17-year-old Kimira jerked upright out of her sleep. She trembled as images faded. The cross on a hill. Her hands went to her eyes, stopping as her fingers brushed against the gauze bandages.
Her eyes and nose hurt. She willed herself not to cry, remembering the doctor’s orders. Her mother had insisted on the corrective surgery, paying for it out of the family savings, distraught when it hadn’t worked.
Kimira wasn’t sure that the timing had been right.
Oh dear Father! She prayed. Please, let me see only if it is your will!
Snuggling back under the covers, she counted. This had to be the eighth? No, the ninth time, she’d had the dream. Usually it was three crosses. Tonight had been one.
Kimira awoke to the clock radio playing softly, reaching upwards, her fingers traveled over the plastic coverings as she felt for the right button.
Finding it, she pressed and the music stopped. Feeling for her dresser, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and felt for her slippers.
Once done, she pulled the blankets straight as best as she could and felt her way easily to the door.
She smiled as familiar footsteps shuffled down the hall. “Daddy?” She reached out, waiting as her father’s hand grasped it, pressing it to his unshaved cheek. She giggled. “Daddy! You didn’t shave yet.”
“I didn’t?” The innocent tone held a hint of laughter. “And how is my favorite princess?”
Kimira slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Fine. Daddy, I need new clay.”
“New clay? Already?” Her father sounded puzzled. “How much?” Kimira let go, biting her lip as she gestured in the air. “I see.” Her father took her hand again. “Two feet from the steps.” He murmured, steadying her as she stepped down. “How soon do you need it?”
Kimira smiled faintly. “Whenever you can get it, Daddy.” She whispered, her head swiveling in the direction of delicious breakfast smells. “Waffles?”
He chuckled in answer, guiding her to the table. “Waffles, dead center.” He instructed. “Maple syrup in every hole, strawberry slices at 2 o’clock and about a half-cup whipped cream just below them.”
Kimira smiled her thanks turning at the rustle of fabric at her left. “Mummy?” Slender arms wrapped around her shoulders in a morning hug.
“Sleep well? The doctor said he’ll see you this afternoon. We’ll be his last stop. I can’t wait for you to see again.”
Kimira nodded politely, her fingers searching for the edge of the waffle.
It was nearly an hour later when her father announced the clay’s arrival. She stood up so eagerly, her chair toppled over in the progress, unnoticed, the bright smile on her face, betraying her eagerness.
Her father helped her to the workshop and leaving quietly as she ran her fingers over the large clay lump.
Kimira called to mind every fragment from her dreams of late. Father, give me the skill to do this. The whispered prayer set aflame renewed courage as she sank her fingers into the lump.
The doctor’s voice reached Kimira’s ears as she rinsed her hands in the sink. “Ah and here she is!”
“Sir.” Kimira dipped her head lightly, drying her hands automatically on the art smock she wore.
“When we take this off, you should see something, okay?” The doctor’s kind voice softened the reality.
Kimira held still as his wrinkled fingers slid under the bandages, gently peeling them away. “Well?” Her mother cut in, as the cool breeze soothed her eyes.
“Do your eyes hurt?” The doctor asked suddenly.
Kimira hesitated. “Just briefly this morning, I think it was because I wanted to cry.”
“Did you just sculpt a cross?” The doctor’s voice sounded odd.
“Three of them, sir, on a hill.” Kimira answered, blinking and seeing naught but darkness.
The doctor drew in sharply and Kimira heard the sounds of him gathering his things. “I cannot do anything else.” He said simply. “In my disbelief I asked for a sign.”
“What?!” Kimira’s mother exclaimed.
“Three crosses.” The doctor whispered. “I’ve seen them in a dream. There’s nothing wrong with your eyes, child, your heart sees just fine. You will see soon, God-willing. I must go.”
Kimira heard her mother hurry after the doctor, calling loudly for him to return. A single tear trickled down her cheek.
Kimira twisted away from the faint glow. How was she to sleep with light? She sat up suddenly. Light? Thank you, Father!
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