FEEL

3. Opia

Opia~ the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

The eye never lies. The rest of our body has learned to lie so meticulously that even the liar itself forgets the truth, but the eyes will always know. And the eyes will always tell.

I wondered if Mr Pierce knew the same thing as he inspected me from across the coffee table. We were in his office, a fairly large space with bookshelves, a sofa that he sat on and a couch that I was seated in, both made of black velvet.

I might as well have been nude. I felt as such. That was always the case when I was under the introspection of anybody. Eye contact, especially one with as much depth and as lengthy as the one Mr Pierce was giving, was akin to one planting themselves into your head. In doing so, they could sit in there and watch all of my thoughts as they passed through my head. Like mind colonization, which is worse than the physical kind.

Physical things are tangible. You can see and touch them, therefore confirm their existence. It was different with the mind. They can't dissect it to look at the problem. It's why we were all given mouths to speak, so that we can say when there's nothing left to do. Unfortunately for me, I was taught to keep my mouth shut for so long that I have forgotten how to present my ideas eloquently.

“I read your assignment,” Mr Pierce says instead of addressing the elephant in the room. I don't think I'm off the hook, just that he's easing into it slowly. “It was brilliant.”

I don't know what else to say but, “Thank you, sir.”

“Aquila, you finished that assignment in a single weekend. The rest of the class had two weeks, and you wrote it better than anything I've ever read,” he explained to me, quite bewildered.

Now, I really don't know what to say. All I know is that I'm extravagantly elated that he is impressed with it. It doesn't happen often, me impressing someone. In fact, I can't remember the last time I was anything more than mediocre.

“Do you write often?” Mr Pierce asked.

I replied gently, “I prefer to read.”

“And that?” He pointed to my camera.

Here it comes. The reason I'm here. If I were any shade lighter, my skin would have reddened to crimson. I thank my ancestors for dark skin before I acknowledged, “My camera. I like filming things.”

“I assume you're in the film club, then?”

I shake my head. “They were full.”

“Photography?”

“Also full.”

“No clubs, then?” I shake my head again. Another thing I hated about changing schools so often. All the clubs I wanted were full by the time I got here. “Did you follow me that day? To the Cafe?”

My head shakes rapidly this time. “Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't. I was just... I-I was filming some stuff there and then you were there...”

“So it was for scenery?”

I nod my head, even if it's half a lie. Without knowing, he had helped me compose a good lie.

“Same thing at the library then, I assume? Pure coincidence?” My head nods to lie to him once again. “Alright. I hope you don't mind me inquiring. I'm just curious as to what the reasoning might be.”