At the eye doctor yesterday she levered open my pupils a teensy bit more and peered inside my eyes. I couldn't remember what exactly I was keeping back there. Had I cleaned up the boxes of last summer and glances from across rooms A - L, the leftover petals from a bundle of nasturtiums and the exact way the clouds look at 3:00 on Sunday afternoons? Was the cadillac polished, and all the little elves that run me wearing new uniforms and running on working treadmills? I could picture what it looked like in there, the doctor's light sweeping across the dim open rooms scattered with lumps that could be stacks of books but then again could be monsters or tiger traps or maps for buried treasure.
If she noticed she didn't say anything, merely giving me a piece of paper to trade for new spectacles downstairs and mildly chastising me for wearing my contacts too much and not letting enough air in for the elves. I left and bought myself some flowers, a perfect blue spike of delphinium and the deepest pink carnations, figuring that I might as well take advantage of the momentary extra space in my eyes. Walking, the glare was too much for my vulnerable pupils, so I stuck to the shady side of the street. I like it best there, anyway.