The Visionary

Elroy Key was an unusual man. He was friendly enough to be welcome in most social settings. To his clients, he was caring and informative. Too informative, some might say and not always in a manner that was helpful. There was no questioning how Elroy passed his time away from the optometry office and he wore his heart proudly on the sleeve of his lab coat. Photography, more specifically, desert photography was his life’s greatest passion. As with most fixations, it found a way to seep into his professional life and from there, spiral into the unknown. 

It began with an infestation of sorts. You could see them in the waiting room, the hallway and every exam nook in the building. The colossal landscape photos were deeply set in thick wooden frames. Some went so far as to have curtains and blinds installed in the hardware. The illusion transported his patients from a lackluster strip mall office in Hot Shoe, Arizona to the uninhabited desert, just before sunrise. They were conversation pieces before they were anything else, opportunities for a lonely man to make a new friend. It worked with some. With most, they were merely part of the woodwork just like Elroy, himself. 

There were aspects of his life’s work that Elroy chose not to share. That is not to say that they were shameful or sinister in nature. They merely ran the risk of being interpreted as such. He had something in the works, a new technology that would change the lives of photographers everywhere. But it was tricky, frightening even. He knew from the moment the implant was completed that nobody would volunteer to be his test subject. So on a cool Arizona night, he locked the revolving door up front, crept into the operating room and performed the excruciating mutilation on himself.

The visible changes were subtle. A satin eyepatch covered his handiwork for several weeks until the flesh was fully healed. After that, the questions were few and far between. Beautiful as the invention was, it wasn’t entirely undetectable. One patient assumed that the flickering light in his right iris was an optical illusion. He smiled at this and told her that it was normal to see spots and flashing after an exam. Others would ask about the lens that framed his pupil. It would widen to zoom in and narrow to zoom out. Controlling these features was a learning curve and the eyepatch made re-appearances every so often. 

Elroy could not bring himself to regret his invention. For every strained encounter that it caused at work, he found a dozen benefits in the desert. An eye that functions as a camera is a miraculous thing, after all. Gone were the days of hauling around packs of heavy equipment through the sweltering heat. He would never have to compromise another shot by fumbling with a lens cap or buttons. He only had to focus and blink twice in succession and the picture would be instantly transmitted to his computer at home. There were risks, of course. Even if he were to patent and sell this creation, it would not be long before mankind found a way to abuse it. Elroy had considered this but remained optimistic and that optimism would make all the difference in the end.

The mild spring faded like a pleasant dream. In its place arrived the wettest summer Hot Shoe had ever seen. There was flooding in the canyons and mudslides in the mountains. All around were colors, shapes and textures that would send any photographer into a joyful tizzy. It could not be helped. Every chance that he could find, Elroy would escape into the wilderness. He lost track of the time, the day and even the week. That is why he was not home when his daughter arrived from Phoenix. 

Like her father, Sandy Key functioned best when left to her own devices. She let herself in and made herself at home in her father’s stucco house in the foothills. It was cramped and dark and permanently steeped in the sour fragrance of developer fluid. Those features had not changed and never would, but something seemed off about the cluttered space. Like his workplace, Elroy’s home usually payed homage to the Sonoran Desert. Sandy was surprised to see that this was no longer the case. The countless photos that once dominated the walls had vanished. In their place, she found rows and rows of neatly scribbled notes and diagrams, all with a heavy focus on the anatomy of the human eye. 

She shrugged most of this off. Optometry was not a shared interest of theirs. Photography, on the other hand, was and she always looked forward to their summertime adventures. She removed the digital camera from her backpack and started to scroll through the pictures from her trip. Most were duds. It is not easy to take a quality photograph from the inside of a moving Greyhound Bus. An hour passed, then two, then three. By this time, Sandy had sifted through and deleted all but five pictures. She was also becoming concerned. It was dark out now and a storm was rolling in. She checked with the neighbors but they hadn’t seen him in two days. A quick phone call to his colleagues revealed that Elroy left the office early on Friday. Today was Sunday. He had not been seen since.

