She: My life isn’t turning out as I’d hoped. I’m a mess of unwanted juxtapositions. My hair is limp in some places and unexpectedly wavy in others. I’m skinny but I’m fat. I achieve high scores on standardized tests but my class grades yield only average marks. I seemingly have the demeanor of a confident outgoing person but I’m actually painfully introverted. I’m pale even on the rare occasion I’m tan. Clumsy but well coordinated. I’ve been told that my big blue eyes are my best feature but when they are behind my glasses they become tiny and insignificant.
He: She transfixes me. I can’t summon the courage to speak to her. I attempt to avert my eyes but can’t stop them being drawn back to follow her as she moves through the registration queues. My legs unconsciously carry me to be close to her, behind her, beside her, but from a respectable distance. I simultaneously hope she doesn’t notice me while longing that she might. I revel in the inner feelings that her appearance generates in me, but loathe that a significant portion of my attraction to her is that she obviously has poor eyesight.
She: I wonder what would happen if I ignored the doctor and just attempted to wear contacts again? It’s been a month. My eyes feel fine. I hate being separated from the world behind a wall of frames and lenses.
He: I wonder what her prescription is?
She: I suppose I never realized just how self consciously vain I am. I’m standing amongst so many gorgeous women. I’m standing out for the wrong reasons. I look like a geek, a nerd, a misfit. I’m not the “type” who can play that nerd role. I’ve always been a “pretty” girl and I just don’t fit into the “interesting with glasses” female category. Every time I look in the mirror I am shocked at how seriously strong these glasses look and how they change MY look to something so alien from my “normal” look. How many others are wearing glasses? (Well it IS a university!) Hmmmm a pair over there. Khaki hiking shorts, no makeup, outdoorsy type. Hers don’t look as embarrassingly strong as mine though. Woman over there(think she’s a woman at least), muscular in a unisex rowing tee in kinda old fashioned looking wire ones. Don’t think she cares. Studied geek look guy in plaid shorts, wayfarer frames. Pair of vintage-y cat eyes on a mousy brunette in a miniskirt with too much red lipstick. Ugh.
He: Ok I’m finally at a decent ¾ angle, if I can now have some time here to casually discern her rx….yeah fairly flat looking fronts. Lots of long dark hair, excellent contrast to better note the generous power rings. Very decent myopia. She’s absolutely beautiful.
She: There’s another – looks like one of those hipster types who sometimes wears faux glasses, but those DO look like theres a true prescription. She’s cute. Wonder if she’d wear them if she had to wear ones as thick as mine? With frames as big as hers my lenses would be truly frightening. Even in the high index stuff. As it is they look bad enough in the small frames I was told to buy. Shit, I still cant get over how blind I am when I take them off to clean them. Being in unfamiliar surroundings highlights it.
He: Oh holy God I am now faced with what I love almost more than anything, what can make me go weak in the knees; a gorgeous girl’s myopic uncorrected eyes. I watch transfixed as she removes her glasses, her eyelids lowering all in one motion. Is this unconscious, as she doesn’t want to even try to look around her world of blur? She knows from experience that her eyesight is too poor for squinting to work? She’s got long dark lashes and delicate shadows around her eyes. She looks much younger and of course vulnerable now. She’s using the edge of her shirt to clean her glasses, finally bringing them rather close to inspect before shaking her hair and replacing them on her face. Ah, she can see again. My pulse quickens. She’s turned her body; I can now almost see through her lenses from behind. They minify and bend the view beyond in a way that I know from experience is likely a combination of high myopia and astigmatism. I want to see her head on, I must see the extent of her minified eyes and the facial cut-in. I study further. She is very attractive, but something about her seems vaguely unconfident for such a pretty girl. I wonder if she wears contacts most of the time and this is just an “off” day? She obviously needs them very badly but girls who look like her normally don’t relish marring their appearance with glasses. I would be startled by her beauty either way, but with such glasses she becomes my epitome of stunning.
She: If I have to really wear these and not contacts for the next few months, I MUST find a way to get some sunglasses made! I can’t bear this glare and plus, maybe in sunglasses I wont stand out as “the poor girl saddled with the thick strong glasses” all the time. Do I? Stand out, that is? Is this my silly insecurity talking? Does anyone besides me really even notice, or care?!
She: I sense/feel a guy staring at me. Or even….hovering? I don’t want to turn around, but maybe I’m mistaken.
He: I can almost read the name on her registration papers. Oh God, she’s turned and has looked straight at me. A fleeting vision of flashing reflections that even the most advanced anti glare coatings can’t completely hide on flat fronted lenses. Plano lenses. They get me every time. She’s turned back so fast though. I didn’t really get a good look. My heart sinks. Please turn back.
She: It’s not my imagination.
He: I feel the blood rushing through my face and the stirrings in my groin area. Mind over matter. I gasp.
He: Her first name is Patricia. I cant make out the surname.
She: Should I turn again? In the split second I glanced at him he seemed as if he might be vaguely okay looking. Hopefully not a weirdo. Why would he be interested in me? Maybe I look like someone he knows. I can FEEL his stare. Still. Staring IS a bit weird. Perhaps I should ignore. I turn my back further and hold my papers closer.
