Eyeing Green

"Do you see a blurry green light?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," I said.

Flat on my back under the LASIK apparatus, the green light was all I could see, with only my left eye for now. The nurse tightened her grip on my hand and rubbed my stomach with her other hand. It would have been weird in a different situation, but, wedged under the machines, I was grateful to feel her there.

"Alright, focus on the light. It will come clear in 3-2-1..."

And just like that, the green blur sharpened into a laser-focused green pinpoint.

The doctor continued, "And now to black."

And it was black.

"Moving to the right eye now..."

I wanted him to wait for light to come back into my left eye before moving on. Shouldn't we make sure the left eye still works first? I started to panic. But this was all routine for them.

"And focus on the green blur...3-2-1..."

Again, the green cut to a point in an instant.

"And to black."

And it was black.

The nurse said, "Alright, nice work. You can sit up."

That seemed sudden, but I followed her instructions. I opened my eyes to see the operating room crystal clear. It looked hazy, like there was smoke in the room. But every machine, each operating stool, even the lowest rows of the E chart across the room - all in perfect focus.

The doctor called me over to a small machine in the corner to give his work one last look.

"Looks good," he said. "They should have brought your things to the recovery area by now. You can wait there for a few minutes if you like, but you're good to head out whenever your ride gets here."

That was good news. Kian would already be waiting for me at Seatac. It was such a bad idea, going through with surgery that same day. But it had been scheduled, and Kian pulled me in last minute.

I felt anxious and nauseous and sleepy (already) in the Lyft. They'd prescribed a Xanax for the surgery and timed my taking it to give me just enough of a window to get home and sleep. But I wouldn't be sleeping at home that night. I'd be sleeping on a plane (or, at the rate I was going, at the N gates).

Kian texted: ETA?

Me: Driving up now.

It was hard to focus on the text boxes. More green blur.

Kian: I'm at the gate. Boarding soon.

Me: K

He hadn't told me why we were doing this. To me, the less I knew the better. We were flying Seattle to Anchorage, Flight 119, 6:20pm, and then the red-eye right back, Anchorage to Seattle, Flight 110, 12:55am. $5K upfront (most of it went to the LASIK clinic), and $5K at the end. I saw the red flags, but the green dollar signs outshined them.

"Shit, you're cutting it close," Kian said, standing with his bag at the gate. The first boarding group was already heading down the jetway. "Are... are you...wearing goggles?"

"It's...I dunno. To protect my eyes? I got LASIK this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, what?! You got..." he paused. "Today? You got LASIK today? Like, swinging through to get LASIK on the way to the airport?"

"Umm...yeah. That's...yup. Look, I just need to sit a minute. My vision's still a little weird, and this Xanax is putting me down." Then I paused, "And I'm a little panicked about this trip. Kian, what am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Nothing. Really nothing. Flying with me - that's all," he said. But he was nervous. "Just one small change of plans."

"What's that?"

"We're heading to Lihue instead."

"Wait, what? Lihue?" My mind was fogged, and the terminal was starting to spin. More haze than clear now. "Like Hawaii?"

"Yeah. Just a few gates down." He started to walk, and I stumbled behind.

"What the fuck, Kian? When are we supposed to be getting back from Hawaii?"

"First flight tomorrow. Like 11am. We'll be home...I dunno..." He looks at his phone. "8ish."

"I...I can't do that." My head is in my hands. "I've gotta be at a post-op appointment at 2 tomorrow. I can't go on this trip."

Kian stiffened up. "Oh no, we're past this. This isn't a choice at this point."

I knew it really wasn't. He owned me. And I was fading. I just wanted to be in a plane seat, asleep. Any plane seat. I'd reschedule at the clinic. Everything would be fine.

"Look," Kian said, "I'll throw in an extra grand for the wasted day. And you can even have my seat." He handed me his paper boarding pass. "1A, big-spender," he said, pleased with himself. Then he pulled out the other boarding pass. "And I'll take yours...all the way in the back."

Nice. He'd booked first class for himself and economy for me. Whatever. 1A. Perfect.

I boarded and collapsed in my seat. Eyes closed. Zoned. I was in and out as other passengers shuffled by. Now and then I looked up for Kian, but I never saw him pass through.

I texted: "U on?"

Kian: "Ya. 33B...brutal."

Me: [expressionless emoji]

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Alaska Airlines Flight 839, nonstop service to Lihue..."

I heard the cabin ding and saw the green no-smoking sign illuminate through haze and my drooping eyelashes.

And then to black.

***

When I woke up, my phone said 11:17pm, but I assumed that was still Pacific time. I felt like I'd slept the whole night. The haze had cleared from my eyes and my mind, and I was feeling much better.

I looked toward the first class galley, and the flight attendant standing there seemed to flinch at my look. He shot eyes to another flight attendant mid-cabin who, when I looked over at her, turned on her heel toward the rear of the plane.

I stood up from my seat and headed back there myself to find Kian. I didn't see him. 29, 30, 31, 32...33...both sides of the aisle. He wasn't there. I started to panic again. The flight attendant was talking in hushed tones on the crew phone in the rear galley. I heard, "No. No, I think it's fine. I think better just to...yeah. Yes. At the gate. He's right in front..."

I found myself walking faster and faster back to the front of the plane. Nauseous and unsteady again. Looking for Kian's head to pop up over any seatback. He wasn't on that plane.

I sat back down in 1A. Opened Wi-Fi options. One free hour of texting and data, courtesy of T-Mobile.

I texted: wtf are you?

Kian: I'm about to land in Lihue :)

Me: what? WHERE RU?

Silence

My blood ran cold. Texts and notifications started catching up to my phone. "Omg wtf Kian" "Isn't this that Kian you know?" "Dude this is all over my feed"

It really was everywhere. "Shooter sought in Vito's massacre" "(Seattle) Mafia inner circle slain by rogue rival" "At least 8 dead, 5 in critical condition at Harborview" "Mob assassin confirmed en route to Hawaii"

At that moment the lights went out on the dollar signs I'd seen taking this job. I was on his flight. I was in his seat. They'd figure out the switch right away. But now I'd been on a flight I wasn't listed for. I'd given Kian enough time to fly anywhere else in the country. Probably to Anchorage - to the green-blue Northern Lights - in my name. Accomplice.

Fuck me scheduling the damn post-op appointment now. Stupid safety goggles for the news cameras.

Ding. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our final descent into Lihue; we've turned on the fasten seatbelt sign..."

My phone kept buzzing. The cabin was spinning. The green seatbelt sign blazed through my closing eyelids.

And to black.