Tears

Following a small, sharp stab under the lid, he quickly lifted his index finger to meet the eye. With a loose fist dangling behind it, he pushed his finger against the irritated eyelid and rubbed. He rubbed vigorously against his closed eye. He pressed down on each corner of the eye to locate where it settled. The sharp sting tormented his eye as it sat wedged in between an unseen corner. He resolved to let his cornea rub against the masking flesh in search of the sharp sting’s return.

“Whataya doing?” his wife asked through barely parted teeth. She was tired and annoyed, but so was he. He sat up in the bed and exhaled heavily. He said nothing as his frustration grew. She finally sat up and looked into his face. His eyes were still closed and all she could see were his eyeballs gliding under his lids.

“Whataya doin?”

“I’m praying. What does it look like I’m doin’. Somethin’s stuck in my eye.”

“Well don’t just sit there. Tryta get the thing out!”

“Joanie, go back to bed.”

“Well, I can’t if you sittin’ up fussin about that eye.”

He whipped the sheets off his legs and headed straight towards the bathroom. He leaned over the ceramic face basin to meet the mirror. His eye was red.

“Oh my God, what’s that? Pink eye?” said his wife approaching him from behind.

“Joanie, go back to bed.”

“Here, lemme blow it.” She pursed her lips together in a small circle and exhaled quickly into his eye.

“PHEW!”

“Ah, Joanie! C’mon, that neva works for nobody, now!”

“Quit whining, you want it out or not?”

She used her right hand’s thumb to lift his upper eyelid. She blew wind into his eye again.

“Wouldya stop that, Joanie?!” he said

“Well do you still feel it?”

He closed his eyes and rolled them beneath the veiling flesh.

“I think you got— “suddenly a small prick avenged the eye.

“Dammit, it’s still in there!”

“Hold still! Lemme see!” Joanie lifted the eyelid once again. She examined it carefully and bent her head to peer underneath the raised lid.

“Roll your eye to the left…now to the right.”

He motioned his eye to each direction.

“Well honey, I gotta say, I don’t see a thing in there.”

“It’s in there, Joanie.”

“Well, I dunno then. You take care of it. I’m goin’ back to bed.”

She raised her hands, let them down dismissively, and walked back into the dark room. He shook his head and turned back to the mirror. His four fingers peeled down at his right cheek and he searched the eye again—nothing. He turned both hot and cold water knobs protruding from the sink and washed his face aggressively. As he dried it with the face towel hanging from its rack, he peered deeply into the mirror again and still failed to spot his eye’s tormentor. Suddenly, the distant sound of a wailing baby diverted his attention. He turned around swiftly and walked slowly to investigate the source. He peered into the dark room where Joan was resting.

“Joanie, you hear that?”

Her teeth kissed in annoyance.

“Hear what, Will? The sound of you wakin’ me up again?”

“Ah, fugghedit” he decided and started preparing for work.

William Carson simply could not miss work again. He was too close to his promotion and he had already taken off too much time last quarter following the accident. He’s been pretty strong about it, or so it seemed; he drowned himself in work after it all happened. Joan stayed home. She rarely removed her bathrobe most days, and her slightly-graying hair rested shaggily upon the nape of her neck. She hadn’t worked since it happened, and would dress to leave the house only once a week to meet the therapist. “[She] was healing quite nicely,” the therapist thought yet she never failed to question: “Now where’s that husband of yours?” Joan smiled slightly each time, “Not yet Doctor. He just aint ready yet.”

William simply felt he had no time to deal with “no gotdamn therapist to talk about feelings I already know I have.” That didn’t stop it from aging him. His hairline had begun to recede and his dark, full eyebrows regularly furrowed together in deep discontentment. His broad shoulders over his husky frame made him appear stronger than he was. He and Joanie had reached a silent agreement to never discuss it again. Instead, she focused her attention on miniscule details of their empty house, and regularly fixated her energy on simple matters. She wasn’t any taller than he was, and since it happened she let go of the figure he once admired. As he walked outside, he briefly held the unlock button of his car’s remote until he heard its apt yet welcoming jingle—boop-boop.

Both eyes watered as he drove, and he lifted his right hand to unfold the car mirror resting above him. The blinding-sun only made matters worse, and he needed to make it to work that day. His eyes squinted while flooding above his cheeks, and he raised the bridge of his shoulder to wipe the tears away.

His eyes shifted to meet the mirror that exposed all that was behind him, and that’s when he saw it--Two small feet protruded from the inside of a black car seat. Resting on both sides of the seat were two carelessly unclasped straps of its fastening belt. A black SUV sped uncontrollably behind him—it was happening again. His heart thumped violently and with a quick throw of both hands over the steering wheel, he swayed the car to the highway’s safe shoulder. A loud beep emerged from the small Volkswagen that had been trailing him before, and the little green car sped away. He turned to look back, and nothing nor anyone was there.

