Close Your Eyes - Jeff Thomas

Cackles, screams of laughter fill the room. At regular intervals, gin-soaked witty barbs are lobbed from corner to corner. I sit in my chair, waiting for help from a friend. Tonight she is Tami de Truth, and she obliges. “Okay, close your eyes and take a deep cleansing breath. Now don’t move!”

I feel the presence of a face close to mine. The air is suddenly saturated with panting, slightly sour breath and the smell of booze. The familiar fishy scent of eyelash glue mixes with this raw bouquet. I feel patient, grateful, but repulsed.

After a short suck of fresh air through tight lips, I pray not to have to take another breath until this is over. The cold glue touches my eyelid and I involuntarily wince ever so slightly. “Don’t move!” Startled, I take a breath just as the blast from this command hits my face. “Sorry!” I squeak, like a full balloon leaking air.

I feel the weight of a finger pressing into my eyelid. My internal mantra is “please let this work the first time, please let this work the first time” and so on. Finally, the pressure lifts. “Okay, count to fifteen and open your eyes. Slowly!”

Like a blind man peering into the night, I strain, waiting expectantly, counting. My mind wanders at ten and so I just sit there for a few more moments. Slowly I open my eyes. I see blurry, sparkly figures moving about. As the activity comes into focus, I turn to admire myself in the mirror. What I see causes me to slump, like my marionette strings have just been cut.

“God damn it, Tami! They’re fucking crooked!”