I think I might have a staring problem. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just on the cusp of having a staring problem that is entirely curable.
Confession (which I am on the cusp of deleting because I really don’t want to talk about this, but here goes):
There was this girl who went to the same high school I did. I couldn’t help but steal glances at her. She was mesmerizing. It wasn’t because she was beautiful, or horribly ugly. She was a blinker. I’m not sure what the medical term is for this phenomenon, but she blinked more often than a Honda Civic in the turning lane. I’m sorry, but it’s true. And I was utterly fascinated. And then she was fascinating for the sake of being fascinating.
I am sorry. I feel really bad about this fascination I had. In her yearbook, under the “things I hate” category she wrote “blondes who stare.” Ugh. It bothers me to this day. I hope she wasn’t referring to me, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that she was. Am I a terrible person?Â
The problem is this: there’s a weird thing that happens when you’re caught looking at someone. They look right back at you. And then you look away, and then look back to check and see if they’re still looking and they are and so you look away and then look back to see if they’re looking to see if you’re looking and it doesn’t stop until one person physically removes themselves from The Staring Cycle. It happened with her Every Single Time. And then I thought she was staring at me. But now I know she sought me out because she expected to be stared at. *sigh*
I like to look at people. I can’t deny it. I like to study their expressions. I wonder what they’re thinking about. And what’s going on inside their heads. But at what point does “looking” become “staring”?
It happened yesterday while I was downtown waiting for the bus. I was self-conscious about my freshly shorn hair. I was also happy about the outcome of my meeting. It was raining, and I didn’t have an umbrella, but my step was lighter and I felt really glad to be me at that moment. As I looked at the people around me, or passing by, I noticed they were watching me too. Were they watching because I was watching? Or just watching for the sake of watching, like I was?
I study people’s faces and wonder what’s written on their hearts. I sometimes imagine their souls are like chalkboards, and everyone’s is different. Some have things writ large (“I’M IN LOVE!”), others small (“I hate cold coffee”), crossed out (“I’m going to exercise today”), or erased completely… almost without a trace but still taking up valuable space on that chalkboard and creating a fine dust that settles on the other words.
So tell me. Am I a freak or what?
