Monday, March 12, 2012 at Fahrenheit Coffee
Sisters of the Moon
A beautiful woman with eyelashes as long as a spider’s legs was staring at me from behind her bedraggled novel. I kept my eyes lowered out of fear and then out of embarrassment. She wasn’t smiling or scowling, nodding or furrowing her brow. She was just staring. The rational part of me immediately assumed she was just lost in her own thoughts, or a memory too good not relive. She was staring but she was not staring at me. Just into the nothingness collecting around my face and my dyed blonde hair.
Her eyelashes seemed to get entangled when she blinked. So much so that I was afraid she’d never be able to open her eyes again. I attempted a smile, suddenly, against my will almost; as if the smile knew me better than I did.
Maybe she thinks she knows me. She did not smile back. She blinked again, a violent tango of ‘which set of lashes will win.’