I Held His Gaze, And He Was Captivated

This has been a very strange week between us. Bearing in mind that you’ve not only changed your profile picture on facebook to one with her, but also taken to texting just as consistently as bygone weeks, likely with her; we stand at more crossroads, unwilling to decide where exactly to go. Beginning with a breakfast to kick the week off where you sat one seat away from me, busying yourself in the mundane conversational small talk that ensued, I saw you pipe up on more than one occasion to people around you with your wholly innocent voice, enquiring politely after their weekends.

Aside from sneaky endeavours to look everywhere, at everyone and none-too-subtly at me for lingering periods of time — if I’m not imagining something fierce — Monday flew by like a double-decker super-jumbo at full-throttle, with no more than a cursory glance from the opposite side of the room during law class, when I seized the chance to look at your eyes. It is always difficult to accurately surmise whether your beard would feel softer to the touch than the back of your neck. I spend far too much time musing over that, as Tuesday washes over all of us, too soon and yet, deliciously exciting. It’s rather a challenge to keep track of all the Huffer clothing you wear, seeing as it all looks like baby clothing coupled with active wear for your shorts. And of course, you tripped me up the one time — a genuine accident, or so I dare hope.

Altogether missing your careful appraisal of class material, I fail miserably in capturing your attention by poking fun of your French accent, following it up later by sitting directly in front of you as Wednesday whizzes by. Guest lecturers come and class material flows go, you tirelessly jot every little detail down, and file it away using your methodical organisational capacity. Emilia made you laugh, chuckle and smile directly behind me — the warmth emanating forward toward the back of my neck, warming my ear lobes and caressing my shoulders. Not that you’d know of course, seeing as she’s caged you in a vow of perpetual silence, and a life wherein earlobe shells matter little, seeing as you don’t appear to have any.

You sit across the aisle from me on the field trip, and avoid looking at you as if the sight of you would have me contract leprosy. The plague is far too easy for one so torturous as you. Scandal beckons as the Panama Papers swirl, and I wonder if you’d ever think me criminal for being wealthy. You come and stand next to me to point out murky water in an artificial wetland in the quiet yet resonating baritone that drives me insane. I smile and nod gently, trying to prevent my glee from surfacing. I exhale, and you’re already off to follow the professor — iphone camera in hand, sufficiently protected from the sun through the judicious use of a baseball cap with ‘NY’ stamped on the front.

It is a pleasant surprise to see you on Friday morning, so I smile politely, hoping you’ll get on with the law exercise and leave me to fantasise in peace. No such luck, as my partner invites you to mock-spectate for our presentation. If I am to embrace the idea, I will prove that embraces can mean the world, even for doofus muses. I seize your attention with my most gravelly voice, rolled over with giant rolling pins and enunciated with vibrating consonants and lyrical vowels — and I am inclined to think that it worked. Your eyes follow me as I pace around the room, waving my arms about like an insane fool. You hang on the lighter moments, chuckling in your deep voice at the humour — sometimes deliberately exaggerated for your benefit. I wonder when posing theatrically whether the benefit of your attention is carefully curated by you to advance your understanding of course material in general, or whether you really enjoy listening to me.

Babur once looked upon another man in the way that I do unto you, as I gesture emphatically toward you during a conversation with a classmate. I hope that you don’t see nee as entirely incompatible with feelings of intimacy. Sitting on your right isn’t quite so numbing as it once was, now that my pulse rages less furiously and my attention span is reinforced having you in such close proximity. It’s more difficult to be drawn to the gallant bearded gentleman beside you, who sweats almost as ferociously as he is self-effacing when presenting his own work. It is no secret that I like to laugh often and energetically, and it is a blessing to have two good-looking men sat together that feel comfortable in indulgence of that uncouth behaviour amid polite company. It is gloriously liberating to giggle and roar with the best of comedies in error as we perceive all the world as an uproarious stage.

But of course, no sooner than we arrive at presentation time does my roving line of sight seek you out in particular, now occupying my seat, oozing virility and the masculine ideal dressed in black with embossed white text. We begin, and I address my speech outward, aimed at all my peers, but never failing to have my face drawn in your direction. I hear my voice spring back as the microphone comes to life, noting meticulously in my head the arresting effect it has on you, and several other close acquaintances dotted around the room. Your eyes shimmer in the awe-inspiring blue that you couldn’t possibly be less aware of, nor how much I imagine those that love you remind you of the fact — that they are hypnotic amid the generally shiver-inducing impact your gaze has on me.

Miraculously, I don’t stutter, hesitate or forget any of my words and the conversational tone to the presentation rolls on, marching toward its conclusion. The regimented feeling gives it a determinedly fluid structure, flexibly adapting to my co-presenters’ input as we manage to sustain the audience’s attention, particularly yours. In a theatrical flourish, I pace to the other side to conclude, throwing open the floor to questions. As a colleague rather pointedly ignores our not having left the spotlight, I feel the prick of disappointment as you don’t ask a question, a remarkable contrast to that very morning; but having held your captivated gaze for some fifteen minutes, I am quickly mollified.

Even the most cursory glances tap into unreasonable pangs of thrill and excitement, as this story reveals. The smaller pleasures in life are always undervalued and underrated wherever we are in the world. I cannot command the same feelings for your constant neighbour as I inadvertently feel for you, try as I might — despite the fact that you seem to sweat very little, which is quite unnerving. Perhaps it may be regarded as tragic that I know so little about you, or the closet-nat with a more extreme environmental leaning that you come off as every day. Not even the mouth-watering hair that caresses the top of your chest could ever bring that closer to palatability.

Moments like these call into question what I actually want. I know that it would be lovely to enjoy your company as a significant person in my life for a long-term period, but that is unreasonable, unlikely and less-than-conceivable for you. Better maybe for all of us to go on with the more secure realm of hilarity, sharing the many inanities of life in an altogether more feasible give-and-take of banter. You always seem so earnestly set upon enjoying life, which is my most persistent desire to be able to observe every day that I draw breath. That leaves me with ample time to wax poetic and lyrical about it in my spare time while procrastinating.

Nevertheless, it is a sense of undiluted achievement to allow this feeling to wash over me: to have mesmerized you rather than the other way around. My voice must have some charm, some hidden talent, some resonating value in its tone, pattern, delivery, or through the choice of words that I use after all. Succeeding at enthralling you, and a wider audience (with a focus on you) easily count among the happier moments in my short life. I am filled with a dangerous sense of hope that I will enjoy holding your gaze, captivating your attention with my person, for a long while, even if it is a forlorn desire that is destined to be dashed against rocks with the rolling tide. What spineless creature ever survived that?