2006-12-02
greensleeves
Maybe that whole day was leading up to him holding my sleeve.
It�s funny how a series of actions and events can all seemingly lead up to one moment, like dominos or something. But I think that everything may have been preordained when I remember the light brush of his hand against my wrist. The camera was aimed on auto focus to capture each tiny thread and minute fuzz that the fabric contained. He was trying to convince me that the mathematically engineered capabilities of the camera should always be preferred to the mind�s fallible settings. I had passively argued for manual focus, saying that I like the control and discretion.
�But then it�s blurry,� he spoke to me.
�But sometimes you want it to be blurry,� I quietly told him back.
He seemed to glare in response, which amused me. I never understand why people let me get under their skin. But he seemed a little antsy. Maybe everything just was leading up to him being antsy.
His fingers were cold. They reminded me of the big icicles dangling from roof edges, chilled and thin. I didn�t expect to be here earlier tonight, but he lives across from the place where I got my hair cut today, so when my car stalled it made sense to walk over. Instead of using the phone, I let him show me his room. My eyes scanned and I took inventory of everything when I first entered: the ugly carpet, CD�s, the lighter on the nightstand.
He told me that he used to take pictures over at the salon I just came from.
�I liked to capture shots of the hair strands as they slid off the scissors. I think most of the people assumed I was taking pictures of their faces, but I didn�t really care. On sunny days it was great how the hairs shone in the light.�
I asked if I could see some of these hair pictures and his eyes seemed to trace the carpet patterns and he told me no, because most of them turned out crummy. He just thought it was a cool idea.
We then had a pause and I decided to fill it with a random question.
�Do you ever feel like you�re under surveillance?�
He studied my face and nodded. He set the camera down and uneasily weaved his hands together as though in prayer, and then spoke slowly.
�Yeah, actually, yes. I just read 1984-� he waved in the direction of a slump of books on his bedside �-and it really did get me thinking. And, um, I�m pretty sure that I�m being watched, at least sometimes.�
I think I smirked here; I don�t think I could help it. I inched closer to his end of the bed and leaned forward with genuine curiosity.
�Why would anyone want to watch you?�
�Because I have big and brave ideas in my head, just like Winston did. Have you ever read the book?�
I nodded and watched his face to make sure he was being serious.
�We had to read it in tenth grade, but I think I was still too young then to fully appreciate all of the implications it has,� I told him.
He nodded in agreement, his eyes grazing over my hairline.
�I just... Don�t know,� he trailed off and looked down at nothing, unsure of how to put it, then looked up at me. �Are you being watched, are people onto you?�
�I�m probably too sly for them,� I told him, and I meant it.
�Yeah, whoever �they� are. But hypothetically, you have to be careful. Don�t hypothetically get overconfident.�
�It�s okay, I hypothetically won�t. I don�t think people are that confident anyway. People always put on like they�re so sure of themselves, but I doubt it,� I told him. �Everyone�s their own biggest critic,� I said.
�It�s true,� he agreed, slouched a bit so he was level with me in a parallel gaze. �Others are more forgiving.�
There was another pause, followed by him asking to take my picture.
�I thought you don�t do faces.�
�That�s only at the hair salon. People are too conscious there and it corrupts the picture because they hold their mouths in funny ways without even realizing it.�
�Okay, you can do it, but I don�t want to look in the lens. I want to pretend that I don�t know that I�m under surveillance.�
I held my hand to my neck as I stared upon the space beyond his left shoulder.
�Okay, and I�ll focus it manually,� he said as I peripherally caught him in a resigned grin.
He was a little less antsy now.
�Yes�� I faltered softly, trying to maintain my gaze into the distance, �And then maybe you can take some shots of my other sleeve.�
leesah-likes at 11:41 p.m.