iREDthatBook
A year ago, I learned why not to judge people by their appearances. I was new to town, and shy. She was beautiful, seemed popular and (I thought) looked at me disapprovingly. A girl I had never talked to, I had written off as shallow, and left it at that. Such was our mutual existence until some time much later I found myself as the only one at her side as she cried. Gingerly, I stayed with her that day, thinking the whole time how I had been wrong about her, and ashamed by it. She was sweet to me, the whole day we walked and talked together. The larger part of our discussions were just little nothings, or of timely relevance. Now, I still thought her charming, but in those moments we were still within a safe, non-confiding level of conversation - not too personal. Startling though, and to my slight discomfort as I wasn't sure how to react, I listened patiently as she nervously, and bravely managed to tell me about her insecurities.
Her face - her eyes - have stayed close-at-hand in my photographic memory. Her mascara had run and dried on her face. I don't know if she was unaware, but she wore it that way for the rest of the day. When I spoke to her, our eyes met, and I always recall them as being enigmatic. I can't quite read them. A piercing, holding gaze, but innocent and completely unthreatening - vulnerable even. I could barely hold that eye contact thinking about how I silently disrespected her, and if my gaze didn't fail me, I always wondered if she could read that in my eyes. ~iREDthatBook July 16, 2019