Contact {#wattys2016}

Chapter 1

"Just breathe." My mother says. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to muster up some courage. With a plunge of hope, I lift my finger. And there it sits. The little contact. I try to intimidate it and then realize how stupid this is. Just stick it in your stupid eye!

"Here goes nothing." I murmur. I try to avoid my parents staring at me in the mirror and try to place it on. My finger grazes my eyeball and I blink ferociously.

"Try again, pumpkin. All it takes is practice." My father smiles. I slip him a weak one before trying again. This time, I get it in. Only to fall right back out again.

"I had it!" I groan.

"Amber, you're doing great!" My mother cheers.

"You two have contacts. This is a piece of cake for you." I glare.

"Don't give up. It wasn't always easy. It took me hours to get my first one in."

"I went right in when I put them on at the eye doctor!" I point out.

"Life is just funny like that. It will get easier." I close my eyes tight and wish for another try, this time, successful.

"Okay. I'll try again." I lift it up and without a second thought, jam the contact onto my eye. I hold it for a nanosecond so it will adhere before closing my eye.

"Did you do it?" Mom asks.

"Is it on?" Dad grins. I open my left eye softly and see perfectly. The vision is crystal clear and beautiful. Colors seem more vibrant and I can actually see for once, without my glasses.

"We have a winner!" I cheer, throwing my arms into the air. My parents kiss my cheeks and I jump around, cheering out loud. When I come to my senses, I freeze.

"I still have to do the other one, don't I?" I moan.

"Finish what you start." My mom goads.

"What if I can't finish?" I ask.

"You will. Keep trying."

"Okay." I respond, placing my right contact on my finger. I try to get in the same position, holding my eye lids back. But something doesn't seem right and I stop.

"How do you put your right one in?" I ask my parents. My dad moves in front of my mom.

"You just take your hand and pry your eye open and place it on. Easy, peesy."

"But it's not my dominant eye. Not that easy."

"Sure it is. Heck, it's easier than the left."

"No it's not." I disagree.

"Ye-Oh wait! I forgot you are left handed. It's like me doing my left eye when you do your right." He realizes. Leave it to me to be the only left handed person within four generations of my family. No one passes the torch or shows me how to do the opposite way. Most people are right handed in this world and frankly, it makes life really tough. I can't use scissors. My parents won't spring for fancy left handed scissors so I'm stuck ripping paper instead.

And in gym, everyone but me is right handed. Even the coaches. And they don't explain twice, leaving me to figure it out on my own. It's the small things that make life the hardest.

"So how do you do your right eye?" I ask, sadly. If I were right handed, none of this would be hard. I wouldn't have to ask additional questions about crafts and receive weird looks. I wouldn't be outlawed because of how I do things. I know it sounds like I'm comparing this to some debilitating disease, but all in all, it's truly a curse.