Terminal Eyes

by Shawn Allen

There were no pictures of his eyes. With all the pictures out there, you would have expected at least a few where you could see them clearly; but, no. 
In pictures he was always looking somewhere else, turning his head, too far away, or something was between them and the camera. It almost had to be intentional or some grand conspiracy. Otherwise, it was simply too weird…
As I crossed the airport terminal, I found myself wondering what color his eyes would be? I could pick his face out of a crowd, possibly even sculpt it blindfolded. I was sure I could recognize him by his hands alone. I knew the sound of his voice speaking my name, reading his stories, telling me about his days and loves. But something as simple as the color of his eyes was something I didn’t know – had, for some reason, never asked.
Then I saw him from across the crowds of people meeting, embracing, rushing and standing in the terminal. My eyes were drawn to the place where he stood as if they’d been made to see only him. He was looking in my direction, intently staring. A smile formed on the face I knew intimately.
From across the distance, I saw his eyes for the first time…

from: The New 52
(c) 04-26-2014
Shawn D. Allen.

Advertisements