Seeing is Believing

My name is Bill Williams.  I’m a thirty-two-year-old store manager for a chain of vision stores called See Clear.  

 Henry Aldrich is my boss and best friend. He is an excellent ophthalmologist and part-time inventor. Henry is a tall, slender man with a large nose, thick glasses, and protruding Adam’s apple. We’ve known each other since grade school, and though many of the other kids thought Henry strange, I have always found Henry fascinating.  

I married my high school sweetheart, Ellen, and we have been happily married for twenty years.  Henry, on the other hand, remains single. I think this is good because Henry is absent-minded and can be trying at times. It seems his mind is always going in twenty different directions at once, and he often forgets what he is doing.  Like when he let the hard-boiled eggs boil dry and ruined the pot. But, on the other hand, he’s always tinkering to make glasses better than they are and has patented several good ideas.  We entered this franchise together about ten years ago.

The other day Henry approached me holding an ancient leather-bound book he found in some old backstreet bookstore. It contains many inventions that are supposed to be a benefit to humanity. Today Henry is particularly interested in a process of applying a layered concoction to glass that allows the user to see things that are about to be.

I ask,  “What does it mean," about to be?”

“Don’t know,” Henry absently mumbles while scanning through the text. I wait, unsure if Henry is going to explain or not.

“Well, from what you’ve read, do you have any ideas?”

“Hmm? Oh! My understanding is that when you apply this coating to the glass, it consists of several different compounds you see, some I am not clear on, but I am sure I can find them at the pharmacy.”

“Henry,” I interject, “I’m afraid you’ve gone a bit off track. You were saying what the glasses are supposed to do.”

“Huh? Oh, yes! Correct, correct. From what I’ve gathered from this text, the user can see the future when they look through the lens. I’m unsure how far into the future, perhaps for a few seconds or days.”  I pursue the matter further. “Are you going to attempt to make a pair? Because it sounds like some old alchemist’s pipe dream, like turning lead into gold.”

Henry is very upbeat. “Yes, yes. I’m looking forward to giving it a go! I’m interested in seeing if they might let the user see if the stock market is going up or down or perhaps the results of the next’s days horserace. Things like that.” I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “I’m afraid, my dear friend, the law would find them illegal and ban them from ever being made.”  Henry is a million miles away as he continues to study the book while muttering, “I don’t know, do you think so? Oh! See here!  Fascinating!" He slowly drifts away, lost in thought.

 The store sits in the center of a mall. In a rush, Henry runs and weaves through the people to get there.  He enters, panting breathlessly, and approaches me waving a glasses case.

“Eureka!” he shouts. “I had a difficult time getting the coating to stick….” I hold up my hand and turn to the customer I’m helping. “One moment, please. Thank you. Henry? Excuse me, Henry. HENRY!" Henry stops talking, blinking rapidly. “ I’m with a customer right now. Perhaps we can discuss this at lunch?”

At last, Henry notices the man standing next to me and repeats, “Lunch?” Firmly I repeat, “Yes, Henry, lunch.”   Muttering to himself, Henry shuffles away. I turn to Mr.Roberts and apologize.  The elderly Mr. Roberts waves his hand as he tut-tuts. “ I’ve known poor old Henry for years. I’m used to his unique kind of madness. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great eye doctor but entirely off his nut.” Chuckling, I nod in agreement.

Later, I tell Lorraine I’ll take my lunch with Henry. Lorraine is our receptionist, a sweet grandmother of three. Her desk is cluttered with photos of her grandchildren in various events.

The breakroom is small, consisting of a folding table and two metal chairs. It’s a light blue for relaxation with a long narrow window that looks out into the parking lot. On the counter sits a dorm-size refrigerator, containers of packet sugar, stirrers, and a jar of powdered creamer. I remove a K-cup from the holder and place it in the coffeemaker. I look at Henry, who’s been sitting there all along working on an algebra problem, totally unaware of me. I don’t want to disturb him, so I take my lunch bag from the fridge. 

