Glasses

I got these glasses six or seven years ago when I could no longer see or read things that were close to my face very well. Actually, I had been doing the “pull it away and squint” maneuver or taking iPhone photos of smaller print and making it larger for years, so they were probably overdue.

But I hated them just slightly less than not being able to see. I didn’t give too much of a shit about how they might affect my appearance. That ship had long sailed. Although an upside would be that I felt they made me look slightly, dare I say, dignified. A word that, up until then, had insisted on never finding itself in the same room with me.

I also didn’t care for how quickly they got dirty or the time it took to clean them properly. Which was quite a bit. Had my eyes always been in such peril? Where else on my face or body might I need protection from being constantly assailed by mystery droplets and micro detritus?

Not to mention the fact that once I took them off for the day, I couldn’t see a damn thing. Even worse than before. It hadn’t dawned on me prior, but it quickly became evident once I procured them that becoming a glasses wearer was akin to joining any other gang. Once you’re in, there’s no getting out.

It didn’t take long for me to ding them up, either. I sat on them once early on, which warped the frames, and they never sat quite the same way. And the lenses got scratched almost immediately, and of course, they only got worse with time. It’s amazing how long we can let something worsen or decline before we recognize that it needs to be let go, fixed, or replaced.

The final straw came two weeks ago when the frames broke during one of my overdue but exuberant cleanings. I was able to put a small strip of duct tape across the break underneath one of the lenses. But it required a fresh fix after each cleaning. Which was more time and energy than I cared to expend, and besides, I was probably in need of an eye exam and a new set anyway. So I scheduled an appointment.

About a week after the exam, I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of my new glasses and wondering what to do with the old ones. And some unexpected thoughts and feelings began to emerge as a result. At first, I thought the trash can or maybe a donation program would be where their story ended, but those initial instincts were tabled rather quickly.

Because I got these glasses with Kara. We got our eyes checked together. She picked out the frames because apparently, I didn’t know what looked good on my own face. After the fire, I spent days going through hell trying to save as much as I could once I deemed the scene semi-safe. So for the last few years, getting rid of things hasn’t been a logistical or emotional option in my world.

On the contrary, I have had to reacquire most things that are necessary for daily life. Accordingly, I haven’t exactly been keen on throwing stuff out. And even though I’m something of a minimalist, the thought of tossing anything that predates the loss, even if it’s no longer needed or functional, made me sad. These glasses are one of the few things I still have from that time and place. And this is the first time that I’ve had to contend with letting something go that I still have from that chapter. A chapter that I guard and preserve fiercely.

Part of me thinks it’s a little silly to hold onto some old, broken glasses. I have more valuable keepsakes, after all. Most notably, some things that were meaningful to her, or the actual notes she wrote me. But even though it was through these lenses that I witnessed the worst things I’ll ever see, they’re also technically the last things through which I saw her smile and say, “I love you.” So I think I’ll hang onto them for a while. Besides, I only picked the new ones I’m getting because they fit better than the others. What if it turns out they don’t look good on my face?