Sunshine Eyes.
look away.
I was never a big fan of eyes. I could remember my English teacher laughing at me in High school, saying that eyes were the windows to someone’s soul. But really, who needs windows anyway? Everyone had always thought that eyes had a romantic feel to it, like when a boy looks deep into the girl’s eyes in those cliché teenager movies. But really, why? They’re eyes, they’re shaped like eyes, they’re used like eyes, and they’re placed like eyes, nothing new about that, we see them everyday. I could not understand the fascination eyes bring to the average human being, but then again, I’m probably not like the normal human being aren’t I? I wasn’t always like this; I had once been indifferent towards eyes, until a specific pair forced me to have an unwanted curiosity about them, or a slight interest if you will. Although I do know that it wasn’t exactly just slight.
I was six when I first saw him. I was walking down the street with my mother, and him with his, he was small like me, tanned like me, has dark hair like me, and walks like me. After a second or two, the little boy moved his head, and I could see his eyes. His sunshine eyes. I didn’t think much about him, but the image of his vivid gold eyes haunted my young mind without any specific reason. The day that I saw him again was the day that I managed not to think about his sunshine eyes in about a month, he was sitting in a 1st grade classroom, so was I. I recognized him by his sunshine eyes, which flickered a couple of times around the classroom, curious. He didn’t say anything; I have no recollection of him saying anything until later in life, much later.
We were fifteen when he disappeared, taking his sunshine eyes with him, it might be to a far off country or to another state, I had never found out. It was a change for me, from seeing his sunshine eyes almost every single day as it flickered and gazed at things I didn’t notice to not seeing not just his eyes -- that are increasingly difficult to see leading up to his disappearance, courtesy of his ever growing hair -- but his entire being. Which before that day I had never notice. And at that day also, I had lost my interest in eyes. Never again did I think to see his sunshine eyes. But as always I was wrong.
We were nineteen when I saw his sunshine eyes again. It was shocking to see him, he had disappeared off the face of the Earth for about five or six year. I was reading and he was drinking. And again, neither of us said a word in each other’s presence, whether knowingly or not. I didn’t even know if he knew who I was, or that he has spent almost a year growing up with me. I didn’t think he did though, there were twenty kids who came up and attempted talked to him when we were still at school, wanting to know more about him, he didn’t say anything back to any of them. If he didn’t want to socialize with people who does want to socialize with him, what makes you think that he would want to remember -- let alone socialize -- with me?
I saw him more than just a few times when we were between the ages twenty to fifty. I saw him in the most important moments in my life. He was in the waiting room when I gave birth to my first son, he was watching in the same theatre when I was watching my daughter’s dance -- I didn’t know if he had any children or not -- recital from school, in my mother’s funeral, in the hospital when my son’s wife gave birth to my first grandson, every important and random moments. His sunshine eyes would always remind me who he is, he does not have a very memorable face, nor a memorable name -- seeing that to this day I have never knew it --.
I am seventy-three now, and I haven’t saw him in twenty-five years. The longest I have ever gone without seeing him, I had almost forgotten him. I have been wheezing my way in and out of the hospital, leaning heavily on my daughter who often brought her two teenage daughters along, my granddaughters. They didn’t like coming to the hospital, I knew that, but they were nice enough to pretend that they do, which is all that I ask of them. But the fact that I was leaning heavily on my daughter just to walk, that hurt me. I, who was once an independent young woman who can do anything by herself couldn’t even walk a few steps without having my knees shake uncontrollably. But aging is inevitable, and my age caught up with my strength.
One night I had a terrible cough, and because of my age I was rushed to the hospital and was immediately put in a ward. My son who took me here was already outside calling his two older siblings, who would undoubtedly be speeding their way here, waking their family members and rushing to put on decent clothes in this time of night. I could hear the girls grumbling already. They all knew, as they already expected it for some time now, clearly I didn’t need a doctor to tell me I was dying.
I looked around the ward I was in. There were four occupants, one has curtains pulled over his/her bed, the other was a little boy who looked about five who was sleeping soundly in his pillows, and the other was right next to me. The man had his head facing opposite me, and his chest rose up and down rhythmically signaling that he was asleep. I sighed, preparing myself to fall asleep, possibly my last, until the man turned his face and stared right at me.
Sunshine eyes.
For the first time in sixty-seven years of watching him, he looked back at me. His once dark hair thinned into a silvery grey, and his once youthful face sagged with wrinkles, as were mine. But his eyes -- oh his eyes -- his sunshine eyes, remained the same. Still the golden shade of amber, like sunshine. He smiled at me, his thin lips curving at the end, and I smiled back, trying to put the exact shade of his eyes carved into my brain.
