𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻

II

"The face is a picture of the mind with the eyes as it's interpreter"
Marcus Tullius Cicero

Today, Miss Sullivan organized a trip for the orphanage. She, after great reflection, decided we would go see a play. Of course, it wasn't a surprise when she announced our destination since half of our rare trips are to the theatre. Despite the obvious lack of originality, I'm quite happy to get out of this stupid building.

To get to the location, we take a rented bus. Now I don't want to seem like I'm complaining all the time, only these rides are absolutely horrible. Everyone is talking loudly, even some seem to be having a contest of who can shout the loudest. Some young boys are throwing everything they can put their hands on at each other, hitting everyone but each other. It is absolutely chaotic.

In need of fresh air, I get up to open the window by my side. Alice, a girl who's bed is near mine in the dormitory, doesn't seem to appreciate my idea since she gives me a weird look before opening her mouth to speak.

"What are you doing?!"

"Opening the window." I respond with a frown.

"You can't do that, I'm allergic to pollen and there is plenty outside." She says with a sharp voice and a know it all expression.

"Well that is a shame for you." I say before finally opening the glass and sitting back in my place.

Alice is probably one of my least favorite girl at the orphanage. Her head is so big I'm surprised she could even enter through the small entry of the bus. She thinks she's worth more than everyone else and you can always see her giggling with her friends about a mean comment they just made. The girl always seems to have an unappreciated comment stuck on her tongue waiting to be shot at another one of her poor victim.

She gives gives me one last annoyed look, which I return with pleasure, and goes back to talking with her friend.
I sigh and look out the window for the rest of the bus journey.

Finally, we arrive at the theatre. I hop out of the vehicle without a second thought. As Miss Sullivan leads us to our places, I can't help but look around. This place is magnificent even if it's an old building. The stage is high and imposing, the seats are covered in an elegant red tissue, the ceiling seems far away with how high it is and what catches the eye most are the paintings of white birds along the walls.

A loud voice takes me out of my thoughts which makes me realize the play is starting and makes me move slightly to make myself more comfortable.

The show turns out to be interesting and the actors make it all very funny. Time flows quickly and I find myself needing to go to the bathroom. I excuse myself before walking out of the room to hopefully find the restroom by myself. After a few minutes, I see a sign that shows directions and follow them.

Just before I push open the door, an old lady comes up to me. She stands at least a head lower than me and walks with an old-looking wood cane. Her white hair, partly hidden by the scarf she wears around her head, reminds me of soft summer clouds.

"Hello young lady would you help me pick up my handkerchief, please? It fell from my hands and with my old back, I am afraid I'd get stuck." She exclaims in a honeyed voice.

"Of course, where is it?" I ask politely.

"Right there, just beside the wall." The lady responds while pointing at it.

I nod and bend down to pick it up, then offer it back to her. As she takes it, her hand brushes against mine. I feel a sudden pain at the contact as if I just poked my flesh with a needle several times. Wincing, I look back at her eyes and am surprised by the intensity of her gaze.

She's looking at me with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. The way she stares at me gives me the impression she's analyzing me, staring straight into my soul as a hunter would do with his prey. In a desperate attempt to turn away from her gaze, I awkwardly clear my throat and shake my hand to numb the pain away.

"Umm... I should get going now." I tell her carefully.

The old lady only nods and mutters a quick thank you as I walk back to the theatre room.

For the rest of the play, I barely listen to the comedians. Instead, I think about that strange encounter. The pain is fading away but the sensation lingers on my skin. I notice my shaking hands only an hour later when we enter the bus once again. It may sound stupid like a child scared of the monster in his closet, but I can't shake that awful feeling off or get those blue, blue eyes out of my busy mind.

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