My Cardboard Balcony

Strabismus by Belinda Roddie Strabismus plagued the professor's left eye and made it settle on a different scene than she saw from her right eye. She would try to joke about it, but the jokes were mean and so self-deprecating. I believed that she was beautiful, no matter what, and so I left her flowers in between my classes, my heart dropping to my gut at the thought of how she would then react to my gifts. Yes, I loved her, lazy eye and all, her gaze slightly crossed like a pact between two star-crossed lovers who would die for one another. I was lovesick, true, but what else can a nerdy student do?

"I just want every day to get a bit brighter," said Sherman with a twinkle in his eye. "You know what I mean? Just a little bit brighter." "You don't want that," grumbled Ivan from his nest of beanbag chairs. His curly hair poked out from between the cushions like spring. "Don't take me literally again," Sherman snapped. "I mean emotionally. I know that if every day gets brighter, it'll be too literally bright. C'mon."