The Careful Craft of Eye Contact:
Securing Swift Sensuality
BY: MADISON KAPLAN
Did you look first, or me? Because if it was me, then I have to stop looking because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, if it was you… well then I can keep looking because then it’s okay, right?
At the start of each semester, I look around the class. Who will it be? Moving my eyes casually across the room, I find them resting on someone before my mind realizes my eyes stopped moving. Then, they look. Did you notice I was staring? Instinctively, I look away. But, as the class moves on, my mind wanders and my eyes follow suit. Without conscious intention, they land back on the same person. And, for a moment, our eyes lock. Did you look first, or me? They look away and my ears heat up. You. Class ends and they walk out. A day passes, or maybe a week. I find myself sitting in the same seat in the same class. The same person sits across from me. Don’t look. The now familiar voice begins talking, and my eyes begin wandering despite best efforts to focus on the carefully composed doodle in the margins of my notebook. Don’t look. I do. Our eyes lock again, and I widen mine, hoping to express an unspoken joke, create common ground across the classroom. They look away. Did you look first? I pick up my pen writing: “me,” “you,” underlining then drawing a line dividing the two. I look up again and then down, smiling. If it was you… I carefully put a singular tally mark under “you.” …then I can keep looking. It can’t just be me I mean, there’s at least you. I can’t ask you. I don’t know if I would even want to know, our secret would be gone. I.
We never talk outside of class. She sits across the room. We don’t know each other. The professor moves through slides, letting surprisingly uncalculated statements spill, filling the room. I wouldn’t say it’s sensual. You look up, scanning for a lifeline. You lock eyes. Sometimes it feels sensual. The professor’s voice drones on, monotonously bypassing the momentary blip, the call for recognition. It’s very Office-esq. You look away, presumably she does too. We never talk outside of class, we don’t know each other… I don’t think we give it any thought.
II.
I have a weird response. You sit down, gazing around the room, mindlessly moving your hand from your chin through your beard to your forehead. You yawn. You know she sits across the room, but you don’t look up. As a dude, I really hate that. The lecture seeps on. You purposefully guide your wandering gaze to your friend, raising eyebrows and smirking. For me, it’s more of a Jim, to the camera, Office-scenario. Maybe you can tell where she sits, maybe you wonder if she looks at you. As a dude, I really hate that. You conquer your curiosity and continue to take notes. I would rather straight up ask someone out. Class ends and you pack up your bag to leave. I would love to have that. Your eyes find her as she leaves the room, talking to a friend. I cannot for fear of being creepy. Jim and Pam never make eye contact for like the first season and a half because they’re not flirting with each other but they both like each other. It’s like weird. You pull out your phone and text her, asking her to study for your upcoming exam. It’s like that.
III.
I was so bored. You’re sitting, by obligation, seeking means of making time pass. I was scanning the room and everyone looked the same. Your hand on your chin guides your head one way, then the other, the cracks from your neck obscuring your searching stare. I must be in the straightest room ever. Something stops your stare, and you sit, motionless. I love it when I realize I can feel someone looking at me… how can you tell? Your eyes move across the room, deliberately. I just noticed this girl staring at me, so I looked at her. You’re no longer bored. A couple of seconds feels really long… It’s just a weirdly intimate experience, especially if it’s a stranger like that.
IV.
As you stand up to leave, you see them. I also had chances that I could have talked to her, but no. You time your walking, ensuring that you won’t cross paths. Not at least until you’re in class again, until you see them again. I just want this eye-contact thing. You’re lost in your thoughts, slowly constructing stories. No narratives include the beginning of a conversation. I don’t actually want to talk. I wouldn’t know how. You see them, your walking pace having increased with your thoughts. They look at you. Like hey, were you looking at me? Yeah? Me too. You ask how their weekend was.
Partly imagined, partly actualized, it isn’t just me. Because I think that you create an entire narrative because it’s like nothing’s going to happen to make it not be true. That’s why I wouldn’t want to ruin it. Sensuality is about nuance. It is keeping a moment entirely sequestered into itself, and reveling in the safety that that moment won’t extend further. Though it can, I’m infatuated with that moment, the moment of endless possibilities because its a moment that will never begin, not fully anyway. It’s far more subtle than a beginning-to-end narrative, for it has no start. It’s presence is not what draws attention to it, rather its absence. I’ve only noticed it when it stops, and you realize the shared secret’s permeation into routine. You notice that amidst the mundanities of excruciating extroversion in a group of friends and forced silence during a class, there’s an escape. Because, if it was me who looked at you first then I have to stop. But if it was you? Then the continuation of beginningless and endless possibilities can live on a little longer. |