His Dark Eyes

I can still picture him clearly, the middle aged, dark hired man, average except for big black glasses. Not sunglasses. I could see, or maybe I imagined that I could see, his dark eyes. 

And I did see him. Everywhere. Me, age 11 or 12… I was amazed at such coincidences! He cruised the local strip of stores near my house at the same times that my friend Sue and I did. He shopped at the pharmacy a block away at the same times that we killed some of our long days pretending to look at greeting cards. He walked on the same streets that we rode our bikes up and down. In fact, he became a kind of fixture to me. But I never liked the way he looked and especially the way he looked at me.

Twice a week I saw my allergy doctor. The building was one of those open-air office buildings so popular in the 70’s. Corridors like wind tunnels I remember. Foreboding solid charcoal-gray concrete everywhere.

One afternoon after getting my allergy shots, I walked down the hard steps, down the cold staircase. I heard a distinct cough and looked up…

…on the staircase above me I saw him. He’s looking down at me. Staring down at me. Oh no! Now he doesn’t just live in my neighborhood. He goes to a doctor in this building too! Something told me to hurry.

It seemed like it took forever to remember the combination to the bike lock on my yellow 10-speed. Now he knows where I go every Tuesday and Friday right after school. He knows where to find me. I’ll have to lock my bike to another railing, the one at the front of the building. Maybe come later in the day. And now, I can never walk here, I’ll always have to ride my bike.

I rode through the parking lot as fast as I could. This time I was not just uneasy, I was scared. It clicked in my 11-year-old mind as I rode home that maybe it wasn’t a coincidence this time. That maybe he knew that I would be there, that place on that day at that time.

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I made a new friend named Kelly. And she would ride her bike the ten or so blocks from her house to mine. I remember that “riding bikes” was our favorite activity. Being outside in California all year long, we could go where we wanted. No one checked on us or knew where we were, or what were up to. We were like all the other kids then. Although we didn’t have them in my neighborhood, these were the days famous for “come home when the streetlights go on.”

I ran into Kellie 30 years or so years later. I had long since moved away from the city I was raised in. Back to visit for the Holidays my partner and I were on a popular street looking for hand-made gifts. We went into a small shop filled with glassware. Nice stuff, probably not what I would normally be interested in. But fun to look at. The woman behind the counter was very friendly and showed us around, picking up some of the bright green, purple and red wine glasses. She went back to work and we wandered around some more. I stopped in front of the pretty picture frames. They were filled with various black and white photos. One caught my eye, a couple, in a garden, on their wedding day. The bride in a beautiful dress walking away and looking over her shoulder at the camera. The dress was amazing, tiny straps cris-crossing her back. She looked so happy. The picture made me think of our wedding and my dress. But wait, that bright smile looked a little bit familiar. And then a little bit more familiar. 

A name popped up in my mind. So, before I could figure out why she looked familiar or where I knew her from… Kellie!

It was then that I looked at the woman (or girl, as my mind still thought of her) flitting around between the shop and the visible back room. She must have taken out the photos that come with the frames and added her own…Kellie. That’s Kellie! Is your name Kellie? Yes… We went to middle school together, my name’s Lynden… Lynden Cline! 

Wait, you do look familiar! Lynden! I remember you!

We spent a few minutes catching up, taking about her new shop, her somewhat new husband. And then we talked about me, my life in DC, my trajectory to becoming an artist.

She needed to get back to work so we said goodbye, exchanging contact information we knew we would never use. 

Tim and I left, me thinking that “my life is full of magic.” A phrase I have said to myself for several years An acknowledgement of the little things. Whenever I see a beautiful leaf, meet a new dog, and (this was a big one) run into an old friend…

Kellie… I told Tim where she had lived, what her mother was like, the time we compared notes on which boys were cute, which ones had cute personalities, and the few we thought were cute AND had cute personalities.

Memories wandered through my mind that afternoon. But there was a snapshot memory that I kept seeing. Couldn’t stop seeing.

Kellie riding her bike in front of me, I can still see her back, her pedaling up the street, almost see what she is wearing. Hear us yelling back and forth to each other… maybe about where to turn, where to go next.

This still life memory… over and over it popped up that day. I described it to Tim, expressed my frustration at its persistence. Why?

And then I had an answer that made me stop in my tracks. Literally. I stopped. I remember now. I know why that image keeps appearing. Why it hasn’t left me, why it hasn’t faded over the years. Indelible. 

I see the two of us riding up the street, and now I see a man, the man, (I never did have any name for him) on the sidewalk, on my left. Looking at us. Smiling slightly. Or maybe my mind added that detail later.

Oh no, this time I was not alone, I was with my friend Kellie. Don’t look at her I willed. She was so cute, much cuter that me. I was afraid for her. Afraid that he would start following her now. No, don’t look at her, He must see how adorable she is. Please don’t follow Kellie, please don’t follow Kellie, please don’t follow Kellie, please don’t follow Kellie…