The girl at the glasses store stared hard into my face, or at least this is what I imagined. The truth was that I couldn't see a thing, but had been shopping for glasses for so many years that I could easily walk around behaving like I thought a seeing version of me might.
Her eyes were dark brown and her patterned scarf hung, bunched in exactly the right places. This I knew from memory. As I saw the light of her face turn, the shadow of eyes becoming a thoughtful dark squinch, she touched my arm, "I prefer the other."
I put on the other frames, pretending to hold her gaze, something I've been told makes me look cross-eyed. "These?" I asked, watching the gesture, a ghost of a smile, cross her lips.
I slipped my real glasses back on and found her beauty, in the sharp clarity of my rain speckled lenses, too much to look at directly. "I'll buy these," I said, folding the frames, averting my eyes, wondering how it might be if I only saw poorly all the time.
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