Unperfect
by Lorelei

As I shiver uncontrollably, kneeling in pure white snow, looking into frozen chartreuse eyes, it makes me remember why we’re here, and I feel something strange. I feel guilty, because it is all my fault. If I had just taken Kelly’s advice and kept everything to myself, then neither of us would be here. We’d be sitting in the factory, like we always were, but now your ice blue lips part.

“I love you.” Even though your eyes are iced over, I can see through that glaze that you don’t mind dying over this; that it was all worth it.

~

“Hello Joe.” I check to make sure you’re at your door just like I always do.

“Good morning Lance.” We exchange pleasantries as we always do. I walk over to you as I always do, and we both walk down the street beside everyone else toward the factory as we always do.

We work four hours, eat the same peanut butter sandwiches that we always do, work for five more hours, and then walk home like we always do. We go into our separate houses, and I talk to my wife, Kelly, ask my daughter, Brianna, about school, and eat the same meatloaf that I always do, and then I go to bed as I always do.

Then I wake up the next morning and it all happens over again.

“Hello Joe.” And then something happened that had never happened before; I look over at you and I hesitate, because I’m not just saying, “Good morning Lance,” this morning. I hesitate, because for some reason today, when I look over to make sure you’re there, deep down, in the very back of my mind, I get this feeling like maybe, just maybe, you won’t be there. I find myself really checking, and then you give me a strange look.

“Good morning Lance.” And we walk down the street beside everyone else toward the factory. But then, once we get there, something else different happens, too. I usually put together five sets in ten minutes, thirty sets in an hour, and 270 in a day, but it’s almost time for lunch, and I look down to the pile at my feet. There are only twenty sets, and I try to think of a reason why. Why had my progress gone down from thirty sets per an hour to five?

I look across the room at you and it all becomes so clear. After every set, I’ve been looking across the room at you, checking to make sure that you’re still putting together sets at the same spot that you always are. For some reason this thing nags at the back of my mind; this worry that you might be gone, even though you never are.

When we leave to lunch for our half hour of sandwich eating, I find myself not knowing what to do with one half of my sandwich, because I don’t want it. It’s the same old peanut butter that I’ve never had a problem with before, but for some unknown reason, I don’t want it today. I end up leaving my sandwich in favor of watching you eat yours, and when we get back to work, I continue to lose productiveness as I keep checking on you, not only between sets now, but while putting them together. Not only am I making less sets per hour, but now they are all faulty sets. I can see them falling apart while in storage in later years or even perhaps later months. My own unproductivity plagues my mind so much, that my thoughts add to it, and I don’t hear the bell ring to leave. I see everyone else getting up to leave and I follow them.

When I stand and look around, you are already gone. You have gone home without me. I do not mind, and return to my house as well, not mentioning the day’s strange events to Kelly or Brianna. I don’t know why, but I have this strange urge that I have never known before. I have an urge to protect my wife and daughter. From what, I don’t know. I then go to bed, hoping that everything will be normal in the morning, though there is still that nagging in my mind; a kind of hope that just maybe things won’t be.

“Hello Joe.”

“Good morning Lance.” I am sure not to hesitate again. I’m not sure why, and we walk together with all the others toward the factory, but this time instead of looking straight forward, I look down at the street. Every little gray pebble of the road beneath my feet amazes me. Not even one of them is completely round. Each one is different in its own special way.

Then I look at the backs of all the heads in front of me, and they are just like the pebbles in the road. They are all different in their own special ways, and this observation causes me to turn and inspect the side of your head. The hair is light and feathery, cropped short, close to your pale, pale skin, and I turn back forward as we near the factory.

I go to my spot and I look at the parts of my first set, and I think. I think about what I’m doing this for. Why do I do this every day? And I put my set to the side, favoring to watch you instead. I find myself hoping for you to look up and at me, and for all of the four hours until lunch, I gaze at you and I realize something.

I realize that in all my life, I have never really looked into another person’s eyes, and I’ve never seen anyone else do it before either. I stare at you all through lunch, too, but you never look up, and by the time the bell rings to leave I am hoping that you can read my mind, and that you will look in my direction, and then gaze directly into my eyes.

You do not though, and we walk home together just as we always do. Again, I tell Kelly and Brianna nothing. I don’t want to hurt either of them, though I am not sure how it is possible for thoughts to hurt a person.

“Hello Joe.”

“Good morning Lance.” Ever since the night before, I have been trying to not think about the strange feelings and even urges that have been plaguing me for the past two days. I try as hard as I can all day. I choke down my peanut butter sandwich, finishing it with ten minutes to spare, and my output has gone up from the zero sets from the day before to three hundred, thirty more than my usual daily count.

I am trying so hard to keep my mind occupied in fact, that I don’t hear the bell ring again, only this time it is not the moving feet at the top of my field of vision, for I look down during my work, that wake me from my trance. Instead it is a hand, a hand softly shaking my shoulder; ever so softly. I look up and I gasp.

