The Storm

by Dieter

Aurora listened as the doctor spoke, “Your prescription has gone up about a half diopter this time. That’s not too bad considering your age. You’re still growing so I would expect a few more increases in the coming years. Other than that, your eyes are quite healthy and normal.” Into her own thoughts, Aurora sat quietly and gave no response. What could she say? Aurora had been wearing glasses since before kindergarten and she was the only one in her class for the first few years. In her 15 years, no one else had ever had glasses with a degree of strength anywhere close. What had she ever done to deserve this?

Cadence

by Dieter

"Meyer Honda, this is Cadence. May I help you?" the voice spoke pleasantly.

"Yes, do you carry Palmer Helmets?" I inquired.

"Yes, we do." she replied amiably.

"And do you carry parts for them?" I continued.

"Some," she countered patiently, "what model is the helmet?"

"Oh, I don’t remember" I responded having left the helmet locked to my motorbike in the parking lot.

"Best to bring it with you. We can order anything that we don’t have in stock" she explained with authority.

"Ok, thanks," I said prior to touching the "End" button on my phone.

Cadence. Wasn’t that an interesting name? Especially for a lady working at a motorcycle dealership. She had such a pleasing voice. It was clear, soothing, knowledgeable, yet in command. My mind imagined a pretty lady at the opposite end of the "phone line".

After work, I fired up my Kawasaki and rode across town to Meyer Honda. I love riding "naked". Naked bikes, like my Z1000. Sport bikes without windshields or fairings that typically have very little bodywork. Many manufacturers have jumped on the band wagon to build them after the success of Ducati’s line of Monsters and Triumph’s Speed Triple. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of riding a powerful two-wheeled machine built for speed with your body exposed to the wind and elements. It is total freedom. You experience sensations beyond description.

Fantastic Friday

by Dieter

Peyton studied the glasses lying on her vanity. They were absolutely magnificent. She knew so because she personally chose the frames at the optical shop. Their color was an exceptionally dark red made from high quality plastic. The frames were vaguely reminiscent of a cat-eye style. The shape, however, was more of a modified rectangle where the tops of the lenses were longer than the bottoms. The frame pieces were smooth and sturdy-looking but not chunky. She thought the tastefully subtle rhinestone pattern on the temples was especially appealing. The glasses were distinctly feminine and had been quite expensive. They were worth every penny.

Even the lenses were amazing. The shiny gemstones of clear plastic magnified the words on the open pages of a magazine upon where the glasses were laid. It was not apparent that the lower portion of the lenses had an even stronger magnifying power than the top. There was no obvious line or any other tell-tale giveaway. Nothing about the lenses made a statement about the age of the wearer. And yet, Peyton was petrified. Why had this happened to her? Why now did she need glasses? What had changed to make her eyes no longer work well?

Super Sunday

by Dieter

Peyton’s 2nd Story

Peyton examined the faces around the large table in the formal dining room. Everyone’s attention was focused on the task at hand; that of passing dishes of food to each other. As the festive “please and thank you” phrases were offered liberally, she recognized that she was the only person wearing glasses. Focusing her eyes through the doorway, she could see that even the children sitting at the table in the breakfast nook were without. Peyton had to wonder. Was she adopted? Did she share any genetic material with this family? Would it be too much to ask for someone else to suffer vision problems with her? Just one of them! Her grandmother, who passed recently, was the last person in the family she could remember that wore glasses.

Though, for the moment, she hoped that no one else would take notice. After all, it would surely return the topic of conversation back to the one that occurred previously. Making her grand entrance earlier, to be met by her entire family at the front door, had been humbling enough. She had not expected to be roasted the moment she entered. If only she hadn’t allowed herself to be the last one to arrive.

It had been but four weeks since she first began wearing “real” glasses. The technique her eyes needed to use the lenses with the progressive prescriptions had become natural and efficient. Peyton liked that. If there is anything that a process engineer appreciates fully, it is, well, efficiency. Clearly she missed being able to see without assistance. The doctor had advised her to anticipate that. He implied that it was a sacrifice that was necessary to pacify the headaches and correct her farsighted eyes. However, with the use of glasses now, Peyton had perfect vision. That was an improvement.

Field of Vision

by Dieter

My eyes protested as I left the dark confines of the parking garage and merged into the rush hour traffic on the bright downtown street. Within a few blocks, I was high above the Mississippi on the bridge heading north towards the Iowa side of the Quad Cities. The banks of the river were overflowing with rushing water caused by the extraordinary amount of early summer rains. It was a wondrous sight, though I’m certain the flood victims downstream would take exception to my choice of adjectives.

