Member-only story
Unnerved
Putting a name to a part of me
Tuesday April 25th, 2006. 2 AM — Home, Plainfield IL.
I’m a newly minted 29-year-old dad, rocking my one-month-old son Brady back to sleep after feeding him a bottle.
It’s dim. Pitch black defeated only by the classic Winnie the Pooh nightlight stuck into an outlet on my right. Matching Pooh Bear table lamp dimmed to that barely-there dreamsicle orange that today’s LED’s still can’t quite nail. Brady has slipped into a food coma and all is right in the world.
Until it isn’t.
I catch a glimpse, to the left, of what looks to be an electrical spark under the window. Competing parental instincts find me torn between jumping abruptly out of the glider and keeping absolutely still so as not to wake the baby. I compromise, simply staring at the suspicious outlet for a few seconds. Nothing to see h… Wait: Now there’s a purple spark further left in the crib. That doesn’t make any sense. I’m just tired; Seeing things. I decide to catch a few winks in the chair.
As I close my eyes, I’m startled to see that things get brighter. A purple, pink, and aqua spectacle parades across my field of view. The sparks from moments ago now full-on fireworks. Whatever it is, it’s not in the room. It’s in me.
I’m unnerved, but too tired to be properly spooked. I lay Brady back into his crib, amble back to bed, and drift off.
The next morning, I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling. “What are you doing?” Barb asks, coming out of the shower to find me doing an impression of railroad crossing lights with my eyelids.
Right eye. Left eye. Right eye.
“I started seeing… stars… last night. They’re still there. I’ve narrowed it down to my left eye.”
“You should see a doctor.”
“I’ll be ok hon.”
A day later, I’m still seeing stars. And now feeling them. A dull ache in my left eye. It’s getting hard to read.
“I think I should see a doctor.”
Barb rolls her two working eyes.
