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MASON OPTOMETRY
Date: 12/12/04
Patient Record: #14844
Visit Type: Remote Screening
Session ID: TV-19UB15
Intake Status: In Progress
Test 5 of 5
Read from top to bottom, continuing as print size decreases
2.0 M
I jumped. Peter was on his feet now, his face off the lens, pointing wildly at the machine in front of him, his mouth agape.
“Peter, I—”
“There’s a man! There’s a man at the farm!”
“Peter, there isn’t a man in—”
“Just look!” he said, practically leaping over the stool as he reached out for my hand. “Just look. Trust me! Look! That’s amazing. He wasn’t there before! He wasn’t!”
Reluctantly, I sighed and made my way to the other side of the table to the viewfinder. I figured I’d at least humor him. I’d say I didn’t see anything and it must be a smudge or something, and then we’d move on from this bizarre side plot.
“Look! Right at the center of the barn!”
I pressed my face to the lens.
The same familiar picture was before me.
With no man in sight.
“Nope. I don’t see a man, Peter,” I said, looking up from the lens and back at him. “Must’ve been a smudge is all. Now…please return to the—”
“He was there. I saw him. I know I did!”
“Okay, Peter…listen. I can tell you are really agitated about this image. If you can’t get past it, I’m afraid you are going to have to come back another day. That means all this waiting for your appointment, setting it up, driving here, and all of our time has been wasted. Is that what you want? Do you really want to miss out on this appointment because of the picture in the autorefractor?”
To my surprise, he agreed.
1.5 M
“Yes.. That’s fine. I really don’t think I can continue today anyway I need to get to the bottom of this picture. Can you write down on a notepad or something the name of this so I can look it up when I get home?”
“You’re joking?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not joking! I see a man there. This is the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen, and I see a man standing there, smiling at me. I have to get to the bottom of it. I’ll reschedule my appointment, I promise.”
“Peter, this is ridiculous!” I said, my hands leaving my hips, and I raised them in the air as he turned to leave. “You can’t be serious.”
“Could you write it down?” he asked, ignoring my incredulity. He was holding the notepad he had picked up from my desk outside the exam room.
“Like I said, it doesn’t have a name.”
“Then give me something.”
I shook my head repeatedly, just beyond frustrated, and wrote:
Autorefractor image—farm scene in green valley
“Thanks!” he said, snatching the paper out of my hand before I had even finished writing. “And what’s your name?”
“Gerry. Gerry Manning, but I don’t see how that is really that relevant—”
“And your email, Gerry?” Peter asked, now writing on the pad himself with a mechanical pencil he had pulled out of his pocket.
“Uh…gmanning@masonoptometry.com.”
“Thank you! I’ll reschedule my appointment, I promise. Thanks for all your help today.”
And with that, the most peculiar patient who had ever stepped foot into Dr. Ronny Mason’s Crystal City Optometry Clinic left the office as quickly as he had entered, leaving me confused and alone with the autorefractor.
1.25 M
I was only asleep for five minutes or so when the phone rang.
My stomach dropped. My body was ice in seconds, my skin crawling with sweat and my face numb. My mind went to the worst-case scenario immediately—Trinity had been killed in a car accident. Or Jacob had showed up at their house a drunken mess as usual and had beaten Shelly in front of Trinity. She’d never call unless it was something like that.
I held the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“This is Peter. Do you remember me, Mrs. Manning?”
“Peter? Peter Clark from Dr. Mason’s? Peter…why are you calling me at ten at night?”
“I—I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Peter…I’m sorry, but whatever you have to say will have to wait until morning. If you call Dr. Mason’s and leave a message, I can get back to you in a timely manner. Now please…delete this number. This is a personal number, and I don’t know how you got it—”
“You gave it to me.”
“I—I did not—” I stammered.
“Yes, you did.”
“Please don’t call this number again, the only number you should be calling is Dr. Mason’s office number. I can give it to you tomorrow. Now, goodnight—”
“Wait! Mrs. Manning, please wait!”
“Peter, I—”
“It can’t wait until morning. I promise this will be quick. Please. I need to tell you this.”
I squeezed the phone even tighter than I already was and said through gritted teeth:
“Okay, Peter…what do you have to tell me?”
“Okay…” he said, the desperation in his voice finally fading, “I wanted to tell you how thankful I am for you letting me see that beautiful picture—”
Oh my gosh.
He’s talking about that darn farm picture again.
“Peter,” I said, all the pleasant customer service voice I had perfected over my many decades now completely vanished, “this does not make any sense. I’m sorry, but it is just a picture. A meaningless, nothing picture that is used for a simple test and that is that. Whether it be a pinwheel, a farm, or a hot air balloon, it makes no difference whatsoever. When we get the reading we need, that is that. Please do not call this number anymore. Good night.”
I raised the phone from my ear and moved to place it back on its stand and end the call, but I wasn’t quick enough.
I heard Peter’s last words on the other side of the line.
“But Gerry…the man in the picture told me to call you.”
Disclaimer: This online experience is a work of fiction and is not a medical device, diagnostic tool, or source of medical advice.