I’ve always loved working in that high rise building in downtown Rock Island. The view from my office is spectacular. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m there for my job. Today had been a pressure cooker but it was nothing like I expected to find when I arrived home to face my wife. I needed to unwind and de-stress before that. When I descended back to ground level, I continued into the city streets instead of following the main highway. There’s something peaceful about driving through the quaint neighborhoods of older Davenport. I suppose it reminds me of a simpler time when I lived happily as a child in one of those homes.

Logan’s Obsession - Part 3

by Dieter

(part 2 is here)

Being scolded by Stephanie was the most embarrassing moment I had ever experienced. She was absolutely correct to suggest that I needed glasses. I had stressed the relationship of a newfound friend simply because I couldn’t see without them. After that exchange, our conversations became cold and cordial. My false sense of pride had obviously pushed her too far. I had inferred that I was not as broken as she was which, of course, simply wasn’t true. 
Stephanie had been mature enough to correct her vision. I wasn’t. Few conditions can be remedied by solutions that are so simple, quick, inexpensive, and yes, even fashionable. I had been irresponsible, childish, and stupid, all caused by my vanity; an immature fear of wearing glasses which was something that I had secretly wished to do for years.

That was my turning point. It marked the end of the person formerly know as Logan. Maybe it doesn’t seem like much, but it was important to me. The moment she finished with me, I passed through a black hole. The Logan that stepped from of the other side had been altered. Thank you, Stephanie. After that weekend, I never saw you again. But you changed my life.

Logan’s Obsession - part 2

by Dieter

(part 1 is here)

Just days prior to the start of the school year, I reported to the gymnasium to be given an annual physical required of all students for competitive sports. Since I was entering my first year in high school, the process was a new experience for me. Participation was intimidating due to the size and maturity of the older boys. They seemed more like adults compared to the boys in middle school. I had no difficulties with any tests or checkups until reaching the final station. I panicked as I realized, of the two lines displayed on the eye chart, I could see neither.

Unable to read the requisite letters, I stammered very quietly, “I can’t”.

Logan’s Obsession

by Dieter

At age eleven, upon witnessing a classmate wearing glasses for the first time, my best friend turned to me and said, "We’re better than he is now." I shook my head in agreement but knew that wasn’t true. The notion that someone is inferior simply because they have less than perfect vision is ludicrous. Mike, our classmate, had not been the first to get glasses nor would he be the last. But he had been thrust into that awkward situation where the teacher directed everyone’s attention towards him because of his new glasses. That must have been extremely embarrassing for him. I had never been particularly concerned about anything related to optical matters until that incident occurred. It triggered something in my psyche and since that day I’ve never been the same. My name is Logan and this is the story of my obsession.

Her Friend

This one is very short, yet nice, just a flash of memory ... thank you, Dieter.

A Vignette by Dieter

Ruth, my girl friend of a short time, turned to say, “We need to stop at the drug store a minute.  There is something I need to give to a friend who works there.”  A mile down the road I drove into the entrance of the quaint mall and found a place to park the car.  Walking hand-in-hand up the sidewalk, with gentlemanly manners I opened the door for Ruth and followed through.  From previous experience she knew where to find her friend.

As we approached, the friend turned in recognition. When I saw her face, my heart skipped a beat.  Sure we had been classmates in high school for several years.  But we belonged to different circles socially at least until that moment.  I had known little about her and had been given few opportunities to discover more.  In fact, that was the first time we had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance.  In reality, I had known her name long before.  And though she had always seemed attractive, there had never been anything especially remarkable about her before.

But now, in her seventeenth year, as she stood smiling, she was wearing glasses made of black plastic.  Her eyes glistened, perfectly framed as though they had been painted on an artist’s canvas.  Although my focus was only on her, I watched as the two young women conversed.  Not a word of theirs penetrated my thoughts.

As she spoke, nodded, and listened, I studied the movements of her face.  Her skin was radiant.  Her wavy black hair shined with depth.  Her dark eyes were animated and inviting.  Her nose was perfectly suited for the assignment of supporting the dazzling frames.  Ears, hidden by the picturesque hair, satisfied the task of restraining the glasses properly.  Not once did her hands reach to adjust the fit.  Her lips moved gracefully with eloquence.  Would they feel smooth and soft?  I watched in awe wondering how they would taste.

