The Fern

There are times when you just give up on meeting the man of your dreams. For me it had been a matter of denial of what I truly wanted. I’d dated handsome men, kind men, and even some who were both, but I’d never met one who made me really want him. I’d been through the motions of relationships, you know, and I always felt like I was acting. There was a spark missing, and I even knew what it was.

Like Sugar, I wanted mine to wear glasses.

Are they so hard to find?

I’m even sure, looking back that I enrolled in art school thinking that there would be more guys in glasses there. Sure there were, unfortunately they were also either weird, ugly or gay. But the course was fun, and it enabled me to do a job that was never really work. I found myself working in a large graphics company in Frisco, with a great bunch of people.

The latest project was huge, involving a team of over 30 artists, and we even had to get more in from outside. One of these was a freelancer named Ten Sinclair. Funny name, a number, but what a gorgeous guy. I was immediately attracted to him. He had long dark hair which he sometimes wore loose, sometimes tied back, and he had a very exotic quality. He was also very talented.

There were a lot of hold-ups at the beginning of the project, and many of the team had wandered off to catch up on other work while we waited for the powers that be to authorize our first drafts.
Ten had nowhere else to go so he hung around the studio where I was occupying myself, and we chatted. He had a lovely open attitude, obviously very well-read and yet gentle with his opinions. He was funny too, and I found myself enjoying his company more than I really intended. I was going through a stage of fear of relationships, and I just wanted to talk, laugh, and keep it “light”. But deep inside that longing never went away, and I found myself gazing at him with an “if only” feeling in my heart.

He looked at his watch, smiled, and asked me if I was hungry. Oh, how hungry I was. But I just nodded and smiled, and he suggested a small restaurant on a boat right next to our building, which I’d seen myself but never tried, so it seemed like a good idea, and he suggested lunch in such a natural off-hand way - even saying that if it turned out to be terrible we could just leave -  that it didn’t feel difficult saying yes.

It was a nice enough place, nothing fancy, but my surroundings weren’t all that important to me at the time and I couldn’t describe it now if I wanted to. All I remember was the large open window next to our table that the sun came through, filtered by a large potted fern on the sill, and it was this soft illumination that came to be the turning point in my dilemma. I played with my food really, too intent on his face and words to have any desire to eat. We talked about the project and then the conversation took some very natural courses off, including the closest to gossip I ever heard from him, as we examined the pros and cons of the people we were working with. Artists are always prone to moods and attitudes, some more so than others, and Robert was slowly driving us both mad with his affectations. Even then, Ten didn’t actually criticize, and in fact he seemed to be incapable of any sort of negativity. He was slowly turning into a God in my mind, and I was fighting it with every fiber of my being - “Don’t fall in love. DON’T.”

And then, as I listened to him talk, in the filtered light that played across his face, as the fern moved gently in the soft afternoon breeze, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before, discs on his eyes - he wore contact lenses.

The room spun round, my breath left me, my stomach lurched, my body shivered with adrenalin, and I almost lost my grip on reality. I also lost my ability to look at him, and even his voice, which I was so tuned into, seemed to fade away, as my mind raced with the implication of this discovery. Suddenly the prospect of submitting myself to his charm came into being. My guard was down, my heart was his, and it obviously showed. He stopped in mid-sentence, then asked “Are you OK?”. Maybe I looked faint. I certainly felt it.

I smiled but I couldn’t really reply, I think I would have suddenly developed a stammer at that point if I’d tried. I just forced myself to make eye contact again - and found myself feeling hot, like I was blushing. Was I? He continued haltingly, still looking at me a little oddly, as if he was concerned. I tried to keep my cool, but my inner voice was screaming “I want to see you in glasses”, while a second inner power was stopping it from coming out of my mouth. And finally the most powerful inner wisdom said “patience”, and a calm came to me.

Perhaps he thought I still looked unwell, and needed some fresh air as he suggested we go for a walk along the harbor front. At that point I didn’t care where I was. A walk through the landfill would have been just fine. I was in the company of a man so beautiful that the world around him ceased to exist. All I saw was his face, all I heard was his voice. The walk did me good however, as I regained some of my senses, and even started to go over some scenarios in my head as to how I was going to handle this. Obviously, I didn’t want him to think I was a freak. I had to choose my words, bide my time, just make it sound natural. At the same time a ridiculous inner voice was telling me to “make sure” before I committed myself. Make sure of what? Make sure I wasn’t imagining it? No, I knew what I saw. Make sure he didn’t look like a weird geek in glasses? Impossible, not a man that handsome. No, it couldn’t happen. So what then? I had no answer, but I just had to see. I felt like I’d been given a beautiful package, and wanted to peek inside, but was afraid of being disappointed.

Eventually of course we had to go back to the studio and at least make the appearance of doing some work! There was no mistaking the mutual attraction we were experiencing, but what was next? Would he ask me on a proper date, and if so, how soon? I suddenly realized that there was a chance that might not actually happen, that I might be jumping the gun, that he might just be a charming man who takes his colleagues to lunch and talks very openly! The horror of that thought brought all my fantasies crashing down and once again, it must have showed on my face, as again he noticed and asked after my well-being. I told him I was just frustrated about the delay in the project, which was true anyway, and he reassured me that everything was going to be fine. Ironically, it was exactly the words I wanted to hear.