Sandy waited out the night with the blinds pulled all the way up. She nodded off between the hours of three and four and was torn from a dreamless sleep by the sound of tires in the gravel driveway. What she saw was sobering. A tall policeman with a shock of burgundy curls strode towards the porch. By the time Sandy made it to the door, she was numb from head to toe. He must have seen the color draining from the young woman’s face because he dropped the stern façade just long enough to give her a comforting smile. 

“This is only a welfare check,” the officer’s words resounded in Sandy’s ears as she slunk back into the quiet house ten long minutes later. “We are doing all that we can to find your father.” 

Somehow, she wasn’t convinced. It seemed the ideal option for her was to sit quietly while the inevitable unfolded. She considered phoning her mother, but that would mean infecting someone else with dread and worry. The courageous thing to do would be to lace up her boots and go after him. She knew his favorite locations and trails better than anyone. It was foolish, completely idiotic to race into the desert alone, especially without anyone knowing that she had gone. But that would not stop her.

“Like father, like daughter, she muttered, emptying her pack on the kitchen table and filling it with enough energy bars and water for two people.

As the front door swung open, a fragrant blast of monsoon air traveled into the space. It ruffled the notes and drawings that littered the walls. Something about the breeze stopped Sandy in her tracks. She moved towards the nearest cluster of papers. She did not know what she was looking for but was hopeful that he would find a way to help her in his absence. His handwriting was a challenge to decipher, but one phrase stood out above all the rest: 

Sand-Eye. Transmits to Sand-E. 

The faintest memory was set to life in Sandy’s mind. It was in the early years of the new millennium when he returned from the swap meet with that old beige computer. She laughed at him, calling him dated and out of touch. Those playful accusations ended when he told her that the relic was manufactured the year that she was born. To prolong the joke even after she returned to Phoenix, Elroy named it in her honor. She looked across the room to where the blocky monstrosity stood, collecting dust. It had been turned on the whole time. The screen was alight with activity, flashing one picture after another. In the corner of each shot, a time stamp could be found, each one lined up to the same hour and minute on Sandy’s wristwatch.

Despite the heavy pixilation of those incoming graphics, she saw everything that she needed to know. She recognized the sprinkling of saguaros on the hill and the sandstone face of each surrounding mountain. Even the trail snaking through the yellow grass was etched into her mind. He was close. A thirty minute hike was the only barrier between them. She didn’t lose a minute. With her pack slung over her shoulder, Sandy raced into the hills. 

The sun was rising slowly that morning but the sky was still aglow. Light rested softly on the overhanging clouds, infusing them with a kaleidoscope of colors. Photographers live for mornings like these. He used to wake up early in hopes of capturing each scene before they vanished, dissipated into the empty blue canopy above. Overnight trips were rare for Elroy. Weekend trips were, too. As she hiked, Sandy decided to ask him about this new development. Those plans and questions all fell by the wayside when she saw his campsite. He was standing about a hundred feet from the tent, scanning the colorful horizon with his eyes. There was no camera bag at his feet, no strap around his neck. Still, she could tell by his stance and demeanor that he was in the “zone”. 

“You forgot your camera, weirdo!” Her voice broke only slightly under the weight of pure relief. 

He turned towards her, blinking. “Sandy?”

“And you forgot to mark your calendar, too. I got in last night and have been worried sick about you!”

Elroy looked cross at first. She knew not to come out here alone without telling him first. But reprimanding her would be unfair given the circumstances. He pulled her in and held her close. “Sandy? Why are you crying, Baby?”

“I’m not crying. Sand in my eye, I guess. What does that even mean? Sand-Eye?”

“A camera,” he said, simply. “A camera that I invented and I would like to name it after you if that is alright.” Before he could finish the thought, Elroy sensed a change in his daughter. Her eyes were locked on the lens in his iris.

“It is remarkable,” Sandy laughed, breathlessly. “How did you do it?”

“Walk with me and I will tell you.”