Monday, February 22, 2010:
Dear Brian,
This afternoon, after school, Mom took me to the eye doctor ‘cuz I can’t see the blackboard from my seat without squinting. The squiggles that Mrs. Kendel prints all neat on the board look like they’re squirming around all over the place. The letters and words don’t sit still long enough for me to be able to read them! After looking at my eyes, Dr. Fallman told Mom I needed glasses. If I hurried, he joked, I could get to the eye-place before it closed and pick out my “new pair of eyes.” He winked at me, but I didn’t think his joke was all that funny.
I don’t want to trade my eyes for new ones; I like mine just the way they are, thanks. I like that my eyes are dark brown, just like yours, when Mom’s and Simon’s are both bluish gray. Sometimes, when I’m the only one home, I peek into the mirror in Mom’s room and imagine that you’re the one looking at me and not my dumb reflection. Most nights now, Mom goes out; and I’m left all alone.
She used to just hide in her room, but I guess the whole apartment reminds her too much of how screwed up our life is. Now, instead of sleeping in bed all day, she stays out as much as she can and only comes back late, late at night. I hope that’ll help her understand Simon’s reasons for leaving so that she doesn’t yell at him if he ever decides to come back home. Nowadays she rarely notices much around the house. That’s why, when she took me to the eye doctor guy ‘cuz she said I was squinting lots, I was really surprised.
I told her that I didn’t want to hide my eyes behind big, ugly glasses because everyone would laugh at me; but she just said, “Some things are more important. Just ignore the kids who make fun, Benny.” (Even after four and a half months, she still can’t remember that I wanna be called Ben.) Seeing me pout, Dr. Fallman put a hand on my shoulder and promised that in a few years I’d be allowed to get contact lenses, which are sorta like glasses that you put into your eyes instead. I almost believed him… ‘till I caught Mom’s dark look.
It was a look that said we wouldn’t be getting contact lenses, not unless I wanted to drop out of school, work my butt off, and pay for them myself. And we both know that’s not gonna happen.
Well, fine. I would go—but I wouldn’t be happy about it. The whole way there I dragged my sneakers along the sidewalk, staring at the dried mud that came from the playground at school. Whenever it’d rain, the cold and grossness would seep in from the bottoms, sloshing around and getting my socks all soaking wet. Then, every time I’d take a step, they’d go squelch. But Mom says they still work, so I can’t get new ones yet. If you ask me, two years is long enough to have a stinkin’ pair of shoes.
Mom spent almost forever fussing over everything, telling me to behave for the nice eye people while they helped me pick out my glasses. What did she think I was—two? I know how to act like I’m nine already! Sheesh.
Finally, I found the absolute coolest pair of glasses that would turn into sunglasses when you wore them outside. People wouldn’t make fun of me for wearing glasses as cool as those. So I decided to forgive Mom for making me buy glasses. After all, she only had me in mind, right? When I hopped over to her and handed her the pair, she pressed her lips together tight. By the look in her eyes, I could tell I did something wrong; but I had followed instructions! Just like the nice lady at the desk told me to, I went to pick out my favorite pair. Wasn’t that what Mom wanted me to do?
When the nice lady asked if I had ones I liked, Mom cut me off. “Do you have a restroom we could borrow?” she asked. The nice lady pointed us down a hallway, and Mom grabbed my arm and steered me in that direction. Uh oh. I was in for it. I didn’t even know what I did, but I knew I was in trouble for it—whatever it was.
Once we were out of earshot, she let go of my elbow, which was starting to ache from how tight she held it. Instead, she glared; and that hurt almost more than how tight she had grabbed me.
“Benny,” she said, holding up the pair of glasses I picked out, “You don’t want this pair.”
Confused, I stared at her. Didn’t she get why I picked them out? “But I—” I tried to explain.
“No,” she snapped. “Do you know how much these lenses will cost?” I didn’t… but did it really matter? We always somehow found enough money to buy the things we needed. “We are going to go back in there,” she said slowly, as if I were some idiot five-year-old, “and you are going to pick a different pair of glasses.”
“But I want these ones!” I whined.
She yelled, “Benny!” Then, shoving the glasses into my hand, she hissed, “Put those back where you found them, and go pick out a pair you like.” The way she said it made it sound like a threat. Miserably, I trudged back to the main room.
Twenty minutes later, I left with the promise that I would be able to pick up my glasses tomorrow morning. My dumb, ugly, round glasses that looked so horrible that no one would ever buy them. No wonder they were so cheap; the glasses store had probably been trying to sell them since forever.
As we left the store, Mom patted my head and said, “I’m proud of you, Benny.”
I thought, Well, whoopee for you. Instead of saying that, though, I muttered, “It’s Ben,” and ignored her the rest of the walk home. I don’t think she noticed, though.
Brian, I hate glasses. Please keep the other kids from laughing at me when I wear them in school tomorrow; I won’t be able to handle that. If that happened, I might just throw them out the window; and I don’t think Mom’d like that very much. Or maybe… maybe you could ask God to fix my eyes for me so I’d never have to wear them. If you ask nicely, I’m sure He’ll listen. He probably likes you loads; everyone down here always did.
Wish you were here with me; you always knew what to say to cheer me up.
Oh, I almost forget! Last month, the Sunday before your birthday, I tried to bake you a birthday cake. Chocolate, your absolute favorite. After all, angels like cake, too, don’t they?
Mom came in before I could put it in the oven, and she started to cry. After that, I threw out the batter so she wouldn’t be so sad anymore—hope you’re not mad. I’ll try again next year.
Love, Always,
Ben
It may sound a bit awkward because Benny is now getting older. While he still doesn't speak like an older person, he is getting a bigger vocabulary -- and his syntax is getting slightly more obvious. Or at least that's what I was going for. I wanted to have a simple letter because his whole life can't be one angst-filled scene after another. So this is just a simple eye doctor appointment where he gets glasses and hates them, etc. But it also starts to insert the idea that he feels Brian is his guardian angel of sorts. That will get a bit more prominant and obvious in later letters, I think. He might even say it outright, actually.