The lenses in the gorgeous frames were stunning.  Relative strength was exposed by the intensity of her enlarged eyes in the rectangular shape.  The squared corners seemed exceptionally intricate.  Somehow, there was warmth in their thickness and a gray hue of color despite their absolute clarity.  I was captivated by the reflections of scenery displayed as the lenses were moved about by her head.  But how had she been able to perform before the glasses were placed there?  How had her eyes been able to endure the strain?  Had she known that, for her, correction was imminent?  How had she felt when she realized the inevitability of that consequence?  Those were the questions that lingered had I been privy to the asking.

And what allowed her to wear glasses so comfortably?  She seemed perfectly at ease.  Had she not feared the premiere of her being seen?  Perhaps she savored that new opportunity?  Her reliance was unquestionable yet she was unfettered.  How was that so?  Ruth would never wear her glasses when it was possible to be seen by others.  Not ever.  But then, neither would I.  Though I wanted badly to be that dependent, I was the one who was an absolute coward to be declared dependent.  But this stylish young woman, that had redirected my attention, carried on as though nothing in her life had changed.  Her confidence was indisputable despite the feasibility that the unavoidable device on her face could make her seem much less desirable to some.  Had she seized upon the comprehension that glasses made her even more desirable to others?  And though they might be bothersome and inconvenient to her lifestyle, I knew she understood more than anyone that glasses were the only reason that her eyes could see well.  Surely, she had to grasp how they made her look?  But was she aware of how they made me feel?

In the end, my only contribution to the conversation had been, “It is nice to finally meet you.”  It must have been articulated with too much enthusiasm based on the quiet ride that followed.  Maybe what was most damning was the fact that my eyes never left hers once the connection was established.  When we left, I struggled to avoid looking over my shoulder.  I missed the sight of her face instantly.  It was no surprise that Ruth and I never dated again.

Darcy’s Decision

by Dieter

The continuation of Darcy’s Dilemma

I work part time in an electronics store. Mostly, I assist customers with questions about games, music devices, videos, and computers. It’s the perfect job for me. I’m saving money to buy a scooter which I think will be really handy especially when I go to college. Fortunately, the business district where the store resides is only a few blocks from my house so it is within walking distance. Occasionally my dad stops in. More often I run into neighbours and friends of the family. Before that day, I would have been concerned about the possibility of someone catching me in glasses, and then discussing that fact with my parents. Not any more. I put them on, locked the front door, and headed down the street. I no longer felt constrained. I was duty-bound to complete the mission.

Darcy’s Dilemma

by Dieter

My first encounter with Parker was unimpressive. It was the second day of the new school year when he walked into the classroom. He seemed no different from any average junior in high school. Sure, I did my usual double-take when I saw that he was wearing glasses. And yes, he was cute enough, but that was the problem. My assumption was that he would not assimilate with the group of friends with which I associated. Over time I would learn that he was shy, self-conscious, and somewhat socially challenged. More importantly, I would find that there was one thing that set him apart from most boys his age. That’s when I would realize that he was everything that I had ever dreamed about having in a boyfriend.

Jessica

by Dieter

I had always been a tomboy, but then what girl doesn’t say that. We all think we’re a lot tougher than we really are. I’m sure I felt that way because all of the kids my age in my neighborhood were boys, at least for a block or two around my house. I never played with girls on a daily basis. I won’t say that I was a member of the "boy’s club" but for the most part my neighbors treated me like one of the guys and protected me like one of their gang. Since we lived a block from a large city park, activities were endless. There was always something to do. I wasn’t especially great at playing ball and stick sports but I was athletic. I could run, bike, swim, skate, and climb as vigorously as anyone. But at age thirteen when the boys grew taller and got stronger, I developed breasts and hips.

My Left Eye

A true story

by Dieter

My first clue was the fact that regardless of what eyewear I used, I was seeing halos around lights at night.  Since I was often doing monovision in contact lenses, it was particularly annoying.  The reason for that was simple.  My dominant eye, the one corrected for distance, could read signs and generally see well in daylight.  But at night, my vision was obscured by a haze especially from oncoming headlights when driving.  My other eye saw a blurred image anyway because it was corrected by less than one-half of the full prescription in order to see moderate distances for reading and computer use.  At my next eye exam, I found out why.  But first my optometrist gave me the ‘bad’ news.