Broken

 Sometimes seeing clearly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Ok. Coffee, lunch, phone. Glasses. Where’s my glasses?”

Jeff always verbalized his morning checklist. He lived alone, and the sound of his own voice gave him comfort. As if the universe was helping him get out the door, like his mom used to when he was eight and started walking to school on his own. Jeff searched the countertop. A useless effort because his tortoise shell rims were the same color as the butcher block. He patted around, patted his pockets. Spun around and felt them fling off his head, heard them hit the wall, clatter to the floor. Shit.

Jeff clomped in his Sketchers—black with rubber soles, nice and comfy for a day on your feet.  He always chuckled at the smeared sketch his footprint left in the dirt.  Why did the –er never show up?— clumped around the table, toward the wall. Crunch.  He felt the obliteration of his glasses through the rubber sole, up his leg, his spine.  He slowly removed his foot, though time for caution had obviously passed. 

      The frame hung in two pieces, splintered lenses held together by some magic web woven through the plastic.  Sweat beaded at Jeff’s brow. This was his backup pair. Why was he so goddamn lazy? New frames had been on his to-do list for a month. No going right to the eye doc.  He couldn’t miss another day or he’d be done.  Without a paycheck, Lorna would definitely kick him to the curb, though she was the reason he missed so much work.  That girl loved her fun.  The thought flitted through his head that if he got fired and she left him, he’d get some rest.

Nope. Sleep when dead, as they say.  Besides, Jeff wasn’t totally blind.  He scooped up his keys.  “I can do this,” he said to the universe.
            Jeff got into his faded blue Corolla and immediately broiled in the auto-oven. He squinted, but the reclining man AC icons looked like white blobs. 

“Screw it.” His fingers deftly found the window buttons then eased out onto the road.

“Slow and steady. Don’t get cocky, kid.  Arrive alive.”  Jeff scrolled through the radio, the station letters unreadable, and landed on some Latino music. Something not in his preset. The beat was mellow and fluid and perfect for the slow ride to Publix. 

10 o’clock on the dot! Good job Jeff, that’s a first.  He saddled up to register 8. His favorite.  No pressure of the express, not too close to the door or the desk— perfect.  Then reality kicked in.  How the hell am I gonna see the UP codes?  All that produce, the coupons?  How am I gonna fuckin’ do this?

“Hey.  You open or what?” The hard edge of the woman’s face, softened by distorted vision, curbed the attitude he would’ve given her. 

Jeff faced the inevitable and began to ring.  Bink, bink, bink.  Each product perfectly placed across the scanner.  And the veggies?  Jeff knew each one, knew each code, his fingers flying over the keypad, a command he never knew he had. 

“Hey sexy.”

Sweet, sweet Shirley.

“You look different.  Younger.  Whatcha do?

“Oh, ummm, nothing. Same me.”  Jeff felt his face warm, his lil’ friend wiggle from her attention.  He scanned her coupon, no problems.  Oh, I’ll scan your coupon.

The day flew by.  He was rockin’ the belt, movin’ people through.  This could get him a raise, if he were closer to the desk. 

And people were friendlier, or at least he couldn’t see their constant judging: Poor man, a grocery clerk.  But today? He could feel how impressed they were with his register prowess.

5:00. Lorna time. Jeff slowly grooved home for a quick shower.  He hummed, unburdened by the scum in the tub he could no longer see. Place looks pretty good, he thought.  Maybe I’ll bring Lorna here for once.

Jeff strolled the three blocks to the Conch Republic with a bounce in his step.  He spotted Lorna from across the parking lot. Didn’t need glasses to know her curves, her long, luscious hair.  Jeff came up from behind, turned her around and kissed her hard and deep. Today, he was a man. Confident, capable.

So close to her face, Jeff saw it wasn’t Lorna.  But he didn’t see the meaty punch coming from her boyfriend.  Jeff stumbled to the bathroom, to the grimy mirror. Doesn’t look too bad.  I sure can take a punch! Real men don’t wear glasses.