He exhaled deeply as his head dropped back. He closed his eyes towards the car’s gray, filament sky. He felt the prick in his eye again and shook his head softly. “Dammit” he whispered to himself and he involuntarily cried all the way to work.

As he parked into the first vacant space he spotted, he reached for a pair of sunglasses hidden inside of his glove compartment. He placed them on and peered through the hovering mirror before refolding it and jumping out of his car.

“Hey! Aren’t we cool today?” New-exec Richard “Dick” Duggard stepped out of his way and slightly raised both hands mockingly.

“Yea, well.” he said and breezed toward his office.

He knew that if he could just hide behind his office door for the day’s remainder, he could not only attempt to relieve his eye, but get his work done in peace.

Knock, knock, knock

So much for that.

“Hey Carson, I barely recognized ya with those Bond shades on.” Duggard asserted presumptuously.

“Just tryin’ something new I guess.”

“Yea well, boss wants to see ya. Somethin about last week’s reports.”

Damn, he had forgotten about filing those reports. It was the third time this month.

“Alrighty, let him know I’ll be right there.”

“Sure thing,” Duggard said while closing the door. Just before the door had a chance to close completely, Duggard stepped back in.

“Oh and by the way, you might want to get rid of those things. He seems pretty ticked.”

“Thanks, Dick” he said with a stiff smile.

“Not a problem!” The door closed.

William removed the sunglasses and buried his eyes in both palms. He looked into the computer screen and noticed that the eye had become both red and swollen. He slightly loosened his tie from the nape of his neck and flattened his suit’s jacket over his chest with sweaty palms. He walked over to Mr. Dean’s office.

Knock, knock, knock

“Boss you wanted to see me?”

“Get in here, Carson,” Mr. Dean said without diverting his attention from the papers in his hands. Mr. Dean was tall and caried a strong masculinity that was especially prevalent in his jawline. He was stern but fair, and the fact that his desk was always crowded with paperwork never made him one for eye-to-eye conversations.

Carson sat down nervously and held his head down.

“Look Carson, I’m not gonna be short with you. I know last quarter was tough on you, but you are still one of my best guys. I’d hate for the promotion to—what the hell is goin’ on with that eye?” he said finally looking in Carson’s direction.

The sharp, sting floated around the roof of his eye, but Carson still sat bravely in a feeble attempt to ignore it. Tears continued to fall from both the irritated eye and its sympathetic partner.

“Ah, it’s nothin’ Boss. Just got something in my eye is all.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want to take any chances, Carson. You go home and take the rest of the day off—“

“But Boss—“

“Now, now, go home and take it easy. Try to finish those reports from home.”

He sighed digressively.

“Yes, sir.” He held both arms of the chair for support, gained balance on both feet, and turned to walk away.

“Hey Carson, give Joanie my best will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

Will returned to his desk, gathered the documents he would need to review and went home.

“Joanie! I’m home!” Will yelled as he walked into the front door. He was greeted by silence.

“Joanie?” he walked down the hallway leading to his bedroom while rubbing his eye. He stopped midway when he noticed the baby’s room door was wide open.

He hadn’t been inside since the accident, and he couldn’t help but go in. He could still smell the faint scent of Will Jr—or at least, his senses automatically called to the scent on sight of the nursery, and he walked in cautiously as if afraid to taint the aroma.

He looked at the crib that had been empty for nearly two years, and he reached for the white cotton bib with blue letters etched on its face “Daddy’s Boy.” Suddenly his already flooded eyes began to pour. He sobbed violently into the bib and covered both eyes with it.

Joanie approached him from behind and held him as he wept. She swept her arms around his waist and shifted from behind him to meet his face as they both slowly fell to the ground. With streaming cheeks, she watched him sob and held him as he continued. She knew that now, he was ready.

“I should-a fast-ened that belt, Joani-eee,” he said hiccupping through each word, his body shivering.

“It’s okay, Will. It wasn’t your fault. That man was drunk outta his mind and you know it. C’mon now we’re gonna get through this.”

She was sobbing now too, and she assured him with false confidence. It’s been almost two years and she couldn’t get in the car with him. She couldn’t bring herself to be his passenger. Deep down, a small part of her blamed him just the same.

The sun was beginning to settle and a small shadow casted through the open windows of the well-lit room. Finally his sobbing faded and his body seemed to release what was left with an exhausted exhale. He slowly removed the bib from his eyes to admire its inscription one more time.

“Well wouldya look at that,” he said through blocked nasal paths.

Through blurry eyes, he noticed something resting above the distorted blue figures. There sitting faintly, was a small, arched strand of hair.