Eyes

© 1990

Eyes

By FlatDaddy

A duologue, of sorts, between two people and the audience.They alternately tell their versions of an “incident” which began in an Austin, Texas park. The man speaks first, then the woman (as marked by pinkish italics). 

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I saw her standing in the moonlight in a park in Austin, Texas. There amid roses and carnations and other delicacies. I wasn’t looking for her — or anyone. I’m not the kind of guy who stalks ladies in the park. I often go there — to be alone. That’s all I wanted then.

Then she looked at me with wide green brilliant stars that shot comets or lasers or some kind of star-wars super blasto-o beams that knocked me silly. Suddenly, nothing existed except her — and those brilliant green star eyes.

I was terrified. I had never felt anything so wonderful.

I forgot that humans die if they don’t breathe.

I saw him standing in Zilker Park in Austin. It was summer, warm and glorious. I was marveling over fireflies that swarmed about me blinking madly like tiny, angry aircraft. I felt like King Kong atop the Empire State Building.

There were millions of stars and a fat yellow moon and delicious rose aromas. I didn’t notice him at first. Amid so much splendor, his ordinariness made him almost invisible. I started to glance away.

Suddenly, he looked at me with incredible fervor — the way I’ve always thought Romeo first looked at Juliet. He started gasping and turned deathly while, and God, those eyes! They were filled with desperate, eternal love. I could feel it.

A woman would do anything for that. Anything.

It struck me like a bolt of lightning and almost knocked me to the ground. I stood there like an idiot, trembling from head to foot.

Naturally, as soon as I was able, I ran.

I couldn’t move. I was too stunned. Only my eyes could follow her and they could go nowhere else. At last I could command my feet to shuffle and I pointed them in the direction she had taken.

At the parking lot, I caught her shadow — cast long and dark by a rich, full moon. Even that two dimensional, featureless black shape of her was enough to make me gasp. Desire came boiling up and urged me on with swelling prods against my thigh — told me to catch her now, lead her off into the cool, soft grass, rip off her dress, and do it, where anyone who wanted to could watch — and see what they were missing. Surely, they would weep and stagger home and slit their wrists.

I gasped then. What is this? I thought in horror. I don’t do those kinds of things — I’m a decent human being! But one hand reached inside my jeans to touch myself.

I could feel him somewhere behind me when I reached my car. I fumbled with my keys and nearly swooned. I stabbed the key blindly home through sudden tears, stomped the gas and squealed away not caring if some stray dog or jogger got in my way.

I turned on all the lights at home, even the tiny one over the stove, and still it was too dark. I gathered candles from drawers — long thin white ones, tiny birthday candles, short, fat scented candles — and stuck them on coffee cups and counter tops and window sills until the whole apartment blazed with light.

I tuned my stereo to some all night rock station and wonder now why some angry neighbor didn’t come pounding on my door it was so loud. Yet, his pale blue eyes still floated inches from mine, and my vagina grew wet and slick all on its own — no thought from me! — and hungered for those eyes.

I shook half the night in my antique bed.

He was still there, somewhere close. I knew it.

She wasn’t hard to follow. Her car swerved from side to side and it’s lucky she didn’t plow into someone — and sweat broke out upon my brow as I sat, tense over my own wheel, twenty yards behind.

“Slow down!” I muttered.

She didn’t live far, a small apartment complex on Sixth Street — close to the wild nightlife, the strings of bars and clubs that pump hot, loud rock and jazz into passersby until they blow up into crowds.

I watched her climb the stairs, and her swaying hips ripped out my heart. All my breath leaked through the gaping wound and followed.

Her lights came on. Then I saw wild flickerings and wondered if she had exploded. They drew me to the stairs — then pulled my eyes to a window. The pane bounced from music so loud I could clearly hear the words, and I saw Mick Jagger for a moment, prancing half naked just inside the room. The driving beat plunged tickling fingers through my shoes and so I had to move, first glancing back to fire a blast of hate toward Mick for being so very near those eyes.

I drifted backward toward my car, my eyes refusing to release her window. I climbed inside, shaking, and watched all night.

I don’t think I even blinked.

Two a.m. brought me screaming up from sleep. His eyes — pale blue flecked with gold — followed me even as I sat rigid on the toilet with my own eyes tightly closed.

  Four a.m., the same. I ran from room to room, my nightgown flying, my hard nipples showing eager tips, and blew out the candles, snapped off the lights and prayed the darkness would hide me.

No help.

Morning found the night’s baggage stored in swollen half moons makeup wouldn’t cover. I hurried into clothes torn at random from jangling hangers, swiped my mouth with one quick flash of red, pulled on the nearest shoes and left: I could not stop, could not wait, could not stay there where his eyes were everywhere, in every room, in every mirror, in every corner. Everywhere I turned I saw pale blue and tiny flecks of gold!

I stumbled down the stairs, walked briskly down West Lynn and got to the bus stop just as the ‘Dillo left and had to flag it down.

In moments I was on my way to work. Safe, I thought.

The clack of heels brought me to my senses and I saw her hurry down. At first I thought it wasn’t her: dressed in a rumpled green skirt, a pink blouse and gray shoes, her hair awry, surely it could not be her.

