Sinister: the doctors told her years ago that she was ill.

[lindsey baker]

hello sinister.

i thought for a moment there about how much those two words have become a 
part of my life. of me.

hello sinister.

and the melodrama begins again.

***

i stared for a long time at the dinosaur wallpaper border, tilting my head 
and shifting my eyes, trying to make the two rows -- one real and one some 
kind of refraction of reflection or distortion or something -- converge back 
together as one lumpy row of pink and green and orange t-rexes and 
brontosauruses.

double vision seems like a good name for a story to me. it has a ring to it. 
all double things do, really. doublemint. double wide. double happiness.

the mirror across from me showed my fifteen-minute morning preparations; my 
dad had said the doctor worked me in for 11:30 at 11:00, and i threw my 
standard bobby pins in. no eye makeup.

i managed to put on my favorite patent leather mary janes on before i left, 
thinking my favorite shoes could combat the doctor and the rain in one big 
swoop, leaving me with some stress to reduce in order to regain solitary 
sight and a day left empty and open for sitting on my bed at home doing 
nothing.

i was wrong, all things considered.

***

they always make you read the letters at eye appointments. and since i still 
go to a pediatric eye doctor, i also got to track a plastic cartoon 
character. the doctor selected one of his rubbery finger puppets from his 
drawer and began moving it back and forth and up and down, watching my eyes 
following.

i don't remember now what the puppet was.

he got out a box of clear plastic squares and held them up to my eyes, 
asking me to look for a letter 'h' projected on a screen across the dim 
room. and he called out numbers to a nurse writing things down on a 
clipboard.

and then he said we had to call my primary care doctor.

we had to call the hospital.

i had to get an mri.

today.

***

the floors in the children's hospital have this wavy section of color that 
flows into all the rooms. the whole place has fish tiled on the ceilings and 
floors and walls. blue and green and purple, and it's kind of like being 
underwater in a disney movie.

i stared at the fish on the ceiling as the doctors wrapped a big piece of 
medical tape across my forehead so i wouldn't move my head once i was inside 
the big metal tube. my mom had hold of my hand, and the nurses asked me if i 
wanted ear plugs or headphones.

i vouched for ear plugs as soon as i realized i had left my bright eyes cd 
in my sister's car rather than my handbag. if i couldn't have conor at that 
moment, i didn't want anything else.

when i was in eighth grade, i had paul and john singing into my ears for 
some outpatient surgery i had. through my haze, i could hear the doctor 
singing along with across the universe, and i fell asleep somewhere around 
penny lane.

but today. without cds or mixtapes. it didn't matter. as soon as the 
clanking and buzzing and beeping started at two-minute intervals all around 
my head, a song came anyway.

i hyperventilated and cried claustrophobic tears into the cloth covering my 
eyes, in time with a tempo and words:

and everyone she knew thought she was beautiful.

***

i put my bobby pins back in at home later, after i washed the hospital smell 
out of my hair.

i ate for the first time all day at 3:30. cheese and tomatoes.

and at four, the phone rang.

everything was normal.

nobody knows why i see two people, but they assume it will go away.

go to the doctor on monday, miss baker, and maybe we'll figure it out some 
day, they may as well have said.

and so i nodded, and got in a fight with my sister.

apparently the cripple is too tired and too sick to go out with my sister 
tomorrow as planned, so i shall stay in.

thank goodness everyone knows what's best for me, even if they don't know 
what's wrong.

even if i don't know what's wrong, and i do, and i don't, and i do.

***

i had a glass of wine tonight.

it's been that kind of day.

***

jay eckard: i'm hugging you.

can you feel that?


xo
love, lou


------------------
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