By QDchattelHow I got here and how I became this -- well, it doesn't matter. Or maybe it does; I can't be sure. Why I stay here and why I remain this -- yes, that is the question. And I guess that all has to do with how I got here.
Normally, I don't notice a person's eyes that closely. Either I'm busy, or just not an "eye person."
But these eyes -- well, these eyes caught my attention.
They were moving up 8th street towards Pennsylvania Avenue, in the southeast part of the city -- DC, that is -- going towards the capitol as I jog-walked towards a meeting for at one of those trendy new restaurants up from the Hawk and Dove.
I was already late. "Yes, already late," I smiled. "Surely a few minutes more won't matter."
So I turned around and followed the eyes. There was no plan involved. I just followed.The eyes belonged to a young woman. I say young woman -- from the look the eyes had, she might have been a hundred years old. Or five hundred. They had a certain knowingness. From other appearances, she was in her mid-20s.
Across the street and up to the corner -- they went into a little coffee and chocolate shop. I followed. Then as I went in, the eyes turned right around and confronted me.
I dared to take my first good look at them -- but it was more like entering something. They were smiling and I felt relief. The young woman's lips -- or was it the eyes? -- said something. I blinked, and the clerk said, "she's waiting a minute. You're next."
The eyes smiled again, and this time, I'm sure it was the lips that said, "Yes, you can go ahead of me. "I'm not quite sure what to order -- it's important to think through what you want, you know?"
A FEW MINUTES later and we were at her apartment. Lucky for me, she had a rather large order that day, and I was able to help her out with the bags. It was only a couple of blocks to the town-house. Before we left, I sent a text to my colleagues that I might have to miss the meeting.
"Would you like something?," she asked. "I really don't need all this, I just like getting rid of some of my old junk now and then, and they usually prefer a swap for merchandise." Looking around, there didn't seem to be any roommates. I nodded and she poured me some kind of herbal tea, and pulled some scones out of the bag.
The place was beautifully appointed. I didn't know enough about decorating to identify this or that style, or even, why things worked, but it seemed coordianted, organic -- alive. The sofa was tan, with long, generous arms. Next to it was a skinny stand-up lamp for reading. It seemed well put together enough.
"I have an old custom," she said. "Since you have helped me, I am going to do something for you...."
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