Spring Colored Eyes

    People annoy me. That’s a fact that I have come to live with. I can’t stand the human race; I have never been able to stand them. Personally, I would never consider myself a mean person, but I am not exactly friendly. I would give somebody directions to Penn Station, but I would not stay and have a chat with them about how pricey the tickets are. It’s just who I am. I’ve always been this way, not by choice, but by fate. Fate, I believe, is the most crucial aspect of life, without it nothing could happen. That’s how it all began, with a hint of fate and a pinch of pixie dust, my story began.

     It was a hot day in July and I was wondering around Washington Square Park. I didn’t have a plan for the day other than to try and be spontaneous. This was also the day that I learned spontaneity didn’t work for me. I could not figure out what I was supposed to be doing. Looking back at it now, I realize that was the point of spontaneity, to do nothing while simultaneously doing everything. I could not understand how people lived like this, but I believe that is one of the mysteries of the human race. The race of people who are destroying an entire planet, but hey we’re an intelligent species, at least some of us are. A species who care more about the cover of Vogue than their planet. It is what it is, I surely don’t plan on changing it. I would much rather sleep in then try and change the world. Well, that sunny day in July was not a day to stay in.

      I was sitting on a bench, somewhere in the park, reading The Bell Jar by the great Sylvia Plath when I felt a presence next to me. I didn’t bother to look up, the life of Esther Greenwood was far more fascinating than the average New Yorker. Though, when I felt somebody staring at me I looked. Standing over me was a boy around the age of nineteen, who possessed dark brown hair and bright green eyes that resembled spring. It was almost immediately obvious that those eyes were trouble.  

     I didn't know what to say, so I chose to say nothing. It seemed like the safest bet. As I looked away, about to divulge myself into the depressing yet beautiful tale, the boy clear his throat. So, naturally I looked straight into the bright green eyes, eyes that looked as if they held a tale of their own. One that may rival that of the tortured Sylvia Plath. But, as I said before, I do not like people.

     “What?” I thought I may have sounded a bit rude, but I didn’t really care.

     “I like your book,” Was the only reply I got. I decided immediately  that I didn’t care if the boy with the green eyes liked my book; so I returned to my reading. I didn’t make it halfway down the page before he interrupted me again.

     “What page are you on?” I wasn’t sure if I should answer him, ignore him, or just walk away; fro some reason I decided to answer him.

     “She just made it to Belsize,” I told him.

     “That’s one of my favorite parts,” he told me. I couldn’t help but wonder why. I love this part for the reason I love the whole book, it sheds some much needed light on the truth of mental illnesses and how they, depression especially, affect the people it infects. So, when I voiced my question, his answer startled me. It was nearly identical to my own reasoning. As of that moment I was officially intrigued by the green eyes, truly and wholeheartedly.

     “Would you like to sit?” He obliged almost immediately and sat down next to me, almost too close for comfort, but not quite. Though, his eyes looked like that of spring, he smelt as if he belonged to autumn. It wasn’t an overpowering smell of cologne, like most boys wore. It was just enough to be detected. I always liked when boys didn’t wear too much cologne. We started to chat mindlessly for a few minutes until he asked if I was busy right this second. Not sure what I should say, I told him “No, I wasn’t busy right now.” He smiled at me after that, or maybe it was a smirk? I saw a spark of mischief flash in those beautiful eyes, but they soon became the bright green orbs that I was starting to get used to.

     “Let’s go.” He said pulling me up with him.

     “Where?” I inquired.

     “On an adventure.” He replied, dragging me off the God knows where.

     I was surprised when I realized that I didn’t care where we were going. It just didn’t matter. I even trusted him, how weird is that? I trusted a guy I hadn’t even known for ten minutes. I thought that that idea was wild. He seemed intelligent and fun, and that was all that mattered to me at that time. Looking back at that now, I realized how stupid that was. I shouldn’t have run off with a guy that I didn’t knew. It was idiotic, but I don’t regret it. How could I? Our past shapes us into what we are today, and that is part of my past and therefore part of me.

     “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” I asked the enigma sitting next to me. We were on the train. I don’t remember the journey that got us from the park to the train, but I know it wasn’t important. It was just a blip in the greater journey ahead.

     “Midtown,” he smiled at me.

     “I’m not stupid,” I frowned, “I know that much.” I hated when people gave me smart ass answers. It was one of my biggest pet peeves.

     “I never said you were stupid, but I did say that it was a surprise. Don’t worry about it, you’re gonna like it when you see it. I know you will.” I hated that answer as well. How would he know that I would like it? He didn’t know me, he only knew that I read the Bell Jar, and I don’t believe that that is really telling. Maybe he’s taking me to the Poetry House, I’ve always wanted to go there but have never had the time. I plugged in my headphones, not knowing how long this train ride will last. I started to get lost in my imagination, I tend to do that a lot, I can’t remember what I was daydreaming about. I’ve wondered about many things over my years like if I was ever going to be asked out, if my friends actually cared, how earth shattering things, like the death of a loved one, would affect my life, and many more. I tended to be spacey and live in my own world, though it never really bothered me. I wanted to be a writer so I figured that it was a good thing.

     I’ve always had the urge to write, no matter what form the writing would take. Over the years I had written numerous journals, dozens of poems, a multitude of short stories, various speeches, and the beginnings of many novels. That was one of my biggest problems, I tended to get bored of what I was working on easily. I had hundreds of ideas. I wanted to write all of them, but I couldn’t. To me the idea seemed as if it was worth a million pages, but I couldn’t get past five. I always figured that this was my hamartia, especially when I looked at my life from the perspective of my career. I didn’t know how I could be a writer when I couldn’t finish a book.

