Taken

 
When I was a teen, I made a vow:  I would not let myself go.

​I cast my naïve gaze upon older people and swore on my beloved guitar that I would never let THAT happen to me.  No way, Jose.

In my defense, I made a sincere effort to keep my promise, and I did so for a very long time.  Hence, I did not see it coming.  But here I am.  Falling.  Apart.

And so I enter another defense.  I did not let myself go. I was taken.

I am beginning to unravel the diabolical scheme and identify the clever thief.  This story is not an action-packed thriller starring Liam Neeson.  There are no Albanian Human Traffickers.  It’s just me on the run from Time.

Lacking the training of a CIA operative, I was slow to trade in my old bifocals for some new lens implants.  After two quick cataract surgeries, I have a new super-power:  X-ray vision.  I now see every liver spot on my face as well as the ones on my actual liver.  Every cell of my body is under a binocular microscope—my new eyes.

Prior to my surgeries, I thought it was just STOP signs and red lights I was missing.  Post-surgery, I have to face that my face is not mine, at least not the one I remember.  I can see my bare scalp through the sparsely planted gray hairs.  My cheeks are covered with dark spots I never knew were there.  Every pore is a swimming pool. My gums are receding into my nasal passages, and my teeth are shouting, “Stop with the tea!”  Now I know not to get into the car with anyone who ever said, “You look nice.”

I have not had the courage to look below my neck.  Those pesky chin hairs provide me with a convenient excuse.  If left alone with my new eyes and a pair of tweezers, my morning is booked.  Don’t call me until after eleven.

When I was a teen, I hoped to live long.  I looked forward to becoming a grown-up—mature and independent, but not THAT.  Now that youth has been restored to my vision, the world is brighter, but there is a stranger living in my house.  Where is the prior tenant?

I did not let her go.

She was taken.

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