TRANCE

A gentle breeze from the open window forced the curtains slightly apart and a sunbeam danced through the chink, playing across the face of the youth who lay sleeping on the bed. As the warm fingers touched his skin, the youth opened his eyes and slid out of bed. He was tall and slim, with brown hair and blue eyes. The mouth was set in a serious line, as it always was, and a small growth of stubble lay on his chin. In spite of the beginnings of a bread, a sign of manhood, the countenance of the youth gave him the appearance of a teenager, seventeen at most. In fact, the previous day had been his twenty-first birthday. Andrew Redlaw’s age was always being underestimated by others. Sometimes it was useful and sometimes it was a real bother.

Andrew glanced at the calendar on the wall and read the date. 21 May 1980. A line of puzzlement creased his forehead. He looked again, then slowly, the frown subsided and a look of sheer joy took its place. The date had nothing to do with this transformation. It was the mere fact that he could read it clearly at all. The day before his eyesight had been far from twenty-twenty but now he could see perfectly. After having been short-sighted for three years, his eyes had gone back to normal, voluntarily. Or maybe not, thought Andrew, for he remembered that the previous night he had violently cracked his head on the stone fireplace. That must be the answer.

His initial impulse to cheer and dance about was quickly quelled. It was more than likely only a brief recovery due to the bang on his head. No use building up hopes too high, only for them to come crashing down again about his ears. Best to take things one step at a time and see what happened.

Having decided on this course of action, Andrew went through the normal routine of washing, shaving and dressing. Within fifteen minutes he only had to run a comb through his hair to present a respectable figure. He tried his glasses and found it was like looking through unfocused binoculars. He left them on the cupboard. With any luck he would not need them again.

Whilst easting his breakfast, Andrew decided that his first priority was to visit his optician for a proper diagnosis. On phoning he was fortunate enough to be given an appointment for that morning, available due to a cancellation. He only just had enough time to cycle the two miles into town.

“No doubt about it,” confirmed the optician, Mr Munday, after a ten minute check-up. “Your vision is now twenty-twenty.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing. I have heard of such things happening but it is still rather a miracle. Of course,” he added solemnly, “there is no way of knowing how long it will last.”

“I know that,” said Andrew. “I’m already resigned to the fact that it is probably only a temporary respite due to that blow to the head.”

“Undoubtedly due to the bang on the head,” agreed Mr Munday. “Yet, let us not be pessimists, it might last for years.”

“That is what I am hoping for,” declared Andrew, visibly crossing his fingers. “I would like to know, however, what has happened to let me see again.”