As a kid, I used to lose my glasses all the time

I have really shitty eyesight. I know a lot of people say that, but I don’t know anyone whose better eye is minus eleven. My worse one is minus fourteen, for that matter, but it’s not like you can feel a difference at this point. At anything below minus ten the world becomes a palette of colors with shapes distinguishable only by intuition.

I don’t know how I ended up with royally fucked up genetics; both of my parents only need reading glasses, and even that started only recently. My dad probably still wouldn’t have found out if not for mandatory testing at his job. He is a sea captain.

It doesn’t come as a suprise that when I was a kid, I wanted to be like him. I found out that this wouldn’t be possible very early on, so besides occasionally letting myself fantasize, I focused on my second biggest dream, which was water. I was a son of a sea captain and if I couldn’t conquer the ocean, I wanted to be swallowed by it. We are born wet: it’s only natural that we crave it throughout life, being overjoyed at poor substitutes like warm baths and swimming pools. It’s never been enough for me.

We lived by the sea, which gave me plenty opportunities to try my chances at drowning. My parents weren’t really happy with it. Not because they were concerned for me; they were, of course, but I was a great swimmer. We were tight on money, though, and letting me swim in the sea meant having to buy a new pair of glasses every month at best.

I lost them so often that most of my vague apologies blur together, along with fuzzy shape of my mother’s disappointed face. I remember one time in particular, though, when I managed to not only lose my glasses, but also nearly drown.

I was seven at the time, and I was teasing the sea to come and get me with its enormous, greedy waves. I remember looking at my mom sunbathing at the shore one last time before the ocean grabbed me and refused to let me out. Before I even realized what was happening, the water ripped my mouth open and stormed in, making me swallow it. I was trapped, and even though I saw the light somewhere above me, it was far out of my reach, constantly getting covered by new surges of water. If I had been able to think clearly, I would’ve prayed, but there was no time for that.

Soon enough I saw my very first eclipse of the sun, as the light disappeared behind the shadow over me. The shadow then pulled me out of the water and held me close to its chest in a very tight grip. I heard my mom’s voice repeating “Oh my God” and “You’re save” over and over again straight to my ear, and as I wrapped my arms around her neck, I started to realize I had been very scared the whole time, so scared I let her carry me to the shore. I didn’t cry, because the sea had already cried for me and left me all drenched in its tears. My mom got rid of them with a towel rough with sand.

Even though I couldn’t even see her face, I still remember how scared she was. I think that was the only time when she didn’t scold me for losing glasses in the sea. Her voice was filled with worry, to the point that besides feeling scared, I felt embarrassed by making her feel this way. She kept saying she’d thought she lost me and that she loved me, and to be completely honest, I’ve never felt as loved as back in that moment, before or after.

I stumbled all the time on our way home. I really missed my dad, but he was somewhere at the ocean, so spending time with him wasn’t an option. I couldn’t do much without the glasses, so after my mom made dinner, I listened to her reading me a book. I don’t remember what book she read me, but I really wish I did: nothing calmed me down as fast and made me asleep as easily as that book. I struggle a lot with insomnia and I could really use some help.

I felt asleep early that evening. The last thing I remember is her giving me a goodnight kiss as steady, secure darkness embraces me, my eyesight and my dreams.

My next memory is being woken up by front door being unlocked. It was the middle of the night and I was a little afraid of the dark, but I got up and went to check what was happening in the hall. A person was standing there.

When she saw me, she screamed. That scream would’ve scared you back to your room forever, but it only made me slightly confused. I would recognize my mom’s voice everywhere. I just didn’t understand why she kept asking me how I got home.

I probably remember this so well because of how many times it’s been recalled by me or one of my parents. It became a story to tell at parties or on dates, something in which people don’t actually believe, but pretend to do so because it’s still interesting. My parents are probably the only people who ever treated it seriously, mostly because for that whole day my mom was convinced I drowned in the sea or got kidnapped. She got home after she gave her statement to the police.

I still sometimes wonder who rescued me and brought me home that day. I remember her face as an oval shape with three holes, just like I remember every face from the days without glasses. It could’ve been anything.