I fumbled with the tissue paper, my fingers clumsy and uncooperative as I unwrapped the gold-framed glasses. The delicate paper tore in places, but I extracted the glasses without dropping them. I unfolded them carefully.
“It’s so dark in here.” I blurted out.
The bartender nodded with the patience of someone used to dealing with drunk customers and turned away to help someone else. Holding the glasses, I thought about the store clerk. Moira, that was the lady’s name from the antique store. I had a fantastic memory that I got from the woman who gave birth to me. She never needed a grocery list. She could recall at least twenty-five items at a time. My daddy used to always quiz her on her memory.
Moira’s words echoed in my mind: Be careful what you look for. Not all truths are comfortable ones.
What had she meant by that? In my current state, the cryptic warning seemed more amusing than ominous. I slipped the reading glasses onto my face without poking my eye out, expecting them to help me read the blurry receipt and nothing more.
The club’s dimness no longer seemed to hinder my vision. Instead, everything stood out in perfect clarity, as if brightened from within. I blinked rapidly, disoriented by the change. Through the lenses, the receipt that had been indecipherable moments ago now appeared in crisp detail. Each number stood out distinctly: $86.47 for the drinks we’d consumed throughout the night. Well, mostly I consumed.
“Whoa,” I whispered, pulling the glasses down slightly to peek over the top. Without them, the receipt returned to its blurry state. I pushed them back up, and clarity returned instantly. Damn, my drinks couldn’t have been watered down. I was blind without the glasses and didn’t even know it.
I convinced myself it was just the cocktails affecting my perception. Still, I couldn’t deny that the glasses worked perfectly for their intended purpose. I could read again, despite my inebriated state.
I scribbled my signature on the receipt, adding a twenty-dollar tip. The bartender had been generous with the birthday drinks, after all. As I wrote, I noticed something odd. The pen seemed to leave a trailing glow behind it, like a sparkler writing in the dark. The effect was beautiful and mesmerizing. I found myself drawing little swirls after my signature just to watch the golden light follow the pen’s movement. I was really messed up and seeing things. It was time to go home.
“You good?” the bartender asked, returning to collect the signed receipt.
I nodded reluctantly, pushing the paper toward him. “All set. Thanks for everything.” I took the customer receipt and folded it once before shoving it in my purse.
He glanced at the tip amount and smiled. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Get home safe.”
I turned away from the bar, the glasses still perched on my nose. The club looked different through them, not just clearer, but somehow more real. No, that wasn’t right. More than real. I could see details I’d never noticed before. I saw the intricate pattern in the wooden bar top, the individual beads of condensation on drink glasses, the complex weave of fabrics in people’s clothing.
And the people themselves, they seemed outlined in faint auras of color that shifted and pulsed with their movements. Probably just the strobe lights reflecting off the lenses, I reasoned. It was beautiful and fascinating.
I made my way back to Brooklyn, who stood exactly where I’d left her, scrolling through her phone with the bored patience of a friend.
“I paid,” I announced, holding up my wallet as proof.
Brooklyn looked up, her eyes widening when she saw the glasses on my face. “Since when do you wear glasses?”
“They’re from that shop,” I explained, touching the frames self-consciously. “The Emporium place. It’s dark in here. I needed them to read the receipt.”
“Glasses in the club?” Brooklyn looked skeptical. “You look like a drunk librarian.”
I laughed. Everything seemed funnier with four cocktails, maybe five, and two shots, maybe three. I forget. “I like them. They make everything... prettier.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes but smiled. “Whatever makes you happy, birthday girl. Put your wallet back in your purse.” She ordered.
“Oh, yeah.” I said, remembering the wallet was in my hand.
“Ready to go?” She asked.
I shook my head, suddenly aware of my full bladder. All those drinks had finally caught up with me. “Wait for me at the bar. I need to pee out some of this alcohol.”
“Don’t fall in the toilet,” Brooklyn warned, already turning back to the bar. “I’ll get you another water for the ride home.”
I nodded and turned toward the back of the club, where a neon sign indicated the restrooms. Through the glasses, the sign glowed. The neon pink letters burned into my retinas. I blinked, but kept the glasses on, too fascinated by the enhanced world they revealed to take the glasses off.
The journey to the bathroom became an expedition. The crowd had thinned as closing time approached, but there were still enough people to navigate around. Through the lenses, each person appeared with a subtle glow, some brighter than others. A woman laughing at the edge of the dance floor sparkled with a warm orange light. A couple kissing in a dark corner seemed wrapped in a shared cocoon of deep blue.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, squeezing past a group of guys near the hallway leading to the restrooms. One of them, tall with dark hair and a jawline that reminded me of someone famous, turned toward me, his mouth opening to speak.
For an instant, his face transformed. Not physically, but like a veil had been lifted, revealing something beneath his features, something with sharper angles, deeper shadows, a hint of otherness that vanished so quickly I convinced myself I’d imagined it.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said, his voice normal, and slightly irritated.