In the past, my wife Ellen used to make my lunches with thoughtfulness and love.  A ham sandwich, cut diagonally on seeded rye bread with lettuce, cheese, and a little mayo. There would also be some homemade cookies or a piece of fresh fruit. But nowadays, it’s a slice of baloney between two slabs of white bread and that’s it. I am not one for confrontation, so even though I sense something is troubling her, I can’t get up the nerve to ask. 

Taking my sandwich and coffee to the table, I sit across from Henry. After watching Henry work on his problem for a while, I take a bite of my pasty sandwich, “So, Henry, what were you so excited about earlier?”

Henry’s eyes are wide as he jumps a little in his chair. Then, pushing his glasses back up his nose, he stammers, “Wh-When did you get here?”

“About five minutes ago. You seemed engrossed in your work, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Eagerly tapping the worksheet with his pencil, Henry expounds, “I’m attempting to find the exact curvature of a lens that will make it lighter and retain the prescription.”

I nod at Henry. “I see, but I’m here because you wanted to tell me something important.” I see Henry is confused, so I give him a hint. “Perhaps something to do with the glasses case you are holding?” Henry’s eyes seem to grow more prominent behind the thick lenses of his own glasses. Then, recalling what I’m referring to, he pats down his lab coat until he finds the case in his pocket and gently places it on the table. 

“There. I have completed the process from the book.” Opening the case, he turns it to face me. “I made them with your prescription. Go ahead, try them on.”  I only wear glasses for driving as mandated on my driver’s license.

“Why my prescription, Henry? Why not your own?”

Henry responds as if the reason is self-explanatory, “I did yours so that I might observe your reactions to any possible visions you may have and record them properly for study.”

“I still don’t understand why it can’t be your own.”  I retort, feeling uneasy.

With a look of surprise, Henry explains, “You know me! I might get so excited as to forget to record half the things I’ve noticed! As you often put it, I could easily miss something important by being sent off the wrong track.” With fingers interlaced, Henry begs, “Please, please try them on for me, will you, Bill?”  Henry’s face looks like a child begging for a toy at Toys R Us. “Oh, all right.”

 Taking the glasses from the case, I examine them. The frames look like ordinary black plastic, and the lenses don’t indicate a hint of coating. I walk over to the doorway and slip them on. I first notice how clear everything is and think, “Of course, everything is clear. Henry made them.”  The entire viewing area of the shop stands out in sharp detail. Even beyond the store, out into the main walkway, every person passing by is crystal clear. I am smiling, but it starts to fade as something is trying to materialize before me.  It reminds me of a TV screen with poor reception, fading in and out, all static and snow. I feel the excitement starting to build at the possibility of seeing a vision. It is almost electric. As I watch, the picture solidifies, and I am confused by what I see. It’s a couple making love, and as I watch, the man moves his head to one side to reveal the woman’s face. A face caught in the peak of passion.  I gasp, staggering back into the door jam. My head is in a whirl as my eyes remain glued to the vision before me. I'm getting short of breath, and it feels as though my heart might burst from my chest. I stagger back to my chair and collapse into it.  At first, Henry is most jubilant, hopping up and down like a child at Christmas, causing his lab coat to flap all around.

When he sees the horrific look on my face, he becomes more concerned and leans across the table.“Bill! Are you alright? What in God’s name did you see? Speak to me, Bill!”  I remove the glasses with a trembling hand and throw them on the table. Through half-hooded, watery eyes, I look at Henry. I state softly, “Ellen. I saw my wife Ellen making love to another man.”  Henry falls back into his chair, and covers his mouth with both hands. “No, that can’t be right! Ellen would never do that!”  I leer across the table and snarl at Henry, “ God damn you, Henry!  Always focused on the now, never looking ahead to see what the consequences might be! You’ve ruined my life, you lunatic!”  Henry remains quiet. I hang my head as tears run down my face.

