The Scratched Cornea

 
I scratched my cornea dancing one night when my flailing arms ended up poking me in the eye. It was painful and sent me home immediately. It was the night before my brother's confirmation.

I awoke the next morning barely able to keep my eye open, tears dripping rhythmically down my cheek. It was going to be a long day. I thought about not going, but wanted to be there for my brother. I got dressed, and my parents picked my up.

"What happened," asked my mom.

I told her.

Suddenly, my accident was purposeful and meant to ruin the day. I argued back.

"Uh...no it'd not. It was a total accident!"

"You're going out wasn't an accident."

I didn't disagree.

We arrived at the Cathedral in St. Paul. Everyone piled in to the church. My family took a seat near the front. I didn't want to be that close. Still my eye kept dripping and madly blinking.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"That looks like it hurts."

"I'm fine...It was an accident...Yes, it hurts, but I'll be fine."

Mass started. The stand, sit, kneel, stand again commenced. I sat the entire time. My parents grew more agitated with my actions. They were deliberate.

Then came Communion. The entire row rose and proceeded to empty into the aisle. I still sat there. A tap and nudge ont he shoulder from my mom or dad, I can't recall, urged me to stand. A shake of my head responded.

"Come on. It's Communion."

"I'm not going. I'm not Catholic anymore."

"Don't ruin this for your brother."

"It would be disrespectful for me to take Communion."

They looked at me disdainfully and got in line. I was the only person still sitting in the first seven rows.

Gossip ensued.

I scratched my cornea again in a similar fashion many years later. The next day, however, all I did was stay home. I probably should have done that the first time.

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