Rude Irises
by Christela Cabreros
It was the summer of promises. I somehow felt it in my gut as I was riding homeward one humid afternoon on the "L" train. I looked around to see if it was only I who felt that way. Duh! As usual, people tried their damnedest not to make eye contact. Businessmen in their Armani-wannabe suits, gothic semi-vampires in black and so on .. all eyes downcast to the rubber floor or upwards to the try-not-to-make-eye-contact haven of self-aware ads. I always thought it was a strange thing to think it's rude to stare into someone else's eyes. Why not? If they couldn't handle it then tough shit! I mean you are out here in the world, you might as well expose yourself right? And by expose I don't mean any act which involves unbuttoning any of your clothes. There's a reason why there's a law against that, of course.
I thought about burning holes into the gentleman's irises beside me but I thought it was a rather useless thing to do seeing how he was so engrossed with his copy of Dostoevsky's The Gambler, which is an interesting book by the way. Now no one deserves to be robbed of reading time so I won't bother with this fellow. Besides, staring at him would only mean having to turn my neck sidewards for as long as I wanted to disturb him. Rather inconvenient. Not worth it. Borrrringggg. So what to do? I focused my senses. I believe this always helps you know what your body subconsciously wants at any given moment. All you have to do is empty your mind of thought and go with your impulse. I did just that and heard the faint notes of the latest Enrique Iglesias song from the passenger's headphones behind me. Audio-entertainment it is then. I reached into my bookbag to pull out my Discman and played a random track (number 8) on a Metallica album. Don't get me wrong, I'm not much of a fan but I was too lazy to search through the contents of my bag to find the CD case. Trust I seek and I find in you. Everyday for us, something new. Open mind for a different view and nothing else matters…
The train lurched to a stop at Hoover Station. One of the elderly women, a frail African-American lady carrying several Aldi bags lost her grip at the steel bar and stumbled unto the opening door. An incoming passenger's hand reached out just in time to catch her fall and pretty much everyone in sight sighed a breath of relief, not only for the woman's safety but also for not having to sit through an accident which would have surely delayed the train. I find that during rush hour people didn't always have the best intentions in mind. They just wanted to get home, eat, soak their feet while screaming answers at Regis Philbin on TV and then retire to bed.
I saw that it was a young man who saved the day and by the size of the duffel bag he was carrying and his damp hair, I'm guessing that he either just got back from the gym or a game. The back of his black shirt read "Tomb Raider." He turned to sit down near the door so his face's side view was visible to me. Though I was sitting at least 15 feet away, my hawk eyes didn't miss anything. He wore an earring on his left ear and was clean-shaven. Ah, a Gillette guy. He had long feminine lashes. You know, ones that look like they've been curled professionally since birth. I wondered if he was gay coz it'll be such a waste with those muscles. Anyway, the lashes? Um, they somehow got to me. Go figure. It was overwhelming to see such misplaced beauty ... much more an obvious one even from 15 feet. I had mad visions of going up to him and with one vicious tug pull all those lashes from one eye. It'll probably sound like Velcro being ripped off like - Shikkkkk!!! I was smiling to myself at my idiocy when he chose to turn and catch my unguarded moment with eyes the color of burnt marshmallows. When I looked up, there he was, head tilted challenging me at my own game of stare. Amidst cowering irises, at last, there's a couple (apart from mine) that finally redeem themselves. And they found me. With the fading remnants of the smile on my face, I almost rolled my eyes at the inane thought of being conscious at this invasion but I remembered that if I did that, I lose. And there's no way that I'm ever gonna lose to an exercising, playstation-playing, left-ear-holed work-out-freak with killer lashes. No siree!
So I stared. And he stared back. Let the games begin. Seconds pass by and we're still at it. Damn. This wasn't as easy as I thought.
"Well you finally found your match." I thought as I prepared to wipe any tears threatening to spill down my face.
