Blinded in Plain Sight Payton Oliver

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Blinded in Plain Sight

Payton Oliver

It growls, it grumbles, it groans as if channeling an incessant desire for the unruly inside of me. It wishes and it washes. It flops, it fizzles, it flares to warn me of the impending domination of just one small portion on the rest of my day-so much so that I’m hesitant to accept any sort of possible imposter into the weak contents that form the function of my nourishment, although it is failing to do so as required by a man of my stature. With a height associated exclusively with the beasts of our time and a weight reserved solely for those that willingly throw it around, I had the two greatest standards of physique...each slowly being taken from the very bones on which I, myself, grew. Distinct grooves defining the isolated borders of muscles once conjoined to outline a profile that most men could only fancy, but never have for themselves. I was the proud owner of the Cadillac, or perhaps muscle car, of all frames. As the days passed, the position that once allowed me to tower over those below, began to crumble. Calves formerly as strong as the cement on which they ran softened to that of a toddler’s. Shoulders always ensuring straight posture found a new permanent angle, too hunched to display my enviable figure. Glutes no longer hefty enough to hold a bridge higher than an inch off of the creaky cabin’s wooden slats. After consulting mystics and apothecaries, witchdoctors found by word of mouth, and so-called miracle workers to stop or, at the very least, slow down the constant shedding of fat and

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muscle, pounds pouring off the calcium-lacking bones jutting from beneath my wan skin, I was prescribed herbs and potions. Many lacked in the scent department; one could even argue that they were odorous, for even the women around me shielded their eyes. Deafening whispers, widening pupils, and persecuting glares ate away at me like the sickness itself gnawed at the little substance I could still call my own. At the top of each hour, the kettle hopped from the wood-burning stove, alarming me that it was time to refill my porcelain tea cup with the next concoction on the schedule. 12:00 was elderberry, 1:00 marked dandelion root, 2:00 for yarrow...14 different teas to sip on for the hours I was assigned to be awake. After looking as monstrous as I had under the spell of this sickness, I was forced to tend to myself mixing my hourly drink and 5 daily meals without a woman to share the burden with, as few would even bat an eye at the once most eligible bachelor within city limits. Fat and protein were to be the main components of my heavy-handed diet, yet nothing truly tasted as it used to. My menu favorites soon became most gag-worthy in comparison to their former glory. It must be due to this sickness. Ever since I had fallen into the marshes on a hunt with some of my comrades, nothing has been the same. I can’t see like I used to, nothing tastes as it once did, and my body repels what it previously attracted. No matter the amount of turmeric and black pepper I poured on my specially curated homemade meals, nothing and nobody could resolve the overwhelming loss that consumed my day to day. Much overdue, it was time that I put out the shekels to be properly examined by a professional medic. The closest was half an hour outside of town. I stuffed myself with as much of the deterring food as I could prepare, pouring my tea for the next several hours into a handy, and might I say, much too heavy, to-go container to keep up my nutrients. I was

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afraid that if I stopped all of the sudden, my condition would worsen even more with the passing hours on my journey to the doctor. I prepared myself to be seen by outsiders, covering my frame with a wool coat so as to not draw any more attention to myself. In the late-spring heat, the outfit swallowed me, but I was comfortable having the extra fabric between me and the breeze that threatened to chill me to the core. Upon exiting the carriage, I tipped the director, asking for the way to Dr. Alio’s. He rambled off street names and benchmarks, but details had become incredibly difficult to tether in my mind. I found myself wandering through the throngs of wives bargaining at the street market, hoping one of them would be kind enough to direct me to the office. One named Marina, or perhaps her name was Michelle, it’s hard for me to recall, led the way, noticing that I was clearly in desperate need of medical attention. She even kindly took me by the crook of my bony elbow, escorting me through the crowds just a few blocks away to the mahogany wood door of Dr. Alio’s. How was I to afford such a luxury? Stumbling into his office, I subconsciously sipped from my cup, the bitter, acidic taste no longer inciting the reaction it once did. “Sir, what is it that you’re drinking?” “Why, it’s just some peppermint leaves steeped in water. The apothecary encouraged me to use it to help diminish the effects of my illness. Look, doctor.” I built up the strength to pull the cloak off of my shoulders, revealing the skeleton of a once unshakeable man. But, Dr. Alio did not flinch. He took one step closer, forcefully robbing my grasp of the warm cup I had been yet to release since I set afoot on this journey. “What happened to your eyes?” From the little I could tell, he was approaching my face, shining a light near my eyes, searching them with his own. I didn’t understand. I came here for my ever prominent weight-loss issue, and he had the audacity

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to ignore my needs and focus on my eyes? “With all do respect, doc, I’m here because I’m losing pounds by the minute, and I cannot bear to be isolated like this for much longer. I’ve tried every possible food and potion, but they have gotten me no further than I could’ve gone myself.” “I see. But, you certainly can’t. You’re drinking muddy well-water. The snack you have resting beside you appears to be full of tree bark and...turmeric? How long have you been doing this to yourself?” “What do you mean? That’s my tea and some nuts slathered in herbs for a snack with healthy fats. I mean they have tasted weird, but I’m used to it by now. That stumble into the marsh has transformed my senses.” “It’s your eyes. They’ve become infected and limited your vision. You’re losing weight because you can’t see that you’re eating like a woodland creature, not a human being. Why hasn’t anyone told you this?” “ I haven’t been around people. They’ve all been scared away by all of this” I sighed, motioning to what remained of my feeble figure. “It’s your eyes. They’re pink, and they’re puss-filled. They’re afraid of you. Allow me,” Dr. Alio came closer, tilting my head back gently, squeezing in 2 drops of solution into each of my eyes, creating a burning sensation. “Two drops in each eye, once in the morning and once at night. Come back in a week if the problem hasn’t subsided.” Never have I felt so frivolous to be prescribed eye drops for a stomach ache.