John Walker's Electronic House

The Gaze

by on Aug.13, 2008, under The Rest

Looking up at the same time, their eyes met. From one side of the coffee shop’s upper floor to the other, the gaze held. Certainly there was instant attraction, but this was something else – this was something more significant.

The gaze sustained, mutually accepted, kept abroad from simply staring. It was comfortable. It felt safe, and uplifting. They both offered warm smiles.

He gently leant his head forward, not breaking eye contact, and then twice tipped it to the side, beckoning her to join him. Her smile broadened. She glanced at the empty chair next to her, eyes then immediately returning to his, her head slightly inclined. He grinned, looked down at his laptop on the table, the mp3 player beside it, and his full drink, and then beckoned her with his head once more. Her eyes flicked to the bags of shopping surrounding her, the large, awkwardly shaped electrical appliance she had just purchased, and then once more she nodded toward the comfortable chair left empty beside her table.

Pulling a pretend grimace, he swept a hand at all his bits and pieces on his table, waggling his head comically to indicate quite how much he had to gather up and put away. She bowed her head in brief sympathy, then pointed toward all her shopping, and the awkward box, and pulled a face in response to it all. He gestured toward his laptop, then pointed at the wire plugging it into the wall, and leant to one side so she could see how his coat was neatly placed on the back of the chair behind him. He gave a roll of his eyes at the complexity of it all. She jauntily returned his eye roll, both arms spread out to declare the sheer volume of her bags, adding a significant stare at the book on the arm of her chair, and then, cocking her head amusingly to one side, shrugged her shoulders.

He glanced at his laptop screen for a moment, then picked up his coffee to take a sip before looking back. She too was drinking, from her mug of tea, her eyes glancing at the floor. His laptop bleeped to alert him to the arrival of a new email, and he checked to see who it was from. She picked up the upturned book from the arm of her chair and found her page.

1 Comment for this entry

  • john

    Always held down by weights. We carry our baggage ever when our hands are free. We sacrifice the possibility of lasting happiness for the probability of a 3yr manufacturer guarantee relationship with a piece of plastic.

    Also, I love the unspoken interaction. Screw you, materialists.