My fingers trail down Kenny’s forehead and alight on two warm, delicate balls. Our eyes.

The air is cool here – cooler than the others – and the pressing whine of machinery a bit louder. But the smell is the same throbbing smell that I have come to know. The smell of sterilized fear – and inevitable, stinging disappointment. It’s the smell that throws me back nearly thirty-five years, to the first time I was slapped with the cold, hard word incurable.

The warm air was heavy with the chaotic textures of the hospital in the city. My little fingers formed a sweaty fist inside the embrace of my mother’s hand. The doctor inspected my eyes, lifting the lids… poking, prodding. She kept asking me, can you see this? I was unsure in my answers – what did it mean to see? If I was seeing, would I even know? I waited, my lungs tight, as she scrutinized me. Then, the verdict. I don’t remember the first doctor’s voice, only her words, ricocheting hollowly off the inside of my head. Your eyes are incurable, Rina... incurable.

The first two visits were the most painful; after that, I had Kenny. From the first time I felt those warm, soft eyeballs, I knew that I had something with him that no healthy person could ever have. With Kenny, it suddenly didn’t matter that I didn’t have eyes of my own; I had his. Ours.

After I had Kenny, I still traveled for hours at a time when I got in touch with a new ophthalmologist who ensured me that they would give me sight. And the blow after the appointment, when the flustered and deflated doctor told me that they couldn’t classify my problem – much less cure it – still hurt… but the feeling of those warm, downy eyeballs eased the pain.

I sigh, bringing myself back to the present. My tongue feels fat and fuzzy, like my suede shoes – my mouth has been hanging open. My mother always used to tell me that I did that when my mind was wandering, and that it was an impolite habit. I can feel that nobody’s in the room, but I close my mouth anyway. I sigh again. My mind shouldn’t be wandering. Not now.

Two days ago, Doctor Gregory Falmer, a nervous man with small, tense hands and a voice that felt like steel wool, told me something I’ve never been told before: that he recognized my problem and could cure it. He said it was a rare disease, and that the procedure was as yet unrefined and would be prolonged and painful… but it existed.

We scheduled an appointment for today.

When I got here, earlier this morning, I was sent to a pre-operational room where they inspected my eyes, cleaned them, and gave me anesthesia. Then I was taken here, told that it would only be a few moments before Dr. Falmer would arrive.

The anesthesia has only recently kicked in – or I think that’s what I’m feeling; it may just be tingling anxiety that makes my face feel leathery and numb.

Will I finally understand the meaning of those foreign words, light, color… vision? My mother has told me that Kenny’s – our – eyes are a shining blue-gray. Will I finally know what that means?

The creak of a door. Hard shoes shuffle energetically over linoleum. The creak and slam of a door. I can feel the presence of another person in the room.

“Rina Morris, yes?” Words like steel wool.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Ah-ha… now, I believe I explained yesterday that you will not be awake for the operation?” I can hear him unscrewing bottles, snapping rubber gloves.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Well, before I put you under, I just want to tell you that your dog will be kept in a kennel during the surgery – we have a kennel here for seeing-eye dogs. Now, if you could remove his harness…?”

I reach down, unclasp his stiff harness. As soon as the leather straps are off his belly, his stoic position snaps and I can feel his strong switch of a tail banging joyously against my shin. “I’ve got a leash too,” I say, “Should I put it on him?”

“Ah… yes, please.” He sounds as though he’s turned away from me, and his steel wool voice is distracted. “I’ll call someone now to take him away…”

I fish around inside my canvas purse and find the long, nylon leash I always keep there; I buckle it onto his collar.

The door creaks again.

“Ah, Ruth,” the steel wool voice says, “bring this dog to the kennel.”

Heels click towards me.

My fingers linger a moment on Kenny’s warm – shining blue-gray – eyes before going down his face and receiving a quick kiss. I hold out the leash in the direction of the clicking heels. The tail freezes, the energetic panting slows.

“Go on, Kenny,” I say, patting his back gently, “it’s alright.”

“Guide dogs are so loyal.” Ruth’s voice is fluffy and light, like whipped cream.

Kenny’s nails scratch at the linoleum.

“C’mon,” Ruth says.

“Go with Ruth.” I make my voice hard and cold. “Go.”

He whimpers softly, unwilling to leave me when he can tell I’m anxious, but eager to obey me. I can feel his eyes growing farther and farther away… will we ever be so close again? Will those warm balls ever again be ours?

“I’m going to hold this up against your face.” Steel wool cuts into my thoughts. “Just keep breathing and I’ll count down from ten. You’ll be under before I get to zero.”

I lie down. The chair is hard, uncomfortable. He pushes something up against my face.

Ten.

My feet feel numbly cold as intense heat from a light floods my face. My neck. My hair. My eyes…

Nine.

…My “incurable” eyes.

Eight.

Will I really understand light, color… vision?

Seven.

What about star, or shadow?