But then I understood and smiled. She could no more think of clothing now than I could think of anything but her.

I left the car and followed quietly. I couldn’t let her see me. She might run away in fear. Or walk toward me, smiling.

She reached Fifth just as the bus pulled out, waved wildly for it to stop, and I almost died when the driver slammed to a halt just inches from her knees.

She got on and collapsed into the first vacant seat. The bus headed downtown. I watched until it vanished into the fog of early Austin traffic.

“Jesus, Marjorie,” said Gwen, “did you dress with your eyes closed this morning? I’ve never been that hung over!”

I mumbled something that made her go away.

Damn! This is no fucking good! I thought, hunched over my typewriter. My fingers kept hitting wrong keys and words appeared spelled in Martian. What is wrong with me? I thought.

I escaped to the bathroom and noticed my panties were soaked. His eyes had crawled into them and plunged deep inside me, and I wanted him then — all of him — hard, so hard it hurt, and found myself gasping, leaning over the sink braced against its edge to keep me from collapsing.

My haggard face looked horrified at me above the porcelain and — my God! — those weren’t my eyes, they were his! Blue-gold pins that pierced me and held me to the glass like some exotic frightened butterfly. I could not move and would have stayed there forever had not some woman, some intruder, banged through the door. She broke the spell and I tore away my wings and flew.

“Gwen, look at me!” I shook her roughly by her shoulders. “Look at my eyes! What color are they?”

“What? What … color?”

“WHAT COLOR, GWEN, GOD DAMN IT!” Spittle flew from my lips and struck her face. She gaped at me, tears started, and her mouth began to tremble.

“G… green, Marjorie,” she squeaked, “they’re green.”

“Are you sure they’re not blue, pale blue with little flecks of gold? DON’T LIE TO ME!”

“Green,” she wailed, “they’re green!”

I released her, turned, and suddenly the room tilted. I crashed into someone’s desk and fell sideways to the floor in a hail of papers. Then came magic blackness.

The morning sky was almost black without her. I walked back to the car — then stopped and glanced up the stairs. Her apartment wouldn’t be locked, she wouldn’t have thought of that. I grinned. I screamed, too. Somewhere inside, I screamed and told myself to leave.

I took the steps in quick strides, grabbed the knob and turned it. The door whispered open. Terrified, I stepped inside.

Her rooms reeked of burned wax and flowers. There were candle stubs everywhere and melted wax had dripped down window edges and counters.

I hesitated at her bedroom, feeling weak and giddy. The smell of her was suddenly so strong I had to brace myself with both hands upon the jamb while tiny stars swam before me. Tiny green stars in pairs.

She liked pink. Pink was everywhere: tiny rosebud pink on sheets, violent pink in pictures, pastel pink in scarves. Pink became my favorite color — and then I saw her there, all of her: pink and glorious, pink and warm, pink and waiting, pink upon that bed.

I moaned and held one hand to my aching crotch, squeezed hard and shuddered. God, what was happening to me?

“God damn, Cliff,” I shouted, “I don’t know what’s wrong! I just blacked out, that’s all! I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I still think we should call a doctor, Marjorie. Gwen …”

“Fuck Gwen!” I shouted. “Oh, shit, Cliff, I’m sorry. Look,” I sighed, “I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be all right. I just need some rest. Do you think …?”

“Sure,” he said. “Nothing urgent going on. Go ahead, take off. We’ll get along.”

I grinned weakly. “Thanks, Cliff.”

In minutes I was on the street and grabbed the first bus home. I don’t recall a single second of the trip.

I couldn’t help it. When I saw the mound of panties in her drawer, I moaned again, exquisitely, and held them to my face. One deep breath — and my knees went weak and buckled. I crashed to the floor enveloped in euphoric, blinding, raging lust. I trembled for day-long earthquake seconds. It was just one breath.

I stumbled from the bus amid cars that swerved in angry honks and squeals: invisible cars piloted by non-existent drivers. Somehow, I made it home and to the stairs.

Then I knew: He’s here somewhere! My mind split, part screaming, “Run!” while the other ran one hand between my legs. I waited, tense. He didn’t come.

I saw her in the bathroom — pink — toweling beads of water from her skin. The mirror shocked me: green star-eyes glowed there, watching. I gasped, backed away, and crashed into the door.

I felt her growing stronger and knew with sudden horror and panicked pleasure she was close. I fled the room.

I pulled myself up the stairs and tiptoed to the door. I looked around one last time, in fear and hope. I realized I didn’t have my keys and panicked for a moment, then recalled I hadn’t locked the door. I put my hand upon the knob.

I reached the living room in wild terror and mad anticipation. My heart was bursting in my chest. I strode quickly to the door and paused. Should I hide instead? No. Surely, she would find me. I put my hand upon the knob.

I turned and pushed.

I turned and pulled.

END

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Author’s Note: I saw these two people in an Austin park. They didn’t meet or talk, but they were definitely “aware” of each other. Suddenly, the woman left, and the man quickly followed. My mind tracked them, though, and showed me a story — which a friend of mine and I performed many times in a well known Austin theater, to good reviews.