I think he smiled faintly and for a second it seemed like the overhead lights in the train started to flicker. Or maybe I was losing. Jackass. It couldn't be! Determined to win at this contest, I sat up a bit straighter disturbing Mr. Gambler beside me. The old man, sleepy from the train's motion, turned to me and must have thought I was being a rude bitch for snubbing him because he sort of snorted and made this gurgling noise. With visions of a baby boomer's germs sticking on my Gen-Y skin, I felt contaminated enough to flinch and shimmy away to my window not losing sight of my competition. Tsk, the moist wipes are out of reach. The old man gave up with the killer look and with a final snort that would have made any stallion proud, he prettily doze off.
In seconds, I forgot about the man beside me and concentrated on my self-proclaimed enemy. Hmmm ... He had an interesting face, considering I have only seen three-fourths of it. So he diagonally sat there -- a picture of smugness/wonder/intensity with those stupid girly lashes. We never broke contact even when several people passed by in between our connection. Many times he tried to distract me. Can you say neurotic? Get this, at Aquarius Station he put on earphones and started bobbing his head like a freakin parrot! UN-believable… and he never once blinked. What was he listening to anyway? Bloodhound Gang? Or (yikes) Sisqo? What was he trying to prove? That he was probably lacking a lobe in his brain? Ick. Major turn off.
When people came bustling in and out on Crawford, I only had a view of one unmoving eye. Moments passed and I got back my original picture. Which was when I realized he already had the earphones off and was chewing a neon-yellow bubble gum he tried blowing into several times. So he was trying to aggravate me, eh? Freak. 4 minutes must have passed since this game began and my tears were uncontrollable. I didn't dare wipe them. And show that I was affected? Fuhgedaboutit!
Then in one simple move which utterly surprised me enough to make me gasp, he winked. Yes, liberally and dramatically with one of those girly-lashed eyes he did. What nerve indeed! Challenging me only to lose with a wink! I closed my eyes in victory (and with utter relief coz the pain was killing me) and opened them again with a growing smirk on my face. The corner of his mouth lifted in what I think was a wordless gesture of defeat. He broke the contact turning to look straight ahead of him. I blinked a couple of times chasing away the sting in my peepers and continued observing him. He never looked my way again. In fact, he looked like one of them now, head down - to the floor probably. Like sheep. Or uh.. parrots. Still-headed parrots.
It's been 6 stops and Gillette Boy seemed lost in his thoughts. Ha! He was probably trying to stare down an ant or something seeing how he couldn't defeat moi. With a wink he lost.. yep, one eye…one eye… one eye?….one! - Waittadamnmoment, did that count? Or did he win because I closed BOTH eyes first? I sighed and realized I didn't feel as victorious at this sudden doubt of a technicality. But why bother analyzing? I mentally shrugged at this imposed question. Coz of a deliberate wink? From a mysterious stranger who was cute? Or because of both reasons which was a combination deadly enough to kill a rat? Nah. I mean, sure, Gillette Boy was attractive (if you liked long lashes in a man) but he obviously tried to fool me into thinking he let me win just to save his pride. Oh well, too bad I couldn't force him into another staredown now.
Tap! Tap! I turned to my window and there it was --- my face staring back at me in an impressive ink sketch held by who-else from outside. So that's what he had been doing all this time. Sketching his competition. Maybe he wanted to remember the face that kicked his ass. Maybe .. just maybe he wanted to discuss the battle over coffee? (At this point I was ready to cross my fingers and toes… please-please..)
I looked at the signs. We were in Lafayette Station. So this was his stop. I looked at him and smiled. He grinned and I must say he even looked better with that smile with those muscles, long lashes and all. Dangerous combo indeed.
"Doors are closing." The conductor announced. And I panicked. Mr. Gambler was softly snoring beside me leaving me no chance of scrambling out. I blinked helplessly at Gillette as I heard the doors sliding together.
I saw him hastily take out the gum from his mouth and with it stick a piece of paper to the outside surface of my window. He made a sign with his hand to his ear and mouthed "call me." And he lifted both eyebrows in a half-smile question to which I just waved at as the train began to move towards the next station, Raleigh, my stop. When I could no longer see the view of those dark eyes fringed with killer lashes, I peered at the note which was holding on to dear life as we sped by a blur of Chicago's night lights ... the summer twilight in full magic held by neon-yellow gum.
Coffee for the Winner of the Rude Irises 2000 Contest. Loser pays. For more info: call 773-555-2140. Rematch ahead. Daniel