Winter and glasses don’t mix. Unfortunately, it seems no one informed Cas’s ophthalmologist about it and she remains convinced that glasses and winter do, in fact, mix. More than that, in Cas’s case, they have to—unless he wants his sight to degrade even further than it already has due to two decades of neglect.
And so there he is now, freezing his nose off on the steel frames. He should have listened to Anna when she recommended the thick, plastic ones. They just didn’t seem very practical at the time, and now that’s just another regret.
At least, it stopped snowing.
The bright side of wearing glasses, of course—winter or not—is that Cas can now read the bus timetable without having to, figuratively, press his nose to it. He can even see the number of the incoming bus from the very crossroads and consequently spare himself the guessing and getting to the door last.
He really should have gotten glasses sooner.
Cas gathers his bags off the bench and moves towards the middle entrance. As soon as the door opens he steps into the warmth of the crowded vehicle. The puff of heated air envelops his face and—
The world goes white.
All of it.
Well, almost all of it; there are still colors and movement on the periphery of his vision. The entire center field is obscured by dense, white fog.
He stops in his tracks, shifts all heavy bags into one hand to free the other but the incoming passengers keep pushing him forward. Blinded, he attempts to move toward the rear end of the bus without stumbling. There’s too much hustle to try wiping the steam off the glasses now; with half a dozen shoulders pressing on him from all sides, he can’t even lift the freed hand.
The jam loosens, slightly, when the doors close and Cas manages to find a little safe footing. He reaches to the glasses but the tips of his fingers can barely brush the frames when the bus starts and the yank sends Cas tumbling forward.
He shoots his free hand up in a futile attempt to grab a strap and collides into someone’s chest. A strong scent of cologne fills him up as his nose sinks into the man’s collar. An arm wraps around Cas on instinct. The man stills them both easily.
“Got you,” a low voice purrs above his ear.
A hot blush creeps up Cas’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, trying to pull away.
The steam covering his glasses begins to recede around the edges, but still not enough to make out the face in front of him.
“S’fine,” the man says, loosening his hold, but doesn’t let go entirely until Cas finds the strap over his head. “Let me help ya, buddy.”
He gently pulls the glasses off Cas’s nose before Cas can protest. He starts wiping them with a handkerchief in his other hand, elbow locked around a pole. His eyes are trained on his own working fingers, the corners of his lips are raised in a tiny smirk. He must be around Cas’s age, maybe a couple years younger, and, Dear God, even without the glasses Cas can tell he’s beautiful.
Today I went for a drive on the search of the newest Vanity Fair Magazine that has Carrie Fisher on the cover. The most beautiful, elegant, absolutely stunning photograph of her I have ever seen.
It was beautiful out. I was able to drive without my sweater, with the windows down or even cracked, blasting music and it was just me and the road. Had I not had my mom’s car and responsibilities…I would’ve kept driving and get outta Chicago\Indiana since I was headed to good ol Munster.
Anyway, I searched for it, no luck. Went to three other stores and had no luck. I was starting to accept defeat. Realized I’ll just suck it up and order it online and not be able to examine the cover and pages personally.
I got home, mom asked if I wanted to go with her and my aunt to Macy’s. Y’know, so they can shop for shit. I was like ‘eh ok’. Might as well, right? I knew I wasn’t going to see the guys today because of last nights event. [oh hey….I got a black jean jacket for cheap. Summer’s approaching but ya girl gotta have a nice black jean jacket]
Outside I go. I asked my uncle if he could google some searches and places to find the magazine for me since I won’t be home and my phone was near death. Turns out, the magazine doesn’t come out until June 6th.
Shit you not though, I saw people with a fucking copy already!
Anyway, I’ll get it soon then.
I tried this little number on because I have a wedding [sort of] to go to and I was like “uhh….do I have to wear a dress?” because I’m not a girly girl. but let me tell you:
Taking my clothes off in the dressing room, it was the first time I wasn’t disgusted with what I saw. I always hate how my body looks inside those rooms. Everything is so well lit and you can see the indents from my belt or my pants hugging me or even my bra if it was tight against my skin.
Once I zipped this little number all the way up, my mom came to see how it looked and I looked down at my stomach and it wasn’t sticking out as it always does and I was in shock. I looked up at the mirror again and I saw my waistline and how my boobs looked. My mom loved it, so did my aunt. I turned to my mother and I circle my belly and go: “See? See? you can’t tell me you don’t see it” – and what I’m referring to is the weight loss.
I’ve been dieting since late April and it’s already late May. I was stuck at the same weight for a while. I’m not 10 pounds lighter but I’m close and she was basically giving me shit for it. So that’s why I’m like “see?”.
I can tell in my face actually, which is a fucking DELIGHT.
I did however, see myself in another mirror with my regular street clothes back on and didn’t care for some things I seen but I know it could be worse and I’m not beating myself up over it because I had a shit ton of beer this weekend and pizza.
I don’t know.
I need work but I did enjoy the way this dress made me feel a few hours ago.
I’m just happy I didn’t hate how my body looked in a full length, well lit, crystal clear mirror.
I’ve got ways to go…but….I don’t know.
There’s also something about how positive someone is in your life, about you, that makes you feel good. Like….’you love the parts of me I don’t.’
P\S YOU’RE ALL FUCKING BEAUTIFUL. EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.