In high school, my optometrist was Dr. Allen. He had a deep voice and always complimented my choice of frames. He learned French before he joined the Peace Corps, but where they sent him, nobody knew French. Obviously a total dreamboat. At my last visit with him, he said, “Did you know you have stars in your eyes?”
More specifically, I have star-burst shaped pigment in my left eye. He let my mother peek in and see them. I’m told they are very pretty.
Later, after I was married, I saw a blonde optometrist at Sears. She asked me if anyone had ever mentioned something strange about my left eye. And I said yes, there are stars in there.
Then she asked, have you been hit in the face?
And I was like, um, you mean today?
Not exactly – have you ever been hit in the face? Hard?
Of course I have. Lots of times.
She was taken aback by my response, the nonchalance I didn’t even realize was in me. It occurred to me that she had maybe never been hit in the face by anyone and what a wimp she probably was.
The stars, it turns out, were the result of a blow to the face that caused cute little star-scars. Which nobody but Dr. Allen and me ever seemed to appreciate, anyway.