Six.

Or: shining blue-gray….

* * *

“Where am I?” Why didn’t he get to five? “What went wrong?”

“It’s alright.” Whipped cream? “You’re just waking up from the anesthesia.”

“What went wrong?” How did I get into this bed? Wasn’t I in an operating chair, less than a second ago?

“Nothing went wrong. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

“Did he do it?” How could I have missed it?

“The surgery? Of course.”

“Am I…”

“You’re fine – just disoriented from the anesthesia.”

* * *

I’m lying on my back, chained to the top of a mountain. I have worked hard to climb to this height, but I feel as though part of me has been left behind. I almost want to roll down again, but … the chains. They are loose, but strong – not tight enough to be called a confinement, but a definite warning. The thin mountain air is cold against my dry, irritated face. Steel wool is dabbing at my eyes. Distantly, I can feel two warm eyes looking for me at the bottom of the mountain….

* * *

Cold air. Metallic. Synthetic. Clean. Beeps and buzzing. Urgent. A faint, longing bark… so familiar.

* * *

Excitement. Something is waiting behind me. A new world, on the other side of the mountain. Chains fall away. The new world smells fresh, tender, full of an alien intrigue… one chain remains in my hand. Somewhere at the other, far-off end are two warm eyes. At the bottom of the mountain, on the other side from the new world. The chain is a slippery switch tail, sliding out of my grip. I fall towards the waiting world.

* * *

Busy smells – official, sterile. Cool air. Thin, artificial sheets. Where am I? It smells like – yes, that’s it. A hospital. The surgery, the dreams, Kenny… could it all really have happened so quickly?

“Awake, Rina?” The same whipped cream voice that took Kenny.

The skin around my eyes feels crusty. “How long has it been?” I whisper.

“It’s about midnight. You’re recovering quite fast, actually – you’ve been in post-op. for just over eighteen hours.” Eighteen hours? “You woke up about half an hour ago, and talked to me – but you were pretty confused. You’ve been going in and out of sleep since then.”

“I was talking to you?”

“Yes… don’t worry, though, people don’t usually remember what they say right after waking up. But how do your eyes feel? Any sting or anything?”

“No, Ma’am,” just the crustiness. I reach up and feel tenderly – my fingers are shocked to feel gauze and tape.

“The bandages are just there to hold the medicine on and protect your eyes from light – they’re very sensitive.”

“When do they come off?”

“You should only take them off once in a while until your next surgery and never keep them off for too long so that your eyes can get used to seeing light. You’re only going to see light at first, of course—”

Dr. Falmer told me that two days ago. He also said that I would be staying here at the hospital for a month, until my next surgery, and that I shouldn’t expect to ever have perfect vision—

“—but you can take them off right now.”

My thoughts skitter to a stop. “Now?”

“Yep.” Her whipped cream voice sweetens as she says the word.

“Can you take them off of me, please?”

“Of course.” The whipped cream is melting, drippy.

Heels click towards my head. I sit up, and make my gaping mouth fold into a smile as I feel the tape pulling away from my skin.

At first, there’s nothing. Now – small dots of burning pain. So many small dots, in neat rows above me and scattered around me. They swell, biting at my eyes. I squeeze my eyelids shut. The world becomes familiar again, but I can still feel those stinging dots.

* * * * *

Two surgeries down, one more month before the final one.

My vision has been improving on an almost daily basis. Those dots have turned from bites to kisses upon my eyes. From burning stings to cool pinpricks, like summer rain. It has been like blowing the sand off of buried treasure; each day I uncover more, crisper dots.

When I take off these fresh bandages, I will be able to see more than just light…

The door squeaks. Heels approaching, claws scraping eagerly over linoleum. I sit up. Delicately tear the gauze away.

Head aching confusion. The dots are still there, but there is more – little rips and splashes around me.

The heels and claws are next to me – I turn around. I close my eyes and laugh as I feel Kenny’s familiar weight knock me down onto my pillow. He kisses the tears away, before settling in his usual spot beside me, his chin on my stomach. I open my eyes.

The most beautiful thing in the world is here next to me. He is the color of the smell of wood smoke – warm, cozy, yet closely related to fire. His lean body shines with light from the ceiling. His face is content and intelligent.

He opens his eyes.

Shining blue-gray doesn’t even begin to describe the beauty I see on those faint smudges. I am sure that I will never see anything more intelligent and caring, more understanding, than our eyes. That understanding banishes the fear that has been plaguing my dreams. It assures me that those warm, shining blue-gray eyes are, and will always be, ours.

______________________________________________________

This was written originally for a title prompt -- meaning that I had to write a story with a certain title. That title was "Many Small Dots." I think that title works, but I don't really like it or think it captures the story very well, so I've changed it. I'm still not sure I'm crazy about the title I chose, though -- thoughts?

Also, I apologize for the length... I didn't have the heart to break it up into two posts. ^_^