Then out of nowhere, I felt weak, like my limbs are slowly falling asleep, one by one. I can tell that these will be the last breathes of air that would ever fill my lungs. And as my eyes droop slowly to my endless sleep, I saw his eyes.
His sunshine eyes.
I was six when I first saw him. I was walking down the street with my mother, and him with his, he was small like me, tanned like me, has dark hair like me, and walks like me. After a second or two, the little boy moved his head, and I could see his eyes. His sunshine eyes. I didn’t think much about him, but the image of his vivid gold eyes haunted my young mind without any specific reason. The day that I saw him again was the day that I managed not to think about his sunshine eyes in about a month, he was sitting in a 1st grade classroom, so was I. I recognized him by his sunshine eyes, which flickered a couple of times around the classroom, curious. He didn’t say anything; I have no recollection of him saying anything until later in life, much later.
We were fifteen when he disappeared, taking his sunshine eyes with him, it might be to a far off country or to another state, I had never found out. It was a change for me, from seeing his sunshine eyes almost every single day as it flickered and gazed at things I didn’t notice to not seeing not just his eyes -- that are increasingly difficult to see leading up to his disappearance, courtesy of his ever growing hair -- but his entire being. Which before that day I had never notice. And at that day also, I had lost my interest in eyes. Never again did I think to see his sunshine eyes. But as always I was wrong.
We were nineteen when I saw his sunshine eyes again. It was shocking to see him, he had disappeared off the face of the Earth for about five or six year. I was reading and he was drinking. And again, neither of us said a word in each other’s presence, whether knowingly or not. I didn’t even know if he knew who I was, or that he has spent almost a year growing up with me. I didn’t think he did though, there were twenty kids who came up and attempted talked to him when we were still at school, wanting to know more about him, he didn’t say anything back to any of them. If he didn’t want to socialize with people who does want to socialize with him, what makes you think that he would want to remember -- let alone socialize -- with me?
I saw him more than just a few times when we were between the ages twenty to fifty. I saw him in the most important moments in my life. He was in the waiting room when I gave birth to my first son, he was watching in the same theatre when I was watching my daughter’s dance -- I didn’t know if he had any children or not -- recital from school, in my mother’s funeral, in the hospital when my son’s wife gave birth to my first grandson, every important and random moments. His sunshine eyes would always remind me who he is, he does not have a very memorable face, nor a memorable name -- seeing that to this day I have never knew it --.
I am seventy-three now, and I haven’t saw him in twenty-five years. The longest I have ever gone without seeing him, I had almost forgotten him. I have been wheezing my way in and out of the hospital, leaning heavily on my daughter who often brought her two teenage daughters along, my granddaughters. They didn’t like coming to the hospital, I knew that, but they were nice enough to pretend that they do, which is all that I ask of them. But the fact that I was leaning heavily on my daughter just to walk, that hurt me. I, who was once an independent young woman who can do anything by herself couldn’t even walk a few steps without having my knees shake uncontrollably. But aging is inevitable, and my age caught up with my strength.
One night I had a terrible cough, and because of my age I was rushed to the hospital and was immediately put in a ward. My son who took me here was already outside calling his two older siblings, who would undoubtedly be speeding their way here, waking their family members and rushing to put on decent clothes in this time of night. I could hear the girls grumbling already. They all knew, as they already expected it for some time now, clearly I didn’t need a doctor to tell me I was dying.
I looked around the ward I was in. There were four occupants, one has curtains pulled over his/her bed, the other was a little boy who looked about five who was sleeping soundly in his pillows, and the other was right next to me. The man had his head facing opposite me, and his chest rose up and down rhythmically signaling that he was asleep. I sighed, preparing myself to fall asleep, possibly my last, until the man turned his face and stared right at me.
Sunshine eyes.
For the first time in sixty-seven years of watching him, he looked back at me. His once dark hair thinned into a silvery grey, and his once youthful face sagged with wrinkles, as were mine. But his eyes -- oh his eyes -- his sunshine eyes, remained the same. Still the golden shade of amber, like sunshine. He smiled at me, his thin lips curving at the end, and I smiled back, trying to put the exact shade of his eyes carved into my brain.
Then out of nowhere, I felt weak, like my limbs are slowly falling asleep, one by one. I can tell that these will be the last breathes of air that would ever fill my lungs. And as my eyes droop slowly to my endless sleep, I saw his eyes.
His sunshine eyes.