How Green is the Grass?

Light trickled through the window. She did not stir. Its intensity brightened. She did not stir. He rose, woken by the light. Her eyes flicked open.
         “Good morning,” he said.
         “’Morning, honey,” she replied.
         She stood up and felt her way to the dresser, where he stood. Her eyes stared off into space. He began to dress and helped her do the same.
         “How green is the grass today, honey?” she asked.
         “Bright,” he replied, looking out the window, “full and lush.”
         She smiled and smoothed out her shirt. He took her hand and led her into the dining room. She sat down in the chair he pulled out and smiled, staring ahead. He brought out her food and set it in front of her. She smelled the pancakes and toast and felt around for her utensils. Meanwhile, he had picked up the paper and sat down at the table and opened it.
         “What’s in the news today?” she asked.
         “A billionaire donated a million dollars to charity,” he replied, wincing at the picture of a large-scale riot on the front page.
         “That’s nice, dear,” she said, and kept smiling. They both ate and then he stood up.
         “Well, I have to get to work,” he said.
         He walked up to her and kissed her.
         “Bye,” he said, resting his forehead on her temple.
         “Bye,” she murmured back, and they kissed again.
         He walked to the door and turned. She was eating again and staring straight forward. He smiled and turned, walking out the door. He walked across the lawn to his car, his feet crunching on the yellow, dead grass. He opened the door to his car and got in. The key turned in the ignition and he pulled away, driving to work.
         His mind began to reflect. She used to be such a carefree woman. Her passion for writing and poetic abilities was one reason he married her. Then, one day at dinner, she suddenly clutched her head from a splitting headache. When pain relievers didn’t work, he took her to a hospital.
         “I have some bad news,” the doctor had said to him, “Your wife has a tumor in the frontal lobe of her brain. We could operate, but it is a very risky procedure.”
         “Leave me alone with her,” he had said, and the doctor complied, leaving the room. He went up to her.
         “What is it, honey?” she asked, seeing his tears.
         “You have a brain tumor,” he choked out, looking into her eyes and seeing the mass of the tumor behind them, “They’re going to operate.”
         He broke down and held her until the nurse came in and told him to leave. He walked out of the room and waited in the waiting room as the operation took place. Hours passed and the doctor came through the double doors.
         “The operation is complete,” the doctor said.
         “How’s my wife?” he had asked.
         “There was some irreparable damage to her optic nerves,” the doctor replied, “She has lost her eyesight and will never see again.”
         “Can I see her?” he asked, trying to repress his grimace of sorrow.
         “Yes,” the doctor replied, “She is in her room.”
         He walked away from the doctor and to her room. She was in bed and he walked up to her. When she felt around to see who it was, the dam holding his tears back broke and he hugged her, burying his face in her neck.
         When he took her home, he did his best to take care of her. Every morning was the same. She asked the same question and he gave the same answer.
         His work came into view and he pulled into his parking spot. He got out, walked in, and sat in his cubicle. His hands hovered over his keyboard for a couple seconds and then shot to the phone. He dialed and heard the other line ringing.
         “Hello?” came his friend’s voice.
         “Hey, it’s me,” he said, “Did you get that information from your brother?”
         “Yes,” his friend replied, “and he will be happy to help. He has you scheduled for 8:00 tonight.”
         “Thank you,” he said, and hung up.
         He went through work that day with extra vigor. When it was done, he hurried home and found her with her Braille.
         “I’m home,” he said.
         “Hi,” she said, and started feeling toward his voice. He walked up to her and they embraced.
         “Come on,” he said, “I’ve made an appointment with the doctor for tonight.”
         He led her out to the car and drove her to the hospital. She was led to the OR and the operation began.
         The light hit her eyes. She clenched them shut. It was bright. Her brain took a second to trigger. She could see. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She tried to bear through the piercing pain. A doctor came into the room.
         “The optic nerve transplant was a success,” the doctor said.
         Her husband then came in the room, led by a nurse. He felt his way towards her. She understood. He had sacrificed his own sight for hers. She threw her arms around him.

Light pierced her eyes. She opened them and stood up. He was shaken awake and felt his way to the dresser.
         “How green is the grass today?” he asked.