We Know About You

John made it through life flying under the radar. He wore nondescript clothes, kept his hair neat and trim, and had an agreeable, if quiet, disposition. It wouldn’t be fair to say that everyone liked him, but no one hated him either. 

He was fully aware that he didn’t leave an impression on people. He just assumed that if someone was ever asked about him, they’d say “Who? I don’t recall.” The thing is, he was okay with that. In fact, he preferred it. Attention was uncomfortable like a pair of ill-fitting shoes, so he stuck to himself and lived a modest life. 

Today, John was going to pick up his first pair of glasses from the mall. He’d been needing them for some time but simply never bothered to do anything about it. If he could still get by, then that’s good enough, but getting by was getting tougher. So he thought, what the hell, I better get them. 

He chose the first pair of frames he tried on, thought this’ll do, and wore them out of the store. Besides the new awkward weight sitting on top of his nose, he noticed there was something strange about seeing clearly. He had never realized before that people were actually looking at him. Strangers in the mall were going out of their way to observe him. Heads lifted up from their phones, bodies turned to face him, and eyes followed him as he passed. Was it always like this? He assumed they were just people watchers. He grabbed a coffee and sat down at a corner table to mind his own business, but eyes were still on him from across the food court. This can’t be normal right? He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The faces around him blurred and he could finally relax. 

Eventually the coffee made him restless, so he got up and wandered around a bit, deciding to get a sandwich before heading home. There were too many options on the menu and they were even harder to read than he remembered, so he reluctantly put the glasses back on. 

As he ordered, he was taken aback at the look on the young employee's face. She was staring at him directly in his eyes, just like everyone else had. It was unnerving, and he stammered through his words while she made his sandwich.  They were locked into unblinking eye contact, her hands stumbling over the ingredients as she worked. He couldn’t quite pin down what the look was. She seemed shocked or surprised. Or frightened? 

She hesitantly asked “Would you like anything else?” but her eyes were saying “I know about you.”

He racked his brain trying to remember if he met her before. Had he done something to offend her? He just couldn’t think of anything. He brushed it off. 

He paid for his order and headed back to the corner table. He started to eat, not taking the time to chew or enjoy his lunch. He was halfway done when he bit down on something, and from the middle of the sandwich pulled out a crinkled, soggy piece of thick paper. He didn't see anything written on it until he flipped it over, and right there in the middle, in neat handwriting, it said “How could you?” 

How could I what? He stood up with the paper in his hand and turned around to head back to the counter, but it was closed. Not usually the type to complain, he muttered “stupid kids” under his breath and attributed the note to a poorly thought out prank. 

He sat back down and gave up on the sandwich when a woman rushed by with a small child trailing behind, her arms full of shopping bags that looked too heavy. As they passed John, the little girl started to point at him and cry  “Mommy that man…” and the mother gasped and dropped her bags. “Stay close to me, don’t look at him. Come on let’s go” she replied with a look of disgust on her face, but they both kept staring. She scrambled to pick up her things and they rushed away looking disturbed. 

Questions we’re racing through his head. What the hell is happening today? He was offended and angry, but there was a creeping sense of embarrassment flooding through him. Just as he grabbed his things to leave, a group of teenagers at the table next to him began to laugh a little too loudly. He turned towards them by reflex, and they were all staring at him too, snickering and jeering at him. Heat raced up his neck, and his face became red. 

He’d had enough of this bullshit. He pulled the glasses off his face, grabbed his things and started to rush towards the mall exit. He stumbled into chairs, and bumped into a table corner, its sharp point digging deep into his thigh. He didn’t see them there. In fact, he couldn’t really see which way he should go. It was all a blur of light, people, and movement. He stubbornly made  his way through the crowd in any direction, just to get away from those kids. 

He was far enough away now, so he slowed down, but he couldn’t let it go. Whatever. They can screw themselves. I haven’t done anything. He kept walking, almost running into a family in front of him. Seriously, what is wrong with people? They think just because I’m alone, they can fuck with me like that? Treat me like I’m less than them? Fuck them. They aren’t shit. He rubbed his eyes again. They were feeling more tired than usual. 

Finally admitting to himself he was lost, he put the glasses on again and reoriented himself. Ruminating on what happened, he turned a corner in the maze of shops and looked up. Well shit, it's happening again. The entire crowd of people in the mall were staring straight at him. A family with screaming children. An older man sitting outside the restroom. A couple in the middle of a fight. Countless groups of people all stopped and glared at him with an expression of knowing, like each one of them could see through him and behold his deepest shame. Their gazes pierced through him to his core and never in his life had he felt so exposed.

At this moment a change swept over him, one that he’d spent all the years of his life attempting to suppress. His perfectly polite and affably mild manner gave way to rage. He shouted at them “What have I done to you, huh? Am I some kind of freak to you?”  The heat bubbling up into action, he punched the wall next to him. “Pay attention to your own goddamn lives, for fucks sake.” He even dared to push the man nearest to him who stumbled backwards. The man did not respond, in fact none of them did. They all continued to stare. “What’s wrong with all of you? I didn’t do anything”

With this last attempt at protest, he ran out the emergency exit, and the alarms began to sound. He kept running until he made it to his truck. He could still hear the alarms blaring, but at least he had a moment alone to catch his breath. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. These goddamn glasses. He pulled them off one more time, the parking garage becoming a hazy blend of shapes, colors and lights. Even with the glasses off, he could still feel all the eyes looking at him. Seeing him, knowing something about him that he didn’t even know, and he couldn’t unfeel it. 

He threw the glasses down to the floor and found the blurred mass with his foot. He stepped on them and felt the plastic frames grind against the asphalt. He pushed down a little harder and savored the crunch of glass. His rage poured out once again and he began to smash the glasses with his heel. Once for the sandwich shop employee. Again for the woman and her child. Again for the group of teenagers. Again. Again. Again. For every one of those eyes that looked at him like they have the right to judge him. “You don’t fucking know me!” he screamed.  He smashed the last bit of glass even harder under his heel. 

He’d had his eyes closed at that moment and was sweating, out of breath, and hot with rage. The shards of glass under his shoe left him with a satisfying sense of relief. Screw them. He leaned back against his truck, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. The world wasn’t blurry anymore— it was pitch black.