#3

It was her eyes that gave her away. Her eyes didnt so much look at me or see me as they did morph me. to me, i was me. to her, i was who she wanted me to be. If the eyes didnt tell her secrets, the frowning smile picked up the slack where the eyes left off. Those eyes.. if they weren't staring at my shoes, they were searing through the wall behind me, trying to envision the setting also as wherever she wanted it to be. transcendental psychosoma, i guess you could say. whatever it was, i recognized it. i didnt so much stare back, as i did beckon. my eyes pleaded. they were being ignored. i realized right then and there in this one instant of humanity, that she didnt know me at all. that all the words and allusory nuances that escaped from her mouth were just red tape she hoped id become entwined in. i was a dolphin. caught in a tuna dragnet woven by red, sticky words. what an excellent angler this one was. i was hooked. her dark, smooth hands were almost invisible grasping the tanned leather steering wheel. the grasp was not tense, but rather expectant. anticipating what she already predicted. the rain is a snare drum on the roof, firing off upbeat rudiments and double paradiddle rolls. there is only the thick silence in the front seat, periodically cut short by jabs of hot breath. she looks up from my shoes. her eyes look TO me, for once, instead of through me. she makes her move. vicious. the eyes scour my soul for good things in which to defile. i feel what is one of the last remnants of my innocence being prepared for a hanging. i cant even see out the windows now. the clarity in my head that once reflected on the windows has disappeared, leaving a vague cloud in its place instead. this vague cloud also was reflected in my head. the air is cold and damp. i look around and understand her empty gaze towards an inanimate wall, if i were her, id project myself to another setting too. i felt lucky to have been given this sacred bond of trust. i was nothing to her, she was something to me.