Eye Contact

A loud crack split through the low murmur of the coffee shop.  She had momentarily lost her grip upon the mug and it had dropped straight down shattering bits of ceramic across the floor.  To her great relief the mug had been vacant of the scalding hot agent of morning need, which moments later it would have contained, as it slipped from her hand.  It was her first week and this was her first casualty of the learning curve.  She quickly searched for a broom and a dustpan.

Though he had been completely absorbed in his head, the headphones which fully encased his large elfish looking ears were blaring some Arcade Fire song which was to block out all sound so his mind could wander and traverse the absurd tangents that sprung randomly from the ether of his unconscious, the crack resonated at the right pitch to draw him back into the surroundings of this den of caffeine fiends.

As she was bending over sweeping the remnants of this now deceased vessel of morning pep, she happened to glance to her left and momentarily caught his glance.  She was confused at this glance as she was unable to interpret its meaning.  Was it a look of irritation?  Was he trying to sneak a peek at her ass while she was bending over?  Or was it a much delayed reaction to the stimulus of the shattered coffee mug?

He wanted to look away as she had caught him glimpsing.  His eyes were innocently heeding the impetus of evolution, when there is a sound out of the ordinary we look without thinking, but the moment he had looked and his eyes had seen her eyes seeing his, he became concerned that she would get the wrong idea.  He wanted to look away, so as to extricate himself from the awkwardness and anxiety overcoming him, but he did not.  He kept his gaze, because her eyes in that brief moment seemed to have penetrated his being and he wanted to bask in this penetrating gaze for as long as possible.

Her anxiety melted as the blue eyes staring into her own drained her of worry and concern.  These eyes were not filled with lust, or longing, or irritation.  There was a simple curiosity, a desire to know and yet she sensed fear hiding behind these eyes . . . fear, yes, but it was really a sense of guilt, the guilt of an innocent child who has been scolded too many times for merely behaving as a child.

Author: Brandon Fischer

University of Texas graduate and beer lover.

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