Then in a very small voice, “ You’re right, Bill. I didn’t consider all the possibilities that could take place. If I had, I wouldn’t have made them.” Clenching my jaw, I glare at Henry. Henry tries defending himself. “Yes, it’s true. I made them, but I don’t believe this is my fault.  Again, the book states “about to be,” meaning it was going to happen anyways. So if it hasn’t happened yet, perhaps there’s still time to stop it from occurring, huh?” I leap to my feet, and shake my fist. “Are you a complete idiot?  How am I supposed to do that? OH, by the way, Ellen dear, I know you are about to have an affair, but if you won’t, we can live happily ever after. I could just kill you, Henry!”  I grab Henry by his lab coat and draw back my fist. But instead of striking my friend, I storm out of the store. Lorraine is taken aback by all the shouting because she has never heard a cross word pass between us in the entiertime she has worked here.

Setting in my car, I start to calm down and think that Henry is probably right. With a deep sigh, I face the truth that the text said about to be. It would have happened even if Henry hadn’t made the glasses.

 “What a fool I am. I said so many terrible things to Henry. I know now what I’ll do. I’ll tell Ellen that I know she’s been seeing someone else and that I want a divorce. But first, I should go back and apologize to Henry. I know he would never try to hurt me, no matter what.”

At the same time, anxious to learn what has happened to his friend, Henry nervously places the glasses on.  A vision appears instantly due to the high state of his emotions. Henry gasps and starts trembling.  All he can say is, “No, no, no!”  He sees himself lying on the breakroom floor with a large butcher knife sticking out of his chest, he whispers, “Bill is going to kill me!” He runs from the breakroom past Lorrain, telling her he’ll be right back, then flies to the nearby Bed Bath and Beyond store a few yards away.

 I remain in my car for another ten minutes. I take a deep breath and head back to the store.  Entering the shop, I see Lorraine sitting woodenly behind her desk. When I ask if Henry is in, Lorrain responds in a monotone voice, “He’s in the back.”  I thank her and go looking for Henry. Entering the lab, I call, “Henry? Henry, are you in here?” No respones. I return to the hallway. I glance down the passageway and notice that the door to the breakroom is open.  I think, “Perhaps Henry is still here.”

“Henry, I’ve just come back to say….” I stop short, for the breakroom appears to be empty.  Placing my hands on my hips, I growl, “Henry! Where the devil are you!” I turn as the breakroom door squeaks behind me. To my horror, Henry is rushing towards me, his face twisted into a snarl, a knife held high in the air. Even though Henry is taller, I am stronger. I grab Henry by the wrist. Wrestling, we fall, upending the table and sending the chairs clanging. As I lift myself off Henry, I hear Lorraine screaming in the doorway. Panting I look down at Henry’s shocked face, his glasses knocked askew, the butcher knife protruding from his chest. 

The police arrive and take me to the station for questioning. As the EMTs remove Henry’s body, one of them notices the magical glasses lying on the floor. They actually look like his own, and thinking he must have dropped them, he picks the pair up and puts them in his coat pocket.

On the day of my trial, I am so depressed and melancholy that I give no defense. My appointed lawyer tries to get me to tell him exactly what happened that day, but I can only say, “It was meant to be.” When the verdict is read, between my fingerprints on the knife and Lorraine’s testimony, I receive twenty-five years in prison for manslaughter in the first degree.

  I speak to my wife and explain that I know everything and want a divorce. Ellen protests, saying I was wrong and didn’t even know where I had gotten such a crazy idea. Still, after seeing the affair through the glasses I refuse to argue with her and state that I have already filed with my lawyer.

Eight months later, Duke Larson, the EMT on the ambulance that day, wins the state’s largest lottery ever, half a billion dollars. It also happens that he lives two houses up the street from Bill and Ellen’s house. The local news station sends a reporter and crew out to interview him. A small crowd gathers, including Ellen, to listen.

“What’s it like being this rich?” the reporter asks while smiling into the camera.

Duke replies, “Well, I don’t know. I guess I’m still in shock!”

“Did you have a special method for picking the numbers you’d like to share?”

A secretive smile creeps across his face. “No. They just sort of appeared before me.”

Ellen caught up in the excitement, goes home and bakes a sheet cake, decorates it like a hundred-dollar bill, and write "congratulations" on it. When she presents it to Duke, he smiles and invites her in. Soon they begin dating. Ultimately, they are married, thus making Bill’s vision a reality, like it was always meant to be.