He: Dare. I see it now. Dare is her surname. What an odd name. Is it some strange “sign?” Should I “dare” to approach her?
He: “Excuse me! I mean…..hello! You’re about to drop some of your forms.” No she’s not, you fool! But what else could I say? I’m stammering. Deplorable nervous habit.
She: “Um…” I start, then hesitate, looking down, embarrassed somehow. “I am?” I look up. He has that ruddy sort of skin that’s probably in the sun too much and pale green eyes, blond almost invisible lashes. “Oh well maybe I am, thank you!” as I shuffle my stack of loose papers.
He: “Oh I’m sorry, I think I made it worse” I stutter as I reach to keep a few forms on the bottom from slipping and then redden further, pulling my hand away. Too forward! What should I say? That her beauty renders me speechless? Fib and tell her I thought she was my sister’s acquaintance? An old classmate? Woman of my wildest dreams? My eyes meet hers. “Do we know each other?”
She: “I don’t think so?!” I look at him straight on for the first time. He’s blushing. Oh God, am I?
He: “You look, um….” Well WHAT?! “….like somebody that I used to know.” Why did I say that?!
She: “Oh?!” I find myself smiling. “Like the song? I couldn’t get that one out of my head the other day. Now you’ve put it back in there”. I relax slightly for a moment before I note with some confusion that he’s very seriously staring at me.
He: “song?” I rack my brains. I am idiotically speechless. Her eyes are blue, very blue. A darker indigo rim fading to sort of a faded denim blue closer to her pupils. I’ve never seen such strange and lovely eyes. They are flattened and minified behind the strong lenses she needs to wear in order to bring her severely compromised vision into focus. I am fascinated. I realize I am hesitating too long. My voice catches, “I didn’t know that was a song.”
She: “Oh you know…” I sing (badly) …”treat me like a stranger, now you’re just somebody that I used….to know” That’s really all I know of it, I guess”. LAME, Tricia! This interaction is now officially awkward. I fumble about with my papers and realize I must look a sight, about to lose my papers all over the ground, with my glasses sliding down my nose. I self consciously manage to disentangle a hand to push them back up.
He: Her voice is so off key that it makes me laugh and I take a deep breath. She’s blushing - adorably. And then pushing up those glasses. Oh the stirrings. I shift my weight slightly. Keep her engaged! “I DO recall that song now that you’ve sung it for me. Um, yes it was badly.” Her tunelessness makes her even more lovely, I want to tell her. But of course don’t.
She: I laugh a slightly stilted laugh. “Yes my singing voice is horrible!” Okay, true but….” He’s looking at me as if through me, it’s unnerving. Why?! “Tricia Dare.” I extend my hand. “I mean, that’s my name.” And roll my eyes at my own inane behavior. Of course it is, what else would it be?!?
He: “It’s a lovely name. It suits you.” Why did I say THAT?! (Well, it does, I DID sort of dare myself) “Oh, right, I’m Pete Townsend.” I wait, but she shows no recognition of the name. Too young? Our hands find each other over our eyes, which are still in contact, and they shake.
She: “Like the guitarist?” I smile. “Is he your namesake?!” He: “Well, no relation at all. I suppose my parents were just fans and took advantage of my name”. She nods. The line has moved ahead of her but she hasn’t. I realize I’m standing between queues and clumsily follow her as she quickly moves forward.
She: “Oh, well yes, rather convenient way to play off the Townsend bit.” I say a bit too brightly as I make up the space in the line ahead of me. Where is this going? He’s following me. Um…
He: She is captivating me, but I don’t want to freak her out. I struggle successfully to pull my stare away for a moment. “Well, none of the guitar talent came with the name! I’ve tried but cant make heads or tails out of one.”
She: “well, you could probably bash one up on a stage, I reckon!” That’s a bit far-fetched, but I’m reaching. I giggle nervously.
He: God she is cute. I watch the show of lens reflections as she glances towards the tables at the front. She is two students away from the head table now. She must be over -10. Her glasses are a slightly lighter tone than her hair, and I can tell from the delicate but defined quality of the power rings that they are fitted with the highest of high index lenses. They must have been quite expensive, and both the lenses and the frames bear the fresh sheen of a recent purchase. The arms are of a different material than the frames, and bear the initials MJ. But the lenses, oh the lenses. They are completely flat and protrude slightly from the front, moreso where the frames curve. There is a generously chunky protrusion from the back side. I am obsessed with her lenses. I am so close I could touch them, but of course do not.
She: He’s not saying a thing. I have never been put off by lulls in conversation, but I’m now grappling as to whether I should keep this one going? Is it my turn? Speaking of turns have I turned him off? He looks as if he’s all of a sudden totally lost, and I’m puzzled. “Is there something wrong!?” I finally utter.
He: “Oh not at all. It’s just…..” I can’t stop the words. “You’re just….you’re…..exquisite. Those glasses you wear. You bewitch me. You’re the most divine woman I’ve ever seen.” OH GOD. Now I want to sink into the floor. ……….TO BE CONTINUED…………..