     A tug on my arm pulled me out of my world, into the bitter reality. I shortly thereafter realized that I didn’t know where we are. It frightened me that I wasn’t sure where we were. There were very few parts of the city that I didn’t know. I also hated when I wasn’t in control of the situation.

      I didn’t know what I should do. I wanted to follow the beautiful boy with the mystical eyes to the end of the world, but simultaneously I wanted to kick myself for being this stupid and run away from him immediately.  

     I know that it was a dumb idea to follow a person I hadn’t even known for a day. Though, it was a stupid idea in theory I do not regret it. Regret is not something that should be part of life. We can not change the past, no matter how hard we try to or how much we want to. Our pasts are what makes us us. I would not be who I am today if it was not for the beautiful boy with the breathtaking eyes.

     As we walk through the crowded streets of Manhattan, I can’t help but notice what we’re heading towards. Sighing I ask the stranger walking with me, “Seriously? I’ve been to Times Square before, and as a matter of fact, I don’t love it.” The pretty boy chuckles to himself but doesn’t say a word. He only continues to walk towards the place where the tourists infest. Deciding that his was a true waste of my time, I turn to leave. Though, before I am able to do he grabbed my hand. “Come on, Princess. I wouldn’t take you to Times Square, we’re just walking through it to get to the place.” Having no choice but to follow him. I let him lead me into another unairconditioned train station. “Oh, pretty boy, don’t call me princess.” “Whatever you say sweetheart,” I rolled my eyes at him, figuring that he didn’t deserve a reply.

     Sitting in the train car I didn’t have anything to do other than observe the people around me. Luckily we managed to grab two seats next to each other. I kept sneaking looks at the boy who was absorbed in his phone. He seemed to be doing something of importance so I didn’t bother him. It was impolite, but I couldn’t look away from the handsome man. He was exceptionally tall, he looked like a troubled youth with his tousled hair, but his eyes were like those of a tortured artist. His personality was the weirdest part about him. He was cool and collected for the short time that I was graced by his presence, but he seemed as if he could turn on a dime; he was also very sweet and had an otherworldly aura about him that was too perfect. He, seemed pretty damn perfect. I was so lost in my daydream that i didn’t notice he was speaking, that was until he yelled at me. “God damn, girl, pay attention for once. I know I’m hot, but it’s rude to stare.” I got up and followed him out, but not before rolling my eyes and flashing him the finger. “Have you decided to tell me where you’re taking me yet?”

     I waited for a response that never came. Sighing in frustration I followed him outside of the train station and down the street. As soon as we got to street level I realized we weren’t in the city anymore. I opened my mouth to ask where we were, but I decided against it. It’s not like he was going to tell me anyway. Glaring at his back I followed him towards an emptier block. I was confused. I had no idea where we were going and no idea why we were going there. The boy grabbed my hand and dragged me around a corner. “Where are we?” I tried again, this time I got a reply. “Everywhere and nowhere.” He said, with a twinkle in his eye. I was confused, we were in an ally. He let go of my hand and started go through his pockets, looking for his keys.

     I almost felt my stomach drop at the realization he could anything he wanted to do to me, and no one would notice. No one could save me if he decided to pull out a knife right now. I may have been naive that summer, but I wasn’t stupid. I started to back away from him slowly, inching my way towards the street that would bring me a sense of freedom. I didn’t get far, he noticed before I could make it five steps away. “What are you doing?” He raised an eyebrow. I replied with nothing, the obvious answer. I didn’t know what else to say. He may or may not be a killer, and I was trapped in an ally with him. “Just get your ass over here, I found my keys.” He demanded. I obliged and walked into the place that was both nothing and everything first.

     I was astounded, I have never seen anything quite like this before. It was a room, but it was so much more. It was filled of piles and piles of books, they were lying all over the floor in a haphazard manner. Instead of chairs there were pillows and beanbags, everything looked worn and used and broken in. There were paintings all over the walls, it was as if they told a story. They were of a girl who lived in a world of her own. The pictures showed you her growing up and becoming beautiful, and talented. They began with a little girl who read thousands of book, and they ended with a woman who wrote dozens of influential and successful books. She was beautiful and poised, and carried those traits throughout each painting. “Wow.” Was all I could manage.

     I felt him behind me and turned to face him, “Did you do all of this?” He smiled at me and nodded. His green eyes had never looked so honest before. “When I saw you in the park, I was shocked. You’re nearly identical to the girl I painted. It was uncanny, especially the painting of her in the park. I knew I needed to show it to you.” I didn’t know what to say, I was speechless. “Wow,” I managed again. He laughed a little and pulled me down into the pile of pillows with him. Laughing, I pulled my book out of my bag and he grabbed one off of the closest pile and we read. We read until we fell asleep, and after we dreamed of the stories. We dreamed of Belsize and of internships. Dreams of the girl who grew up on the walls around us danced through our heads. There were images of Captain Ahab  and Jay Gatsby, we saw Scout and Atticus as well as Huck Finn and his best friend Tom. Together we danced through wonderland and climbed through the looking glass, we galloped with black beauty and were prosecuted with Hester Prynne. When we woke up we talked about it for hours and hours until we told all we could in the finite hours we had.

     The boy with bright green eyes and I grew closer through the years we knew each other until we eventually fell in love with each other. We loved and laughed, together we cried and mourned. The boy with the spring colored eyes became my best friend and my true love. He was my rock, and my knight in shining armour. There had not been a second we spent together that was wasted, even those spent arguing and tearing the other apart. I am truly honored to have been able to love him his since he was nineteen. We went through hell and came back stronger. Even though I may not love the human race as a whole, he was an exception. I am honoured to have been able to fall in love with him.