I consider my eyes to be one of my best features. They are very unique in that they are multicolored and change with my mood, underwear, and weather. Most days, they are green around the outer circle, and light brown with golden yellow streaks around the pupil. Eyes are a great feature on most anyone, really. If you think about it, they pretty much stay the same throughout your life. Seriously, they don't get fat, hairy, or require regular workouts to stay in shape...what's not to like?
Everything imaginable and intangible (and trust me, some things ARE better left untouched) has passed before these eyes. They've encountered breath-taking beauty, birth, death, pervs, deadly animals in the wild (got bear?), and WTF-ness abound. These piercing peepers have shown me the ways of the world. They've shown me the memories I will carry with me forever...some good, some not so good.
As a wayward, rebellious teen, I took off with a boyfriend cross-country when I was just eighteen in my '78 Trans Am gas hog (T-top, hood scoop, thank you very much). My precocious mind (read, troublemaker) wanted to see what was out there; what was I missing? Well, apparrently, a lot. During our travels, we came across a pimp beating a tranvestite hooker in Omaha (yes, Omaha, NEBRASKA); met a guy named Brutus in Albuequerque who showed us the way to the San Jose; put new brakes on the TA in Oklahoma City where it was so stinking hot the damn jack quicksanded into the parking lot blacktop (don't even ask how we got that out, BTW); we slept in an abandoned ghost town somewhere in Texas where, believe me, EVERYTHING is much bigger; and had guns drawn on us in the wee hours after a complete overreaction (and misunderstanding) by corrupt Vegas cops. Just to name a few...
These eyes have also seen gore at its best. Such as the time when I was young and a kid my mom babysat for pushed me off of our front porch stoop and my left tibia snapped, ripping clean through my flesh (I'm squirming just remembering it). A particularly vivid visual memory that tops that, however, would be the time a couple of friends and I stumbled upon a satanic ritual lair (daytime and vacant - thank goodness). Let's just say, we found out what happened to all the mysteriously missing black cats in the county (and a few other poor, unsuspecting animals).
These eyes have gotten me both into trouble and out of trouble at the same time. One of my earliest recollections of this phenomena, was the time when I was about six and my mom sent me to the corner store with a dollar bill to get a loaf of bread. I trudged the couple Detroit-ghetto blocks, got to the store and saw something I had to have - a Marathon bar. Of course, I only had a dollar, but I was six, so when I put the bread and the candy bar up on the counter, Akmar says, "$1.10." He then proceeded to explain I did not have enough to get both the bread and the candy bar so I had to pick one. Knowing my mom would go apeshit if I didn't come home with the bread (lesson learned from the year before), I begrudgingly went to put the candy bar back when it hit me - I would klepto the candy bar! So proud that I thought of that all by myself, I not-so-discreetly (practically right in front of him) stuck it into my pants. I went back to pay for the bread when he accosted me then proceeded to yell into the loudspeaker, "Mohammed manager! Mohammed manager!" Mo came a-runnin' and he was not a happy man. They were both yelling and when Mo ripped the candy from my pants (it was halfway sticking out), I knew the gig was up (I was still a little slow back then). I thought fast and hard. What to do? What to do? Then, naturally it occurred to me - start crying. Though it never worked at home, I figured these guys might not be hip to that ploy. Well shit, they were and now Mo was threatening the worst, most dreaded punishment of all - calling my mom! Out of sheer fear, I stopped crying and looked up with the saddest, droopiest puppy dog eyes and begged him not to call my mom promising him I would NEVER, EVER do anything so stupid like steal again. Worked like a charm. He sent me skipping on my way, AND even gave me a piece of Bazooka bubble gum!
Over the years, I've honed my own "eye language." I have become attuned to reading others' eyes as well as sending messages with my own. One look can say a thousand words if it is read right. For instance, when I make a mountain out of a molehill (rarely, but often), I can shoot the "Oh-shit-sorry-I-accidentally-kind-of-on-purpose-but-not-maliciously-on-purpose-just-didn't-want-to-remember-to-remind-you-that-you-forgot-that-you-promised-to-take-me-out-last-Saturday-so-now-I-can-sit-here-and-shoot-you-dirty-but-not-the-pervy-kind-of-dirty-looks" look. Or, my personal fave, when I really, really, REALLY want something (often, but rarely) I can shoot the "God-I-wish-I-had-(fill in the blank)-because-even-though-it-wouldn't-necessarily-make-ME-happier-it-would-make-me-easier-to-live-with-therefore-would-make-everybody-else-happier" look.
Believe me when I say, there are hundreds more "looks" that I have mastered over the years. However, just like most people lucky enough to posess a superpower, I try not to abuse my gift. I will say though if you really want to understand me, look deep into my eyes. They are truly, the window to my soul.
