The Eyeball Story

The Eyeball Story

This is a true story. Before I even became a teacher, in eighth grade I volunteered in the kindergarten of my school while the teacher took a break. The name of the school was, and still is, Hayt Elementary School. A K-8th grade school, it still exists in Roger’s Park, a North neighborhood of Chicago. Mr. Hayt apparently fought (well, he was a clerk) and died in the service of our country in 1904, during the Russio-Japanese War, mediated by President Theodore Roosevelt. (The Japanese won.) His family, although they originally hailed from Santa Fe, moved to Chicago and were influential enough to have a school named for their beloved son. (He is buried in Roosevelt Cemetery, not far from the school.)

Sam was a cute butterball boy with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a mischievous grin that charmed the adults around him. But from the corner of my eye, I saw how he snatched crayons, candy, tugged the girl’s pigtails, punched the other boys, and pretended innocence. His father owned a construction company; his mother stayed at home and doted on her “Sammy.” Dad encouraged his son to “be a man,” and apparently taught him to box and “take no shit from anyone.” The teacher would not believe me that Sam was, indeed, a bully, so charming could he be.

Kalie was a sweet, rather quiet little girl who loved to paint and color in the lines. With her blue eyes and long curly blond hair, everyone wanted to sit next to her. She often wore frilly pinafores that obviously were handed down from another age, but were charming, nonetheless. Her father worked at a hardware store, her mother sold Tupperware. I’m not sure what her home life was like, but I suspect she was often left alone.

The teacher broke the little ones into groups during work time. Sam and Kalie sat at the red table, across from one another. Sam tried to get Kalie’s attention in the ways that boys often will: making faces, putting pencils in his nose, making strange, animal-like sounds.

One bright spring day, as the robins chirped outside, and a warm breeze fluttered the curtains of the bright classroom, Sam and Kalie sat at their shared table to color and cut out a series of pictures representing small furry animals and their corresponding numbers, to then glue them in order on a separate piece of construction paper. Kalie finished the coloring part of the task, the coloring meticulous and fine. Sam’s was a horrid scribble. Kalie asked Sam to pass the scissors that they shared in their group. Sam, laughing, said, “Come and get them!” Kalie got up to retrieve the scissors, but Sam held them out of her reach, taunting her.

Kalie returned to her seat and water welled up in her beautiful eyes. “Oh, here,” Sam shouted, and flung the scissors at Kalie.

When the ambulance came, blood was streaming from Kalie’s left eye, and her eyeball hung by a tendril. Sweet, sweet Kalie on a stretcher, Sam, arms folded in front of him, defiantly denying he had done anything wrong. “She fell on those scissors; I saw her trip!” he stated to the authorities and school staff. His mom and dad came to get him while he cried crocodile tears, sobbing about how he had witnessed such a horrific scene. His parents took him home, then to therapy, where he charmed the psychologist. No one else could confirm or disconfirm his version of events. I, myself, had not been exactly present, but I knew.

After surgery, and being fitted with a glass eye, Kalie attended another school. I heard that there she was taunted, called, “cyclops” by the ruder kids, and that she became withdrawn, immersing herself in art as she grew older. She was not invited to Senior Prom, never asked out on a date, although several boys under dares, attempted to seduce her.

Eventually, she did meet a kind man from Afghanistan who had lost most of his vision due to an exploding grenade during the war. He was tall and slim, always gracious, and ever so thankful for Kalie. He spoke with a warm accent, often reminiscing about his life and family who had perished during the war. He played flute by memory, and wrote anecdotes about the war and his survival through dictation to Kalie. They loved each other dearly, and although they never had children, they existed in somewhat of a state of bliss, until at age 48, Kalie’s wonderful husband died suddenly of an aneurism.

Sam, meanwhile, was sent to a private school, and began to take his studies seriously. His father ensured he always had the funds he needed, and he was solicitous to his mother, who never once reprimanded him on any account. He gained high marks in college, and went on to become an ophthalmic surgeon. He was popular and well-liked by men and women alike. He attended many parties and dated often. He eventually married a good woman and had three children; two sons and a daughter. He won awards due to his work and gave speeches at conferences. His patients spoke very highly of him.

On an unusually cool and cloudy day in May, 1984, Sam’s secretary knocked on his 6-pane Walnut office door. When Dr. Kenneth (Sam) did not respond, she gently pushed the door open, only to find him slumped over his desk. Three patients were waiting in the lobby, after all. Concerned, she swiveled his desk chair around, only to see, with shock, a pair of gleaming surgical scissors protruding from his left eye. His throat had been cut.

Forensics never found a fingerprint, or any evidence of who might have done this dastardly deed to such a prominent surgeon, someone so well liked by the community. But upon further investigation, they discovered something curious: behind a hidden panel in his operating room: dozens of carefully arranged jars of human eyeballs had been preserved in formaldehyde, arranged neatly by color. Where and from whom they had been procured still remains a mystery. The whole ordeal is now considered a “cold case.”

As for Kalie, the last I’ve heard is that she has taken a long voyage to Europe to study the Great Art Masters. She continues to paint, and has a modest following. It turns out her beloved husband left her a small fortune in art and silver that he amassed before the war.