The Boy Who Closed his Eyes in June

The Boy Who Closed his Eyes in June

It was the end of June when Jim closed his eyes with a long sigh and rested his arms, palms to the ceiling, on the living room sofa. His mother specifically remembers the very instant it happened. She was making soup and the world stopped for an instant, the simmer became static, the air denser and colder. A drift, one might think. But no, it wasn't just that. Deep in her loins, she could sense the danger. A dagger carving through her flesh, cutting umbilical cords, burning connections.

She ran to the living room. It was the only reaction she could think of after the spasm in the natural order of things had ended. The T.V. was still on, the fringe of the Persian rug was neatly pointing to the north, grandma still smiling in her black and white picture.

"Yes, mother. I am here. Don't you worry about a thing." Jim said in a very calm, almost neutral voice. "Just don’t ask me to open my eyes", he went on to say before she could notice the eyelids sealed on the boy's face.

"What's the matter, love?" she muttered, hoping for a practical joke.

"Best not answer this particular question. Let's not make a fuss over such trivial matters. I suggest you call school and ask for a one week leave for medical reasons. Till I get a hang of things."

"Jim, stop kidding! You're kidding, right?"

No. He wasn't. And to aggravate matters more, he chose to stop talking as well. Mother sat on the sofa next to him, caressed his face and offered ice cream before dinner to no avail. Useless were the tears, the pleading, her fingers trying to push the eyelids open. The boy just sat there, with a peaceful, yet firm expression on his face, which seemed to keep all drama at bay.

When father came home, he found mother kneeling on the Persian rug in front of son, her palms covering prolongued sobs. Grandma was still smiling on the wall. The man, sweaty as he was after spending the whole day in the heat of the oil plant, didn't know what to make of this and felt rather annoyed that the return home seemed to add to the overall discomfort of that day.

"Listen now… enough with this foolishness! I am tired and hungry! Come on Jim, what is enough is enough!"

Jim had no such plans and calmly explained to his farther that they just needed to get used to him like this, eyes closed. The sooner they accepted reality, the better it would be for everyone. He didn't budge when he screamed, threatened to give him a good old fashioned whip, shook him by the shoulders. The man simply resumed to kneel, as well, in front of the weird silhouette of the boy, who seemed to breathe regularly, as if he were meditating in the shell of frail bones covered in translucent skin.

They decided to stand up and retire to the kitchen after a while, leaving the boy, unmovable, untouched, palms facing the ceiling. It was impossible not to notice. The air felt heavier. The living room looked as it always did and yet, was different. An unnoticeable veil had descended over their small apartment, located on the 3rd floor, up Chemistry Alley. You could squint your eyes and yet, you couldn't see all the way through. It was like nothing they had ever heard of, not even in old wives tales. So, they sat down, heavily, as if invisible weights were now attached to their limbs. They slurped soup, elbows on the kitchen table. In silence. Hoping the warm liquid would help them deal with the incredible awfulness. The plates were emptied and mother took the ladle and poured in more soup. And then some more. Till there was nothing left but their empty glare. No solution in sight.

"It could be the evil eye", mother said with a hiss. "The old ladies across the street keep staring at our boy! They must be to blame! I'll go get Auntie Priss on the first floor! She must know what to do! Wait by the boy! Go! I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Indeed, she didn't take long. When the 2 women went into the living room the air seemed stiffer than before. Jim was still holding the same position but mother could sense he was further gone, as if part of him had succumbed inwards. Father was watching him, unable to take his eyes off the strange, yet familiar apparition that filled the room with its blind silence. Aunt Priss shivered and made the sign of the cross, avoiding eye contact with the two parents. She sat down on the sofa, next to the boy, took one of his arms and started massaging it, right up the wrist, muttering the old spell she had learned herself while still a lassie. She kept repeating old words, frowning from time to time, as if facing the resistance of unseen forces tangled in the boy's blood. Her wrinkles grew darker, cutting deeper into the skin, till her eyes seemed to sink deeper in their holes.

"Open your eyes, boy!" she commanded with the little energy she had left.

But Jim didn't move, the muscles on his face soft, untouched by the turmoil caused by her sacred words.

"There is no use, woman. Leave."

His words cut through the silence of the room. Nothing more was to be added. Nothing more to be done for the time being.

So they sat down, all 3 of them, on the Persian rug, by his feet, kneeling, as if in a silent prayer, an old painting on the walls of an Orthodox church. The stillness of the room descended upon their shoulders, like a heavy cloak, holding them in place, making indentations into their vocal cords, keeping all screams and sobs in place. After a while, they even fell asleep, their backs against the sofa. They were tired and slumber made its way into their being. Their heads fell in unnatural positions, saliva drooled down their chins. Father snored, regularly, and yet, the women didn't seem to be disturbed. Neither was Jim.

