the pain. Asks me for a number. I tell him it’s a twelve. He says, That’s way too high. We’ve got to bring that down. I tell him the heat pools behind my left eye, then everything goes black. He doesn’t spin dials, flip tinted lenses or ask, Is-this-better-or-worse? He says, Tell me more about the pain. How far back does it go? A noise fills my head. Like the crush of a tsunami. The rampage of a goddess. A bruised crawl into exile. My hair suddenly alive and wriggling.
His voice drops out for a moment, then resurfaces in my ear. Alright, he says. Sit tight, let me try something. He recalibrates the machine. Paces. Recalibrates again. I feel my eyes flicker. Turn my head to avoid catastrophe. I think of cool mountains and snow. A run from broken allegiance. A safe place to look someone straight in the eye. Look at him with love. Have him gaze back without hesitation. Stay in a place that lasts longer than a dream-filled night. With no monstrous fear of who I’ll become when I open my flickering eyes and wake up.
