Tuesday, March 29, 2005
The Eyes of the Watcher (2)
Something a friend said talking on the phone to him made him realise she saw him as someone who wanted to be different, but - unsaid, but implied - was not.
It made him realise how little this person on the end of the line really knew him.
He held his peace, and protested weakly.
But in truth, all his life he had been different. He'd been told it by teachers as a child - not a "good" different - just different. "Mature beyond his years" was a catchphrase that cropped up a lot - but they were just words to him. Hardly a compliment... just... empty words.
In a way, he was tired of being "different".
All his life he'd wanted nothing more than to be... ordinary.
Maybe it was the schooling, or the upbringing - but the die was cast. He couldn't help but be... a watcher.
*****
Watchers aren't wiser per se. They occasionally develop a knack of predicting the future, simply because they watch other people and develop the art of pattern recognition.
As much as we all want to believe it, we are none of us truly unique.
We're a thousand thousand people, a billion shades of skin, a boiling mass of innumerable petty wants, hopes, desires and lusts.
We're the same creature repeated ad infinitum, the same flesh molded around the same genetic code, granted a moments uniqueness in the unending chain of life that is time eternal.
Watchers observe the other people who live their lives trapped within their illusions of uniqueness. They watch them screw each other over; they watch them heal each other through little acts of kindness. They watch and almost become that person, for an instant. Many of them lose themselves in watching and begin to forget to live their own lives. Some of them become tired, or judgemental, or cynical. Some of them dream of immersing themselves in self-centredness and just losing their past.
Maybe a few of them really do.
*****
She had the eyes of a watcher. He couldn't help but notice them as he sat across her at the dinner table. They drew him to her, although he didn't know who she really was, or what she would be like away from the crowd.
They were attractive, because they were so instantly recognisable, and so rare.
They also reminded him of the eyes of another watcher.
But behind that watchers eyes lurked a burning humour. A strong desire to laugh - and make other people laugh. That watcher's eyes were afire.
*****
He didn't tend to look at himself much in the mirror, maybe he focused on parts of himself, for instance when he shaved. He didn't even like to look at photographs of himself, and he'd never really paused to think about it.
But that evening, as he sat entombed in the prison of the barber's chair, his gaze wandered across his reflection and he caught his own eye.
My God, he thought.
I look so old now.
*****
He used to lurk, partly waiting for his mother to pick him up after language class, and mostly waiting for that instant when She stepped out of Her own Japanese class and into her dad's black Peugeot, just so he could catch a glimpse of Her. He didn't know why he did it, and he refused to believe in infatuation. Too cynical.
It was always so fleeting and so quick, and yet for some reason he never thought to actually step up to Her, although they'd speak and laugh for what felt a lifetime on the 'phone every night.
It was plain silly.
But that's how it always went.
I watched from my window, always felt I was outside, looking in on you.
*****
He sat, crossed-legged on the floor with a cup of insipid tea cupped between his hands, leaning his head against the glass window and watching the world go by, and day turn to night.
The children around him sat immersed in their algebra, or thermodynamics, or flirting. He'd earned a close scrutiny from everyone in the room when he first walked in, but that was probably simply because he was nearly twice their ages.
He thought.
*****
It was so long ago, and it was this very spot. There was another restaurant here.
She said something, and everybody laughed, and he lowered his brow and looked at her across the edge of eyesight mock-menacingly.
"Ah, that's your dangerous look is it?" she drawled. She looked him levelly in the eye, and a side of her mouth crooked up in a tiny sideways smile.
The moment dragged, and for an instant he wondered if she was almost... flirting with him?
*****
Perhaps the one thing one should know about the author is that he has, over the years, become a consummate liar - sometimes he even manages to lie to himself.
And perhaps the one thing one should know about everybody else in his world is that they rarely think to ask him the right questions.
Or maybe they just can't be bothered anymore.
*****
And so, in a flash, another two thousand lives are extinguished.
Maybe it's just age catching up with me. But these last few years... these mass casualties and natural disasters seem to be occurring at an almost exponential rate.
