The Ocularist - a love story (Novella)

The Ocularist

-1-

I read Marissa's text with dread. Beyond some perfunctory small talk, we had barely interacted with each other in weeks. She wanted me to meet her at the coffee shop near her office during her lunch break. Considering she didn't drink coffee, I knew something was amiss. Expecting the worse, I left the condo and stomped my father's motorcycle alive. The cold mist bit my cheeks as I twisted the throttle and roared over a road as gray as the sky.

My dad had loaned me his baby after my car broke down and I still didn't feel comfortable riding the thing. After parking the Harley I walked inside the coffee shop, feeling like a phony in my leather jacket. I saw Marissa's bun of scarlet hair across the room. She was sitting at a small table in the corner of the cramped space, reading a novel while spinning a spoon through her lemon water. Her rigid posture provided the perfect scaffolding for her favorite cerulean blue dress.

The barista waved to get my attention as I made my way toward Marissa's table. "Is that a Super Glide FX?" she asked, her freckled cheeks lifting upward as she pointed out the window at the Harley. "Looks like a 72."

"73," I replied. I wasn't sure about the rest.

"Nice ride," said the cheery woman. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm good for now, thanks." I smiled like the imposter I was and kept moving.

I took a deep breath and sat across from Marissa in a wrought-iron chair. "So, what's up?" I asked, plunking my helmet on the table.

Marissa looked up at me with a pinched face. "Alistair, we need to talk."

"That's why I'm here," I told her. Thankfully, the place was mostly empty except for an elderly couple sipping tea and sharing a newspaper.

Marissa put down her book. "I'm tired of watching you flounder. You almost seem to take pride in the rut you've dug for yourself."

I wasn't expecting a fun conversation, but I was still taken aback. "Rut? I'm doing exactly what I set out to do, Marissa. We've talked about this...ad nauseum."

"You talked about it, but we didn't discuss anything. You barreled ahead without getting anyone's input, including mine. I could have warned you that shop of yours was going to fail."

"The clinic is not failing," I said, trying to keep my cool.

"You're right. It will have to actually open before it can fail."

"I'm making good progress! I've already lined up some clients."

Marissa pushed her glass around the table and tapped her foot nervously. "I thought I was getting engaged to a doctor, not some weird...eyeball guy."

"Ocularist," I paused and took a deep breath. "So, you're still upset I dropped out of med school? You should have told me it bothered you so much."

Marissa shook her head and sent an icy gaze through me. "If you had stayed on course to becoming a surgeon, you'd earn more money in a day than you'd make in a year with those stupid glass eyes."

I looked around nervously. "Jesus, do we have to do this here?"

"We're surviving on credit cards for God's sake! I thought once you finished grieving for your grandfather, you'd start thinking rationally. I was wrong."

I stiffened. "I've never been more rational. I had nearly finished my ASO apprenticeship when my parents convinced me to stop and pushed me toward med school. When granddad left me his tools in his will, it made me realize I was on the wrong path."

"Your grandfather's workshop was a creep show," groaned Marissa. "You told me those eyeballs used to scare you."

"Yeah, maybe when I was a kid, but now I recognize the artistry and skill it took to make those eyes. Beyond that, granddad improved the lives of his clients without some backroom bureaucrat telling him how to do things. He garnered a mountain of appreciation and respect, and I want to carry on his legacy. I'll never get rich as an ocularist, but truthfully, I don't really give a shit about money."