Accident

I can see the clock ticking over your head. With each twitch of the needle inside, your eyes flicker to something new. The problem is that we’re in an underground train. There are limits to your brief observations. No trees are visible outside the windows— maple, pine, evergreen. Only cement and shadows of the train on the wall.

We haven’t made eye contact yet, though. Do you suppose it’s because both of our irises are blue? Presuming that we are on the negative side of magnets, there will be no association between us. Opposites attract, and so far it makes sense because you’ve only been glancing at those with positive, brown eyes. They catch your fleeting look of interest with their own curiosity, but the seconds ticking by break your bond as strangers.

Sometimes the clock lags when passing your gaze amongst fellow travelers. I saw how that elderly woman furrowed her brow at you and adjusted the shawl around her neck. To witness the uncomfortable exchange almost had me laughing, but I refrained. After all, that still wouldn’t have caught your attention, only the elder’s instead with a clash of russet to azure.

Eventually came the rapid tapping of your fingers. In effect, time seemed to pick up speed. Now there is an unnatural disposition in the air, and others can feel it. They turn to look in another direction, relate in a confused expression on their faces. We can all feel the train stumble on parts of the track, and it’s making us nervous.

I know that this is your doing because of how stressed you’ve become. A rushed sigh escaping your mouth. The brush through of your hair getting purposely tangled and scrunched between your fingers.

The train suddenly makes a more violent lurch on its wheels and sparks can be seen outside the window.

But then time slows down again as well as your antics.

You’re an accident waiting to happen.