Are these the Signs? Movie fodder.
Nonetheless, let us not forget.
And maybe pray a little.
It made him realise how little this person on the end of the line really knew him.
He held his peace, and protested weakly.
But in truth, all his life he had been different. He'd been told it by teachers as a child - not a "good" different - just different. "Mature beyond his years" was a catchphrase that cropped up a lot - but they were just words to him. Hardly a compliment... just... empty words.
In a way, he was tired of being "different".
All his life he'd wanted nothing more than to be... ordinary.
Maybe it was the schooling, or the upbringing - but the die was cast. He couldn't help but be... a watcher.
*****
Watchers aren't wiser per se. They occasionally develop a knack of predicting the future, simply because they watch other people and develop the art of pattern recognition.
As much as we all want to believe it, we are none of us truly unique.
We're a thousand thousand people, a billion shades of skin, a boiling mass of innumerable petty wants, hopes, desires and lusts.
We're the same creature repeated ad infinitum, the same flesh molded around the same genetic code, granted a moments uniqueness in the unending chain of life that is time eternal.
Watchers observe the other people who live their lives trapped within their illusions of uniqueness. They watch them screw each other over; they watch them heal each other through little acts of kindness. They watch and almost become that person, for an instant. Many of them lose themselves in watching and begin to forget to live their own lives. Some of them become tired, or judgemental, or cynical. Some of them dream of immersing themselves in self-centredness and just losing their past.
Maybe a few of them really do.
*****
She had the eyes of a watcher. He couldn't help but notice them as he sat across her at the dinner table. They drew him to her, although he didn't know who she really was, or what she would be like away from the crowd.
They were attractive, because they were so instantly recognisable, and so rare.
They also reminded him of the eyes of another watcher.
But behind that watchers eyes lurked a burning humour. A strong desire to laugh - and make other people laugh. That watcher's eyes were afire.
*****
He didn't tend to look at himself much in the mirror, maybe he focused on parts of himself, for instance when he shaved. He didn't even like to look at photographs of himself, and he'd never really paused to think about it.
But that evening, as he sat entombed in the prison of the barber's chair, his gaze wandered across his reflection and he caught his own eye.
My God, he thought.
I look so old now.
*****
He used to lurk, partly waiting for his mother to pick him up after language class, and mostly waiting for that instant when She stepped out of Her own Japanese class and into her dad's black Peugeot, just so he could catch a glimpse of Her. He didn't know why he did it, and he refused to believe in infatuation. Too cynical.
It was always so fleeting and so quick, and yet for some reason he never thought to actually step up to Her, although they'd speak and laugh for what felt a lifetime on the 'phone every night.
It was plain silly.
But that's how it always went.
I watched from my window, always felt I was outside, looking in on you.
*****
He sat, crossed-legged on the floor with a cup of insipid tea cupped between his hands, leaning his head against the glass window and watching the world go by, and day turn to night.
The children around him sat immersed in their algebra, or thermodynamics, or flirting. He'd earned a close scrutiny from everyone in the room when he first walked in, but that was probably simply because he was nearly twice their ages.
He thought.
*****
It was so long ago, and it was this very spot. There was another restaurant here.
She said something, and everybody laughed, and he lowered his brow and looked at her across the edge of eyesight mock-menacingly.
"Ah, that's your dangerous look is it?" she drawled. She looked him levelly in the eye, and a side of her mouth crooked up in a tiny sideways smile.
The moment dragged, and for an instant he wondered if she was almost... flirting with him?
*****
Perhaps the one thing one should know about the author is that he has, over the years, become a consummate liar - sometimes he even manages to lie to himself.
And perhaps the one thing one should know about everybody else in his world is that they rarely think to ask him the right questions.
Or maybe they just can't be bothered anymore.
*****
And so, in a flash, another two thousand lives are extinguished.
Maybe it's just age catching up with me. But these last few years... these mass casualties and natural disasters seem to be occurring at an almost exponential rate.
Are these the Signs? Movie fodder.
Nonetheless, let us not forget.
And maybe pray a little.
