A boy in a plaid turquoise shirt sits in the glass room across from me. The square room sits by itself in the center of the library. It is as if the room doesn't exist at all, the walls are crystal clear. The boy sits with his left hand placed delicately underneath his chin, pen in hand. Who is he? What is he studying? What is he thinking about? Maybe he's a professor! Oh he is! It looks like he's grading english papers! The boy has shaggy blond hair and dark brown eyes. Suddenly he twists in his chair and turns toward the window. He sees me standing in the hall, holding my school bag and 99 cent can of tea. He pauses and looks me straight in the eye, as if witnessing something truly exceptional. I unconsciously latch onto his gaze. My weakness is eye contact. I love grabbing a strangers eyes and creating significance. It's like a test. If they create significance too, by maintaing eye contact, then it really is significant. It's like we're saying in unison, Hey, this is me. I know you are a stranger. But deep down I'm sure you feel somewhat the same as I do. And the thing is, those who look are those who feel the most. They are those who have so much to say that they desperately just want someone to want to hear them. It's as if they are shouting through their gaze, wait, don't go, I want you see me. I need you to see me. If we only could hold that intimacy for just another moment! If only we weren't so afraid of exposure. If only we could walk up the person that intrigues us and say, hey, who are you? I want to know you, I want to hear what you have to say. Because it is not that we don't want to hear it, which they may think. It is that we are afraid. We are afraid because it is uncommon to be open. It is uncommon to lock eyes with an unfamilar human.
I want to walk into that glass room, right now, sit down next to the young professor in the turquoise shirt, and ask him who he is. But then again, how scared I would be if he had come up to me? Because people just don't do that. I guess that's my point. It has to be a collective movement. We have to all admit to one another that we want to be heard, and we want to hear. People want to be seen. They want to be thought about, they want to be discovered.
I stop writing and stand up. I walk to the center of the library, turn on Invention- the new Jimmy Eat World CD- and do something I have never done before. I stand still, rolling the cord of my headphones between my fingers, and scan the entire library. Every bookshelf, ever desk, ever computer. I grab every pair of eyes I can and smile back to each and every one. I get one smile after another in return. Now I am beaming. I'm just standing here! I'm just a high schooler, on the reddish brown carpet in a college library, scanning and smiling. I can picture their minds. What is she doing? Is she crazy? but after a few seconds people start smiling back. I mean, why not? We are all studying and stressed. We are all in the same boat. Why sit here completely motionless and response-less to one another? How much better would our days be if we recieved a smile from each person we encountered? Isn't that how the world should be? What are libraries anyway? Why do people chose to come here and work, crammed around a circular table with 5 other computers, when they could be on their laptop at home? I I think it's because they want people's eyes. They want your eyes, even if it is for 3 seconds. There is something refreshing about being seen. It's a reminder that you really are still here. People see you, and they react to your presence, even if it's just a glance. It subconsciously gives us some sort of hope and quite confirmation that you can keep going. We are all here. We are all here together. Even if the eye contact isn't made for long- we are still here, breathing next to one another. Ah, but it should be more. It should be so much more.
I look down at my navy converse and giggle quietly at my current thought process. Then I turn and face the door. My braid thumps steadly against my back as I swiftly make my exit through the tall glass doors. The October air slides across my face as I step into the fresh air. I take a deep breath and adjust my shoulder bag. The wind smells like chai tea and cinammon.
We'll talk to the stranger oneday. We'll talk to him. I smile to myself, climb into my car, and head off to biblestudy.
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