A Flashing of Eyes
Dawn
I see her again the next day at school. Her eyes are dense and blue like the bay at dawn. They catch the light as she walks down the corridor, her bare feet silent against the ground. Her frame sways from side to side, those sea glass eyes permanently affixed to the horizon. A smile plays with her lips, bending and twisting them until I catch a glimpse of moon-colored teeth. Her freckles dance brightly against her dark skin.
I have looked too long. I feel their muddy eyes boring into me like the harsh red x-ray lights at the airport. My shoulders hunch up, large boulders: impenetrable, eternal, unnoticed. Then suddenly, I feel glowing warmth, as if summer is starting all over again, lily buds opening, school doors closing, ice cubes clinking… I feel her eyes on me, a gentle laser as they survey my stooped silhouette. And then she’s gone, in a flash of blue eyes.
******
I’m starting off towards home after school. The sky is discolored, gray and red, the sidewalk rough. I am beginning to look forward to my room, clean and white, my clothes in crisp folds on their shelves, the grooves in the carpet, the coolness of the wood. Suddenly, I feel a flash of eyes behind me and there she is, her cheeks pink, her hair windswept, her mouth smiling that bent-up smile. “You. Come on, I want to show you something.” I turn around a whole 360 degrees searching for the person she could be talking to. “You,” she says again, and points, beckoning. I follow, the laces of my shoes clicking against the asphalt.
I have looked too long. I feel their muddy eyes boring into me like the harsh red x-ray lights at the airport. My shoulders hunch up, large boulders: impenetrable, eternal, unnoticed. Then suddenly, I feel glowing warmth, as if summer is starting all over again, lily buds opening, school doors closing, ice cubes clinking… I feel her eyes on me, a gentle laser as they survey my stooped silhouette. And then she’s gone, in a flash of blue eyes.
******
I’m starting off towards home after school. The sky is discolored, gray and red, the sidewalk rough. I am beginning to look forward to my room, clean and white, my clothes in crisp folds on their shelves, the grooves in the carpet, the coolness of the wood. Suddenly, I feel a flash of eyes behind me and there she is, her cheeks pink, her hair windswept, her mouth smiling that bent-up smile. “You. Come on, I want to show you something.” I turn around a whole 360 degrees searching for the person she could be talking to. “You,” she says again, and points, beckoning. I follow, the laces of my shoes clicking against the asphalt.