Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Touché is touch in french.

As the guy walked past, she told me she didn't like him. I mentioned that I knew the guy he was sitting with. She told me she didn't like him either and why.

One was a groper and the other, one who leers. I wondered how many times she had caught me leering.

It was a tough table. I was glad to see them go and I was sitting across the room and with my back to them.

"I hope at least they left you a good tip." I said as she came back to her station. She said that they had but there was no hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"Was it worth the effort?"

She raised her hand to eye level and lowered her index finder close to her pointing out thumb. "I was this close to punching them."

I made the mistake of looking past her fingers and square into her soft brown eyes. I'll meet people's gazes all the time, if I think there is no danger in doing so.

Sometimes, looking someone in the eye, a sort of duel takes place. People try to peer deep, past the shutters that others do their best to keep tightly closed. Others still, see what you will do when they throw the curtains wide. Parries and ripostes and standing on guard.

The eyes are the window to the soul.

After our eyes met, I slowly blink and reset my gaze on something down and to the left as if I were pondering what she had just said but she got a view when I didn't think she would be looking and I think she knows she scored a touch.

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