Green Eyes

As I sat on the crinkled paper covering the examining table, listening to the stunning young woman (doctor’s assistant) expound on the possible causes for my persistent sore throat…

Question: Have you had any unusual stress in your life recently?

Answer: Yes, you could say that. I lost my wife very recently.

As I sat there, a swell of emotion filled the whole of me. Not the grieving for my wife, which has been constant and heavy, as if someone has thrown a lead x-ray blanket overtop me that I cannot shake free. And this did not feel base and hydraulic as a sexual response might. Something else, here.

The young woman certainly struck me as beautiful, with her long, color-streaked hair pulled back and orderly, smooth and consistent as the shell of an egg. Her skin lacked a single blemish, and, as she spoke, often using medical terms that sounded like entire sentences themselves, her lips became almost liquefied. I quickly began to lose track of the words.

I honestly had to fight back the urge to reach out and take her wrist. I wanted to say to her: “Please, stop talking so that I can simply sit here and look at your face for just a little bit. I just need to figure you out.”

Mostly, I wanted to look into her eyes, which were deep and green—green as the first blade of grass to volunteer from the over-wintering earth. I almost felt is if I were falling into her eyes. Those eyes, not sharp, but soft as new moss, and without a hint of sadness underlying them.

--Mitchell Hegman