The Dreamers and the Panitents

ar, and at least Id be sure. It was past when we reached the next place. Well, that was it! Clean, neat, nice smell, pleasant, no lines. The lady that was taking care of clients took me to an office between floors. Spiffy tiles, paneling, a spacious room and an elderly doctor in a white gown. That was what Id expected. - Take a seat - she pointed to a leather chair. - How old are you? - Thirty six - it was funny, I contemplated her question for a few seconds. - Whats ailing you? - I have difficulty reading. Thats probably the main reason why Im here. Then the procedure looked similarly to the one in the back-end of the previous opticians. The woman adjusted a large, rectangular device to my face. I propped my chin on the support and, as if it were binoculars, I looked at some black mark integrated in the yellow background. It was clear and then it was blurry. Then I read out letters from a board, and then she put some freaky thing on my eyes and changing the lenses, she asked which one was better. At the same time I was holding a cardboard pad with prints of fonts in different sizes and looked at the text, when she indicated. I had the slip with the previous tests results in the inner pocket of my jacket. I decided not to confess to it yet, to be able to compare both diagnoses. The doctor finished running the tests, sat behind her desk and started explaining my ailment. It was what Id suspected. With age, we start suffering from farsightedness. Its supposed to be normal. Some are lucky and it doesnt concern them, others, however, like myself, get that defect and need to learn to live with it. It wasnt supposed to be anything serious, but I needed to take into account that the impairment might have deepened. And such diagnosis didnt sound encouraging. In a word, I needed to take care of my eyes, after all, we only have one pair. Its true, Ill admit it, Im a supporter of conspiracy theories (the ones on the global scale). Ive always thought that the accounts of people who have taken part in some event reach altogether a certain threshold, and then, not knowing why, start diverging. Its odd, but its true. Although maybe it depends on the point of view which we carry around with us, but thats not the point. I knew it was going to be this way, I was sure Id get two diagnoses. I held a conviction they wouldnt be identical. Of course, I didnt spare myself the joy and informed the doctor about my previous exam. I was under the impression she felt a little uneasy and I dare say that was the first time she had been put in that sort of situation. Im ten billion per cent sure she hadnt had a patient like me before. She started explaining herself a bit (to my delight), but clarified that both diagnoses moved around the permissible orbit of tolerance. All in all, it turned out that I was going to wear positive lenses. Plus one on the left eye and plus one on the right eye. I paid thirty zloty (scandalous!) - a more amiable office, professional approach and a lower price! I was a little shocked. The kind of shock that was worth five zloty. I thanked and left. That store was open til 6 pm. I glanced at my watch, it was past Michal loitered between the counter and the lit cabinets. He pretended he was browsing the frames. - So? - he asked. - Its cool, I know what I need now - I replied. A shop-assistant materialized out of nowhere next to us with her lovely smile, the kind that says Ill Do Anything to Pawn Stuff Off. I explained to her what interested me, but I also noted that we could talk about lenses or plastics only after I had found suitable frames. We started picking through innumerable numbers of designs. I knew it would be a problem. I simply knew. I stood in front of a large mirror, where I could see my whole figure and tried on all the frames the assistant handed me in. The golden colored ones I rejected on the spot. - Im looking for something black or chrome - I hinted. After a quarter of an hour, I concluded that chrome or black were actually the colors that couldnt co-habituate with my face. Gold was completely out of the question. A different color entered the game, though, that suited me perfectly. Antique brass. That was something. The color was accepted, only the matter of design remained. Finally, I tried the kind of frames the seller absolutely adored (its good that Im not vulnerable to cheap compliments). Actually, they werent bad, but they still werent the ones I could share each day with. They individualism. Nobody knew, besides me, that I wasnt going to buy any glasses that day. I noticed that Michal was getting a little impatient and bored, and the nice shop-assistant found herself in a spot where the client had the upper hand and the first signals that it was going to be just browsing started reaching her. To clear up the tensing ambiance, I said: - You know what, Im very fussy. I work in the trade myself and I have contact with clients, too. Some can be really I wont den