“Are you all right Joe?” I’m looking up and right into your eyes, and I wonder desperately why people have never done this before, because when I do, when I look straight into those soft glowing orbs of yours, the most wonderful feeling comes over me, and I think that it must be called warmth. And the most amazing part of looking into your eyes is that you don’t turn away. You let me look directly into your soul for what seems like hours, but must only be a second or two, and you never even flinch.

“Joe?”

“Oh, Lance, I’m fine.” I stand up, and we walk all the way home together, without anyone else. And, just as you’re about to go inside your own house, you turn toward me.

“Joe?”

“Yes Lance?”

“I…” And you hesitate, and look a little bit disturbed at the fact that you do. I think it’s the first time that are were not sure whether to say something or not.

“I like your eyes.” And then a strange thing overtakes your face. Yet another new experience of these past few days. You blush, and then hurry into your home, and I get a sudden urge to smile.

I divulge in that urge and smile to the front door of your home. And that’s when things started to go wrong, because that’s when I decided to tell Kelly. Not Brianna of course, because she’s only thirteen, and that seems wrong for some reason. But I bring Kelly into my bedroom, and I sit her down on my bed, and I tell all about what it feels like to look deep into another person’s eyes. I tell her about the warmth that envelops you when you look down into someone’s soul, and then she refuses to look into my eyes. I think I must have frightened her, because she stands up, tells me to keep all of that to myself, and then walks away without saying another word about it.

I go to bed early that night, without even eating the meatloaf that I always do.

“He Joey.” I look over to you, because you’ve never called me Joey before, and because I’m starting to feel that protectiveness thing about you too, now.

“Hi Lance.” And I smile again even though you haven’t blushed since the night before. The urge is still there.

I walk toward you, and we both walk toward the factory beside everyone else, just like we always do. When we get to work though, it is just like the day before last where I produce nothing, except that there is one difference; you are looking back at me. For four hours, we both do nothing but look into each others’ eyes from across the room, and then when the bell rings to go to lunch, you sit beside me with your peanut butter sandwich, and you speak. Nobody ever speaks at lunch; they’re all too busy eating their peanut butter sandwiches.

“Why don’t you have a sandwich?” I look into your eyes to let you know that I am telling the truth.

“I’m tired of peanut butter.”

“Tired of it?” You look confused.

“Yeah. I mean, don’t you ever get a little bit bored, having peanut butter every day for lunch, and having meatloaf every night for dinner?” You look away from my eyes, and to your peanut butter, and then back to my eyes.

“I don’t think that I ever even really liked peanut butter in the first place.” We both smile and you sit your sandwich to the side just as I had done only two days before. Our locking stare is broken as the bell to return back to work sounds, and we spend the next five hours attempting to do a little bit of work, though I have no idea why, and I accomplish putting together five sets in the five hours, and I know that it is a waste of time. Why put those five sets together anyway? Nobody’s going to use them. I put them together, and I don’t even know what they are. For all I know, all of those thousands of millions of sets just rot away in storage forever. But I make them anyway. I glance across the room at you, and you’re making sets too, although very slowly, and you stop all together when you see me watching you. You smile and so do I, and I think that we must look strange, because when I glance around the rest of the room, no one else is smiling and I don’t know whether they ever do. In fact, I can’t remember if I ever smiled before this week. I know that children often smile, but I don’t think that people usually do past age ten, and I’m already twenty-four.

And when our five hours are over with, you and I get up and leave with the rest of them. We walk home beside all the others just like we always do, but then when we get to our houses, my hand grazes yours as we part, and it feels good; even better than looking into your eyes.

And I go into my house, and Kelly is sitting on the couch beside Brianna.

“Did you tell anyone else about the eye thing today, Joe?”

I go to bed early again, but then my stomach makes strange noises at me, and I eat my meatloaf in silence, away from the rest of my family, before going back to bed alone.

“Hi Joey.” I look over toward you and I smile. You smile back.

“Hi Lance.” I walk over to you, and we begin to walk beside everyone else toward the factory, but then I feel you grab my hand, and we walk off to the side, hand in hand, and the warmth that envelops me is so much more than I ever thought that it could be. When we get to the factory, you smile at me, and you sit beside me, beside my sets.

No one else in the factory says a word or even looks up at us; they are all too busy putting their sets together. We spend the entire four hours just holding hands, looking into each others’ eyes, and putting the occasional set together. You help me with mine, and put together none of your own.

When lunch comes, we sit like that again, talking to each other now, and no one notices, because they are all too busy choking down their peanut butter sandwiches that I can’t even stand looking at anymore. When lunch is over, we both go back to my sets, and I get this funny feeling, and I tell you about it.

“Lance?”

