The Shine Journal

Squint

by

Joanne Faries

My nose is pressed against my bathroom mirror as I attempt to apply eye shadow, liner, and mascara. Too close - smear the mirror. Too faraway - can’t see a thing. Without my glasses, my life is a huge blur. Thanks to astigmatism and nearsightedness, I don’t do anything or go anywhere without my glasses. Mornings I awake, rub my eyes, and grab my frames before putting a foot on the ground. Reversing the ritual in the evenings, I have the television turned off, books stowed, lights off, andmyself situated in the bed with my pillows fluffed before I remove my glasses and carefully set them on the nightstand.

Do not ever rearrange the furniture in my house. In fact, if I’m in a strange place whether a hotel room or a friend’s house, in the position to take off my glasses, I do a careful reconnoiter. I always get dibs on the side of the bed with a stand, and hate if somehow stuck laying my frames on the floor. 

Hotel bathrooms are especially tricky and a thorough set-up, preparation, and practice are required for showers. Seriously, every faucet is different, so I check the directions for hot and cold. When I’m standing under a showerhead, I can’t read the dials or find the “C” or “H”, and that can offer a huge surprise.  Same thing with shampoos, conditioners, and body wash – bottles must be lined up in their order of use or, if they are different colors, I need to know which is which ahead of time. 
 
At this point, the reader is thinking, “How bad are her eyes?”  With correction, I’m 20/20. Without it, I’m not sure of my number because my ophthalmologist wouldn’t say when I asked about it one day. Guess she didn’t want me to be discouraged. “You have what we call finger vision. You can see waving fingers.” Sounds rather sad, but yes I can see wavingand movement. That doesn’t mean I can discern who is waving. That always proved to be a challenge as a kid on vacation at the seashore.

Glasses off, I’d head into the ocean delighted to splash and jump the waves, and then, bushed, I’d head back to the family towel/umbrella. But where was it?  Undertow is sneaky and by bobbing a bit to the right or left, I was now out of alignment and slightly panicked. I’d pause and squint, listening for my name or looking for some sign of recognition. Sure enough, my mom or dad or both waved frantically to get my attention, and I’d stumble, with relief, to their oasis. 
 
I love to swim and enjoy our backyard pool. However, I’ve learned to walk to water’s edge and scope it out with my glasses on prior to taking a plunge. Garter snakes, frogs, worms, insects - anything and everything can float and I prefer to remove icky hazards rather than swim up onto them. 
 
Compared to many people with far worse problems, I’m very lucky. My vision can be corrected and fortunately technology has enabled my prescription to be ground into reasonable lenses that don’t look like Coke bottles. I was fitted for glasses in third grade and probably should have worn them sooner, but I had memorized the school eye chart and could pass it. My last name began with a “C” so I was fairly close to the chalkboard in school, and at that time if I squinted I could pull everything into focus. Elementary teachers write big and bold, which helps. 
 
Glasses back then were rather ugly or uglier – the old black cats-eye. Not flattering for school pictures and from that day forward the photographer would tilt my head at a weird angle to cut down on glare.  Yeah, I could see, but was it worth the nicknames? Now I can say wearing glasses built my character, that along with corrective shoes, and riding a school bus. 
 
I finally bought myself contact lenses in college. Due to astigmatism I required the hard lenses that were never super comfortable. They bolstered my self- esteem and I blinked through eye drops and the occasional drifting or lost lens fiascos. Tired eyes from looking at a computer screen all day contributed to my decision to ultimately wear my glasses more and more. I had choice of styles and by the time I was thirty, I sought comfort. Glasses were an extension of my head. No more solutions, cleaning, and plinking a contact into the sink. 
 
So, I haven’t entered the era of bifocal glasses yet. I muddle along, seeing what I need to see, and adapting. Messing with hair color can be amusing and my glasses do end up with drips since I put them on to see what I’m streaking. Since my prescription hadn’t changed in quite awhile I decided to make a fashion change, after my last check-up, and pick out new frames. 
 
Picture it. I’m dilated, plus I can’t see without my glasses on. So, the lens wear salesman hands me blank frames to try.  Placing them on my head, once again I have my nose pressed on his mirror, peering to see if these are a good look for me. Through the years, my glasses are chosen from a consensus of strangers in the eyeglass shop. “How’s this look?” I ask. “Too square, too oval, or not the right color.” We all hone the choices and vote. I cross my fingers, and trust my fellow man to steer me
in the right direction. 

 I say, “Sure. Looks good to me,” after one final  squint.

Motivation: " I was regaling my father with my adventures in picking out new frames and he said, 'You should tell your wacky tale of woe.' "

Bio: Joanne Faries, originally from the Philadelphia area, lives in Texas with her husband Ray. Published in Doorknobs & Bodypaint, Off the Coast, Orange Room Review, and Salome magazine, she also has stories and poems in Shine magazine, A Long Story Short, and Bartleby-Snopes, and Freckles to Wrinkles. Joanne is the film critic for the Little Paper of San Saba. She was the president of Trinity Writers’ Workshop in Bedford,Texas.