Jessica Bellows
ENGL 1111
January 28, 2014

I probably lock eyes with a few hundred people every day. Some familiar, some new, some forgotten five seconds afterward. It seems, and for the most part it is, subconscious. I recognize someone and their being and their existence, and then I move on. Maybe smile a bit if the contact is held for a second too long, just to keep things from getting awkward. It happens every day. And I think nothing of it. His eyes, however, are different. Thinking nothing of them couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time I’m around him he gives me the same look – whether it’s given with the intention to remind me that he loves me or to playfully tell me I’m an idiot, it doesn’t matter. Any mood he’s in or thought he’s having is written clearly all over them.
I proudly admit to being one of the few couples who didn’t let a few states (ten, to be exact) put an end to an otherwise perfect relationship. I was lucky enough to have had the honor and the privilege of knowing him throughout high school, purely through friendship until senior year. We said our goodbyes, moved into our respective schools, made our own friends and smoothly transitioned into a new, exciting part of our lives - one without having each other just down the road. We had made it through one year together, and I guess you could say we decided to switch it up a bit for year number two. I hadn’t locked eyes with him in exactly fifty-one days. And quite frankly, I had never felt more like a cliché teenage girl in my life. He was 1,080 miles away, but there was hardly a time when he wasn’t in the back of my mind. Memories of him and of his smile were triggered by witty comments I knew he’d appreciate or restaurants I’d be dying for him to try. And today, they would no longer only be memories. I can’t explain how it feels to be so connected to someone that something as simple as eye contact can strengthen the bond shared. If you’re close enough with someone, their eyes alone will tell you everything. And our eyes had a lot of catching up to do. From the moment I woke up on October 12, 2013, the only thought in my mind was that perfect microsecond in which everything in the world would stop and my heart would race. Or maybe it would drop, or melt, or explode. Either way, I went about my daily routine as usual, except about seven times faster. Luckily, I had a feeling this morning would be a blur until 1:55 pm, and I set myself up to be able to do everything subconsciously. I somehow managed to dress myself (in the pink shirt I knew he liked), brush my teeth, straighten my hair, and make the walk to Ruggles. I don’t remember anything about the T ride except for the fact that I almost missed the stop due to my excessive daydreaming about what was now merely minutes away. The potent smell of body odor and stale alcohol was masked by my imagination of his familiar, comforting scent that consisted mostly of his deodorant – the same deodorant I’d kept in my room for when I missed him more than usual. By the time I arrived at the airport, walking felt more like floating. I finally snapped back into reality upon the realization that I actually did need to figure out where I was going. The huge wall of departure and arrival schedules made for the perfect hiding spot, and I waited impatiently for him there. My foot traced along the floor tiles, and I paced back and forth a few times. Occasionally I’d peak around the corner to see if he was coming, but only for a second because I didn’t want him to see me. I’ll admit that in a way I was scared to see him. After all, these fifty-one days were by no means easy, and I had no way of knowing if we’d still have the connection we had in August. Even I will admit that as excited as I was to finally see him in person again, I’d almost gotten used to seeing the two dimensional, pixelated version of him that appeared on my computer screen once a week or so. The first of him I saw wasn’t his eyes, and thank God for that – because I don’t know if I could’ve handled it. It was the back of his head, and I, feeling cliché yet again, recognized it immediately. His hair was lighter – or maybe it wasn’t and I was just used to the dull lighting of his dorm room on my laptop screen. I blindly followed him as he picked up his luggage, his eyes scanning the area where I had deceivingly told him I’d be standing. Still without seeing his face, I could feel his excitement. My whole body felt warm just from the ability to once again experience the intimate, unique connection we share – just by being in the same room. I stood a few inches behind him, and he turned around. I doubt we held eye contact for any longer than three seconds, realistically. But three seconds was all it took to process every argument we had, letter we sent, tear we (I) shed, and text we received over the last fifty-one days. My heart didn’t race, drop, melt, or explode. I just went numb. The emotion I felt was powerful enough to take over my entire body. I hugged him, but only to pull away quickly because I just needed to see him and the look on his face again. Was it love, relief, attraction, surprise – I couldn’t tell you. Even now I am sure I’ll never be able to fully explain the way I felt in that moment. Neither can he – I’ve asked him. But maybe the mystery behind that moment is the point of it all. Maybe we aren’t meant to split it apart and dissect each aspect of it; critiquing and analyzing it like some famous Shakespearean play. Maybe it was so beautiful because of my inability to do anything more than appreciate it while it occurred. I don’t know if it will ever happen again – and honestly, I don’t want to know. I’m satisfied just by remembering that for that one moment in time, absolutely everything was perfect.