On the Subway
He was plugged into his PSP, white earbuds, slack-jawed, blank stare, and shooing off his girlfriend when she leaned over reaching to adjust it to removed the glare of the 11 AM sun, so she might see it as well.
"You can't hear it, so why bother looking at it?" He said overly loud.
Her hair was chemical gold, even actual gold is not that golden. And her eyes were ice-blue, and her skin had the palor of porcelain, but not its smoothness.
He snapped the P2P shut and pulled one earbud out. She reached for the it and the wire connected to his other ear.
"Let me use it," she said.
He shooed her off again. "Can't you just let me have some things for myself?" He asked. "Anyway, I want you to pay attention to me."
She sighed and dropped her arms and looked up. Our eyes met, and in that half-moment before I looked away and closed my eyes, pretending to nap I saw how those eyes pleaded, "Save me. Save me. Save me."
I have no illusions that it was me she wanted to save her. But rather, that deep desire, that yearning for freedom erupted spontaneously so that I, not as myself, but as another part of the universe she shares, that we are both a part of, even as we are apart, might bear witness to it. So that for a moment she could see herself through my eyes and be reassured.
Not reassured that everything will be okay, not that she will have the strength to to stand up and walk away one day, or say the words that only her eyes can say now (though that might happen), but rather, that this is the human condition, and I too am a prisoner of choices I cannot undo, and habits I cannot break, and I too would and have suffered behavior for misguided love that I otherwise would never tolerate. I too have experienced a moment that echoes knowledge that will not be clear until it is all over and that will disappear again until some other similar moment, or until your words can say what your eyes can only scream.
"You can't hear it, so why bother looking at it?" He said overly loud.
Her hair was chemical gold, even actual gold is not that golden. And her eyes were ice-blue, and her skin had the palor of porcelain, but not its smoothness.
He snapped the P2P shut and pulled one earbud out. She reached for the it and the wire connected to his other ear.
"Let me use it," she said.
He shooed her off again. "Can't you just let me have some things for myself?" He asked. "Anyway, I want you to pay attention to me."
She sighed and dropped her arms and looked up. Our eyes met, and in that half-moment before I looked away and closed my eyes, pretending to nap I saw how those eyes pleaded, "Save me. Save me. Save me."
I have no illusions that it was me she wanted to save her. But rather, that deep desire, that yearning for freedom erupted spontaneously so that I, not as myself, but as another part of the universe she shares, that we are both a part of, even as we are apart, might bear witness to it. So that for a moment she could see herself through my eyes and be reassured.
Not reassured that everything will be okay, not that she will have the strength to to stand up and walk away one day, or say the words that only her eyes can say now (though that might happen), but rather, that this is the human condition, and I too am a prisoner of choices I cannot undo, and habits I cannot break, and I too would and have suffered behavior for misguided love that I otherwise would never tolerate. I too have experienced a moment that echoes knowledge that will not be clear until it is all over and that will disappear again until some other similar moment, or until your words can say what your eyes can only scream.