Eye Trouble

[inspired by a poem by Jim Morrison, published in Wilderness, Vol.1]

"I am troubled immeasurably by your eyes." A girl looks up from the book she is reading and brushes back the hair blowing in her face. She turns this one line of poetry over and over in her mind. She daydreams about all of the eyes she has seen. She is drawn into people's eyes, pulled into the stories they tell.  Eyes of exhaustion and anxiety stir her compassion and tighten her throat.  She aches with the pain and sorrow as tears spill from eyes of grief.  Eyes of joy and laughter compel her to smile too.  She feels the heat of anger and hate scorching the air all around. She reads these eyes like her books of poetry. 

But there are eyes that trouble her; eyes she cannot read.  They don't match the face. They conceal instead of reveal. She spends her life running away from eyes that haunt her. But in her mind she turns back to stare into them.  She squeezes her eyes shut, but she can still see them, they follow her.  They will always be part of her story.

She recites the line aloud and the wind takes it.  She stands and repeats it louder, "I am troubled immeasurably by your eyes!"  

"I'm sorry, what about my eyes?" A voice startles her.

"Oh, I thought I was alone.  I was just reciting poetry." The girl turns, laughing, to see who else is in the courtyard. Her breath catches. Dark eyes stare out of a bright face. 

"Oh, I love poetry.  Can I see what you're reading?" the woman asks, with blank, uninterested eyes.

She hands the book to the woman as if in a trance.  She can't stop staring at that face with the eyes she can't read.

"Very nice, I'll have to borrow it sometime." The woman hands the book back with a smile only on her lips. "You're new here, aren't you?  I think we're going to be great friends.  I can see in your eyes that we have a lot in common."

The girl's hand shakes as she takes the book back. With great effort she says, "Yes, we just moved here.  My father and I. For his new job."

"I look forward to meeting him.  See you around." The woman turns and walks into the apartment building.

The girl realizes she is holding her breath and exhales. She flips her book open and reads the poem, whispering the words to herself, fighting the urge to scream them. Taking deep deliberate breaths to slow her racing heart, she follows the woman into the building.  The elevator doors have just closed and she sighs in relief that she did not have to ride up with those troubling eyes. Why did the woman seem so familiar? 

The girl flips the light switch and gasps at the face that appears in front of her.  She wonders if she will ever get used to that mirror in the entrance to the new apartment. She goes to her bedroom and puts the book on her shelf. Picking a box, she begins unpacking, settling in. Maybe it will take away the apprehension that is growing already. Will there ever be a place where she feels safe? 

She hears the front door open and runs to greet her dad. "Welcome home!"

"Hi sweetheart, did you have a good day? I'm sorry you had to be alone for our first full day in a new town."  Her father hugs her.

She looks into his eyes alight with warmth and love. These eyes make her feel safe.  "It's ok.  I had a good day.  I unpacked the whole kitchen and some of my room and then I explored the courtyard. It's a great place to read."

"You and your poetry... I'm glad you found a place you feel comfortable." He hugs her again and kisses the top of her head.

"I met a woman in the courtyard.  She seemed familiar, I don't know..." A shiver runs down her spine.

"What's her name? Was she nice?" her dad asks as he gets himself a drink. "Great job putting all of this away." He gestures at the kitchen cabinets.

She smiles and nods, "She seemed nice, I guess. She said she thought we would be friends and she smiled at me, but her eyes didn't."

Her dad’s eyes soften in understanding, "You sound just like your mother.  She always said she could read people's feelings in their eyes." He nods, lost for a moment in memory.  "She was often right. Just be careful not to judge too quickly. It can be a big mistake." A frown clouds his face and he sighs.

"I know, Dad, you've told me. I try to remember that what I see there may not be the whole story."

He pulls her into a tight hug. She feels comforted, warm and secure. Then he holds her at arm's length, looking into her eyes. "You look so much like your mother." Now there is concern in his eyes, even a slight chill of fear.  It’s too soon. They only arrived yesterday. This should be the period of hope and excitement that this will be the place they can finally settle down and stay. It can't be time to move on already. 

"I can't picture her anymore, Dad. I miss her, but I barely remember her." 

"All you need to do is look in the mirror. The older you get, the more you look like her. Sometimes you walk into the room and for a split second I think it's her." His eyes are glassy but bright. 

She reads the bittersweetness of his memories and feels a little envious, because her own memories feel like emptiness. She tries again to remember her mother's face, but it's like looking through fog. The face of the woman from the courtyard with the unreadable eyes is vivid in her mind. She shivers as a chill passes over her and rubs her arms to get warm.

"I'm going to do some more unpacking before dinner." She smiles at him and retreats to her room. She recalls the look in her father's eyes as he said, "All you need to do is look in the mirror."  Why does she feel nervousness and anxiety from him? Is she too much like her mother?  Does he worry about her like he worried about her mother? She turns to the mirror on her dresser and stares intently at her reflection.  How has she never seen it before?  Her smile is her father's, bright and open.  But her eyes - her mother's eyes - don't match. They stare back unchanging, blank. Is that what makes her father nervous?  Is she just like her mother? Will her father have to run away from her too for his own safety? She trembles at the thoughts stirring in her mind that her eyes conceal completely. "I am troubled immeasurably by your eyes," she says into the mirror and laughs bitterly.