The morning found them like this. Mother woke up first. She raised her hands to her face, as if to check if it was still her, inhabiting that body. Then she looked around and remembered the events of the previous day. She turned to the boy and softly touched his cheek.

"Jim? Are you here?" she whispered.

"Yes mother. Don't you worry," the boy said with a plain, untouched voice.

Mother's eyes filled with tears, once again. She didn't know what to say, what to do, for the very first time in her life. She chose to shake father's shoulder.

"Wake up, Peter! Wake up! You need to go to the doctor's now! Take that hen that aunt gave us. Give it to him. Tell him he needs to come over! Quickly! Do you hear me?"

Father was obviously confused but he just had to lay his eyes upon son and he was fully awake. He stood up, moaning heavily and off he went, leaving the two women at the feet of the unmovable boy. He slammed the door behind before leaving, forgetting to lock it 3 times, as he usually did. The two women, sitting on the living room floor looked at each other. No words were uttered. As if desperation was too overwhelming.

When the doctor stepped into the living room, the air was greyish, filled with unspoken words, unleashed sighs.

"Let's see what we have here. Jim? Are you ok, laddie?"

"I am exactly where I am supposed to be. It would be foolishness to ask of me to be any different."

"You are scarring your parents, boy. Now, be a good boy and open your eyes," the doctor said firmly, yet gently.

He took out a small lantern and examined the boy's face. He frowned for a bit and proceeded to look at his hands and feet, searching for reflexes. Nothing. The boy seemed stiff. Puzzled he took out his magnifying glass, set it in place and took a closer look at his eyes. He took out tweezers as well and tried to gently pull at the boys eyelids.

"You'd better stop that." The boy said, without moving another muscle.

The doctor took a step back.

"Madam, it seems like your boy's eyelids are sealed together."

"But how…. How can that be?" the woman muttered.

"Frankly…. I have never seen anything like it myself. But yet, I might have the solution. If you approve, of course. I could try to gently detach them with a scalpel. I can try here, and if it doesn’t work, we'll go to the hospital, see what it is to be done."

"Mother. No. You don’t know what you are doing." Jim intervened, in the same calm voice.

The woman looked at the boy. Then doctor. Then husband. Her eyes filled with dread and doubt.

"Peter… I just want the boy back as he used to be. I just want things back to normal. What say you?"

"You won’t hurt him?" asked Peter, without fully knowing how to react.

"I'll try to be as gentle as possible. It is just skin, after all."

"Please don't." intervened Jim.

"We need to save you! Don't you understand? This is not normal. You sitting like that, eyes closed on the sofa. You need to go to school! Play! Eat!"

"Mom, I've told you. I am exactly how I was always supposed to be."

The woman covered her face with her right palm. As if the boy's words hit too hard. Her eyes grew wide and empty, staring at the unwanted reality inhabiting her living room, like a savage animal, staring into her eyes, ready to attack. She looked at the doctor and her arms fell numb.

"Do it! Let's be done with it!"

The boy's face didn't budge when the doctor came closer and closer, scalpel in hand. His face didn't flinch when he started carving into his eyelids. No blood was shed during the procedure. No words were spoken, no glances were exchanged. You could almost hear the walls breathe in the rhythm of its occupants. When the cut separated both eyelids, the doctor put the scalpel down, swept his forehead and leaned back, as if wanting to fully assess the damage. Everything seemed to be in order.

"I am going to open your eyes now, Jim."

The doctor pulled out his tweezers again and placed them on his lids, as if performing a sacred ritual. The old lady gasped, watching the two, covering her toothless mouth.

Without warning, Jim opened his eyes, white, motionless, glittering with static energy. They all took a step back, without being able to say a thing. Before anyone could fully grasp what was happening, the eyes began to grow in size, covering now half his face. Behind the thin, human, skin, white energy seemed to build up, translucent, shimmering explosions that cracked open his pupils, gushing out all over the Persian carpet, over mom's hair, neatly pulled back, over the wall standing in front of him, crushing everything in its way, human or concrete, as if the world and the beings that animated it were made of china. The wave flew from the third floor of the small apartment down Chemistry Alley, breaking everything in its way. You could see branches, smiles, doorknobs and cigarette buds floating for a few seconds in the blinding white light, just before being sucked in, as if they have never been there. The light covered neighborhood soon, expanding further and further.

As for Jim, he was still there, motionless, at peace, floating eyes open and palms up, in what used to be his parents' living room. At last everything was Jim and Jim was everything.