“The news told me,” she said, like we were close, “the news said nearsightedness isn’t just genetics, isn’t just luck of the draw.” I’d never been a gambler. My interests were absorbed in my spoon’s inverted picture.
“What I mean, is clarity is in the hands of the person.” Or in the eyes. “You look at things too close when you’re young, and you lose focus forever.”
Her arms crossed over her uniform, a seafoam apron. She looked through her bifocals at her thoughts. Four kids in seven years. Her body was tense and doughy from the push and pull of life.
“Now imagine that,” her roadrash voice rumbled. “If I had just looked at the horizon more I wouldn’t need these **** lenses. My whole life could’ve been different.”
I pushed my empty coffee cup in her direction so she had a better reach, and gave her a half smile. “Yes. Imagine that,” I said.
