One? or Two?

Why is it that when I go to the eye doctor, I always feel like I'm about nine? Today, I accompanied Steve while he went to get laser surgery done to repair a torn retina. We arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes early, checked in, filled out the necessary paperwork, and took a seat in the waiting area. After a few minutes, we were called back. I decided to join Steve in the examination room prior to surgery. The assistant began by doing a quick vision test on Steve. You know the rigmarole. She handed him a black paddle and instructed him to cover his right eye and read the smallest line of letters he could make out.

"A...Z...G...E...3"

"Good. How about the smallest line on this screen?"

"F...B? No....D? I'm not really sure. I can read the O. That is an O, right? And then C. And 6. Or is that a G? Gol, I'm not really sure."

I sat there listening, looking at the letters, with both eyes squinting, and I began mouthing the letters at him. "No, you were right the first time. It was a B. B! Yes! You got it! Yes! It's an O! Good job. Keep going!" I go on like this for awhile, ever present with him during this "exam". I want to rescue him from the total embarrassment, the utter discomfort of not being able to read the letters. It's my duty to help him. We're gonna have to cheat. I can't let him fail. Finally my mouthing becomes whispering which turns into an full out-loud, "G! Yes, yes! It's a G! A G!"

The room stops dead. The assistant turns around and gives me dagger eyes. Steve looks at me with this, "What the hell, Lisa?" look. And then all of a sudden I become aware of my actions. Am I really trying to help my boyfriend cheat on his eye exam? Silenced and in shame, I sit back. I was only trying to help. I couldn't let him fail. And then I remember that we are well beyond the fourth grade and Mrs. Sands, my fourth grade teacher, is no where to be seen. I can rest easy. I am no longer nine.