“Yes Joey?” I look down at our hands, grasped together in warmth and harmony.

“You know how birth mothers hug their children to keep them warm and to make them happy?”

“Yes.” I wrap my arms around your shoulders, and after a second I feel your arms wrap around my body, lower than my shoulders, above my waist. We sit like that for more than a minute, before you pull away and smile at me.

“Thank you.” I smile at your comment, and we leave when the bell rings to go. Again, we hold hands and do not walk beside everyone else on our way home. We hug before going into our separate homes, and Kelly is waiting for me just like she was the day before.

“Did you tell anyone else about that eye thing today, Joe?”

“No.” And it is the truth, because we never speak about the “eye thing”; we just do it. There is no reason to speak about it.

“Good.” And she gets up to get our meatloaf ready. I eat a little bit, just because I really don’t like that strange sound that my stomach makes when I don’t eat.

Then something strange happens while I’m asleep. I get a vision of sorts, you and I are both on my bed in my bedroom, and we are doing something that at the time I could not even begin to describe, but when I wake up, all I know is that in my vision I had felt so good, so much better than the hug, the hands, and the eyes all put together. In my vision, I had felt like nothing else in the world mattered; just you and me.

“Hi Joey.” I walk toward you.

“Hi Lance.” And you give me a hug, and I remember the warmth from my vision, and my smile is even wider than usual. My smile makes you smile, and we walk to my spot in the factory, hand in hand, just like the day before. When we get there, I decide to tell you about my strange vision.

“Lance?”

“Yes Joey?” I hesitate, but only for a second.

“Have you ever seen things while you’re sleeping, like visions?” You look confused, but I try to explain my vision to you anyway.

“Last night while I was sleeping I had a vision. Like, I saw and felt things that weren’t really happening. I felt something very good, that I think you would want to feel too.” You look hesitant at first, but then your smile returns.

“I trust you. I want to feel it.”

“At lunch you can.” And we help each other put together a few sets before the bell rings to go to lunch, our hands brushing many times in the process.

When the bell rings, I grab your hand into mine, and lead you out onto the street.

“Why aren’t we going to the cafeteria, Joey?”

“In my vision, we were in my bedroom, Lance.”

“Okay.” And we walk, hand in hand back to my house, and nobody is home; Brianna is at school, and Kelly is at work or getting our meatloaf or something, but she’s not home. I lead you into my bedroom, and I close the door behind us. I sit you down on the edge of the bed, and look into your soft glowing eyes.

“What we’re doing is going to seem very strange, Lance. Do you trust me?” Your smile does not falter.

“Yes.” And I follow my vision from the night before. I lay my lips against yours, and we kiss, like a birthmother kisses her child, only different. You smile and we do it again.

“Is that it?”

“That’s only the beginning.” And I push you softly down onto your back, and I straddle your hips. You look up at me, and I lean down to kiss you again, only this time, my tongue is in your mouth, and I can feel you reaching up, because you want my tongue to be there. I blush, and remove my shirt before removing yours. I hug you close and follow my vision, and all of the feelings are the same, and I know that you are feeling them too.

Then we are both naked, and I can feel the heat radiating from your body and permeating the skin of mine, but when I lift your legs up to my shoulders and touch that part of your backside that I did in my vision, you shy away. I look into your eyes, and you are frightened, but when I try to get up and leave, you pull me closer and you smile.

“I trust you Joey.” And I enter you, and you are in pain, but you pull me closer anyway, because it feels good to me, and I guess that you must feel the warmth through your pain too.

And then, just as the heat is becoming so intense as to say it burns, and my muscles are so tense that they feel like they might snap, Kelly walks in.

I pull out of you and cover us both with a white sheet before looking into her horrified face.

“Kelly, I can explain this.” But before I can say another word, she is gone, and you are getting dressed. I get dressed too, and we walk hand in hand out of my house. I see her rounding the corner on the way to the town hall. We both follow her, and when we get inside the town hall, she is already recounting what she has seen to the council of community leaders.

They look down at us both with an expression that I have only seen once before, when Kelly dropped meatloaf on her blouse; disgust. I feel a new feeling, and it is very different than any warmth that I have felt from you before.

This is pain, and the leaders wanted to erase us from the community's memory, and they spoke of banishment, and now we are here; shivering and frozen, and I can see you dying in my arms, and even though I can see in your eyes that it was all worth it, I still feel guilty.

“I love you too.” We have been sitting in this cold for three days, not venturing more than a few feet from the community's solid granite walls, and I even gave you my shirt to wear over yours, but your body is weaker than my own and your heart is failing.

“I love you so much, Lance, please don’t leave me.” But you are already dead, and you can’t hear me anymore.

And so, I lie beside your frostbitten body, hug your dead flesh close, and I whisper into your frozen ear that can no longer hear my words.

“It was worth it.” And it was.