At last the authorizations we were waiting for came in and everything sped up. We were so busy working that it took my mind off my addled romantic fantasies a bit, but even so, all the time I was working I felt that I was being inspired by my feelings towards him. Every curve I drew was his body, every color I chose was from his pallette. He was always there, even when we weren’t actually working together, and although he was friendly with everyone, I felt I wasn’t imagining it that he had more chemistry with me.

The really good news came that I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed this. Steph called me over as I was leaving on the Thursday and asked me if I’d noticed how Ten always watched me, and got closer to me when we were talking, than with anyone else. I guess my face lit up at the suggestion, as she said “oh, you had!”. I told her that we’d had lunch together earlier in the week, which no-one had noticed as the place was so quiet then, and her eyebrows went up. “Lucky girl” she added “he’s gorgeous”.

I trusted Steph. I’d been her confidante through her marriage break-up, but my present dilemma was too weird even to share with a friend. But I needed someone to talk to anyway, and as we hadn’t had a girl’s night out in a while I suggested we go to the Fisherman’s bar that we both loved, and where we had spent many a night giggling and crying over imported beer together.  She jumped at the chance.

Mostly it was shop-talk, but eventually she enquired again about Ten. She asked me if I was interested in him, and I just made a complete fool of myself. I colored bright red, gave the silliest little laugh, and had to look away from her. She laughed out loud, then looked sympathetic. “Steph, I feel like a kid with a first crush”, I told her and she nodded knowingly. I wanted to tell her about my - quirk - and how I felt that I’d finally found The One, but I didn’t know where to begin. “Hi, I’m Teresa and I’m a glasses fetishist” was NOT something I wanted to blurt out. I just couldn’t do it. Euphemisms, that was the way to go, ask her about something else that I might want to see. Trouble was I couldn’t think of any.

“The thing is Steph, I’ve been so hurt before, I’m really scared of committing....” she grabbed both my hands “Oh honey, you KNOW I understand that!” Of course she did. She’d been beaten by a drunken husband.

“No, I mean...I need to know LITTLE things about him.....things that are too weird to ask outright, nothing serious, well, not to most people, I mean to most people it just wouldn’t matter, but, I just have to know, or it won’t be right, and it has to be right you see, and I have to know NOW before I get any more involved, before I .....” I realized I was babbling, and she had her eyes fixed on me. Surely she couldn’t read my mind?

“Be honest” she said, and her face was very serious, “You’re right, the little things do matter.”

She never once asked what I was referring to, and OF COURSE, she didn’t know. But she knew it mattered. Of course it mattered. Little things grow into big things. Didn’t I already know that? Hadn’t I had relationships that had gone stone cold because I thought it didn’t matter? A fetish isn’t a preference, or a hobby, or something for a wet Sunday afternoon. It’s an obsession with no cure, like the poor souls who know they’re trapped inside the body of the wrong gender. You either have to attain your goal or remain forever unsatisfied. It’s like living a lie. It’s about authenticity. So, I had to see. Bless you Steph, for ever more.

Friday seemed different. Ten was late coming in and had tied his hair back in a braid. It looked fantastic. I even saw some of the other girls enjoying the view. But I was the one he came over to, I was the one he said “Sorry I’m late” to. I was the one he sat down beside when he began working. And I was the one who got the chance to ask HIM what was wrong when he seemed distracted. He laughed dismissively at himself, and then totally casually made my day with “Oh, really, it’s nothing, just my new contacts driving me nuts, I stopped by the eye doctor on the way in to see if he could do anything, but he said I’ve just got to get used to them.”

And guess what I said. I said “Oh...”

Oh? OH? The inner voices started screaming at me again, only this time it was less polite. In fact it was profanity. Then I swear one of my inner powers slapped me, HARD. Because to my utter shock, and delight, out of my mouth came “So why don’t you just wear glasses?”. Just like that. No stammer developed. I’m not even sure it was my voice, it sounded so natural and matter of fact. And it had an insistent tone that demanded a real answer.

“Oh, that’s a long story” he laughed, and I swear he looked embarrassed.

“I’m not going anywhere” said that new voice that had just moved in to my body. It was a kind voice, but very firm and confident. I hoped it would stay.

“Well....” he began, reluctantly “I had this girlfriend, well, we lived together, 7 years actually......”

Yikes, The Ex.

“She had this THING....”

EEK! No, please, not the THING, please, please don’t tell me she loved men in glasses in an unnatural way and you have been scarred for life by that experience! Did I want to hear any more? Should I feign illness now? Should I interrupt with a knowing “Ahhhhh........” and change the subject, never to know? No, I had to know. One way or the other, I had to know.......

“She had this stupid thing about glasses.....”

Oh no, oh no...........

“She hated them.......”

HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!! Praise the Lord and pass the eye chart!

“She nagged me until I got contacts. It was hell, but I wanted to make her happy......”

OOOOOOOOOH

“Do you know it took me a full year to get used to them?”

I tried to look sympathetic without overdoing it.

“And even then they were never comfortable. They tell you that once you get them right, you can’t tell that you’re wearing them. Well, you can. You can feel them every second of the day. You want to make that feeling go away, and all you can do is blink.”

Yes, he did blink a lot. Why didn’t I pick that up straight away?

“Well, anyway, after we split up I just carried on wearing them, I guess it was familiar by then. I’d gone through all that to get used to them, you know?”

Come on Teresa, this is your line.........a wave of tingles came over me, the wise confident inner voice had deserted me, and instead I was left flopping around, and the only thing I managed to do was shrug. WHY? Why did I shrug?

“Why did you shrug?”

Huh? Could he read my mind? It must have been a bigger shrug than I thought. Why DID I shrug? I was waiting for an inner voice to find its way forward, and guess which one stepped up to the podium?......the honest one.......

“Well, because I’ve always preferred men in glasses”.

YOWZAS! I said it! I said it out loud, I said it without blushing, I said it without mumbling. I said it while fixing him with a heart-on-my-sleeve gaze of sheer adoration, and this highly articulate man said

“WOAH!” and then lost HIS power of speech.

He smiled, then looked puzzled, then smiled again, then looked puzzled again, then laughed, really hard. And because he reacted so oddly, I reassured him with

“Honestly. Always have.”

There was a long silence, during which time he never took his eyes off me, as if he was reading my very soul. And then he broke it. He took hold of my hand, and said

“So, if I was to pick you up about 8 o’clock, and wear my glasses, you’d come out to dinner with me?”

WOULD I?

“Yes” I said, smiling. And holding onto the desk firmly with both hands to avoid collapse.

With that, he grinned broadly, picked up his jacket and left. I just stood there moonstruck. Had anyone overheard us? No. But Steph had been watching, and as I turned round she gave me a huge theatrical wink.......

I think I floated home. I don’t remember the drive anyway, and when I got home my sister Maggie was waiting outside. I don’t think I’d ever been so pleased to see her. I giggled all the way up the steps to the front door, like I was drunk, and she kept nudging me with “What?” She knew me well though, once inside she asked “What’s his name?”.

“Ah well” I was so happy to talk about him. “His name is Etienne, it’s French, but everyone calls him Ten for short. He isn’t French, well, I mean he doesn’t sound it, I don’t know where he comes from, or his parents or......”

Maggie wanted something else. “What does he look like?”

Ah, well now.........”He’s dark, very dark, he looks French, you know? He has long hair, big brown eyes, beautiful features.....he’s tall, oh I’d say about 6 feet, and he’s slim but buff, I think he must work out, or maybe it’s just natural...........”

“You’ve gone red.”

I had. Again. This was getting ridiculous. It was because I wasn’t telling her everything. Well, how could I? Anyway, she seemed satisfied, I told her I was going out, and she said it was OK, she’d only come over to use my shower anyway, as hers was kaput, but as I needed it to get ready she’d wait and use it after, no problem. So she pottered in the kitchen - she was always cleaning up after me - and made herself a bite to eat.

When I finished agonizing over what to wear, and was ready, she handed me a drink. Yes, I probably needed it too, to steady my nerves. Soon, very soon, I was going to feast my eyes on a sight I’d been waiting for so long.....not just since I’d known, not just since I met him even, but something I felt my whole life had been building up to. It wasn’t fair. Maggie had had two boyfriends with glasses. I’d never had any. And now I found this..this.....perfect human being, with the perfect smile and the perfect nose, and the perfect sense of humor, and the perfect laugh....and.......and a car pulled up outside. He was early. No.....he wasn’t. I’d taken so long to get ready I’d only just done it in time!

I stood peeking through the blinds at the long window beside the door. Maggie was at the one the other side. He got out the car. My heart leapt into my mouth. It didn’t seem to want to go back down again, so when Maggie shrieked in delight with “Oh my God, you didn’t tell me he wears glasses!” I couldn’t swallow it down far enough to speak, and it didn’t dawn on me until later that my sister, unbeknownst to me all these years shared my passion! But yes Maggie, he wears glasses, and oh, joy to the world, what beautiful glasses. Rimless.

He jogged up the steps and knocked without hesitation. I gestured to Maggie to get in the kitchen quick, and I stepped back and counted to 5 so he wouldn’t know I’d watched his arrival like some dopey teenage stalker. I opened the door determined to make eye contact, but it was hard, and I think I blushed a little.

He said “You look great”

I replied “ So do you”. We were both visibly relieved, and we both laughed knowingly.

I introduced him to my sister, who gushed. He escorted me with an arm, very gentlemanly, down the steps and into the car. For a moment or two he looked uncertain about something, something on his mind. Then he smiled broadly, looked at me and said “This feels good”. And then he reached over and gave me a very friendly hug, and any awkwardness was gone, for ever more.