It was obvious to me that she could never love him the way he loved her. But he wouldn’t listen. He was obsessed with her. That was the crazy thing about their relationship. It was completely out of balance. She had all the power. He made a fool of himself following her, waiting for her to make eye contact and give him a sign that she felt the way he did. But she kept him in the friend zone.
They met on one of those vacations when you’re looking for something, but you don’t really know what it is. She caught his attention on the veranda as they stared out at the lake. Her far away eyes pulled him in, and from that moment she was all he could think about. On the beach, strolling through the gardens, wandering the grounds of the hotel, he searched for her, hoping she wanted what he wanted, wishing for the impossible.
But it wasn’t meant to be. She was a high class dame, out of reach for a guy like him; a mixed up redhead, part lover, part killer, all diva. And she was smart, so smart sometimes he was afraid of her. She threw him off his game. When he found her alone on the lawn, her scent intoxicated him and she knew it. She teased him, danced him in circles until she felt his hot breath on her neck. Then suddenly, she just walked away and left him standing there. She was ruthless.
I took him for a drive around the lake and tried to talk some sense into him. But he just wanted to get back to the hotel. I told him she wasn’t the right kind of girl, but he didn’t care. She was a drug and he was begging for it. I wanted to be angry, but I understood. Once in a lifetime love comes along and sweeps you away with one look. You can’t explain it, but in your heart you know. Everything you thought was important slips away — your stick, your tennis ball, your desiccated liver treats. Squirrels recede into the background, meaningless. You forget about the Frisbee under the bed.
It was a long week. We watched fiery sunsets and listened to night birds call across the lake. But in his mind he was always with her. She was the chew toy buried in the couch, the gopher in the stone wall, the pigeon on the sidewalk. I could see the yearning in his eyes, that wild lust for an unattainable fantasy. He watched her through the window as we drove away for the last time, and I knew he would never be the same. Love changed him. She was out of sight, but she was alive his dreams like a picnic ham on a blanket in the park.
16 thoughts on “Girl with the Far Away Eyes”
Poor Moon. He just wanted companionship.
He’s a naive guy who has lived a sheltered life. She was a woman of experience.
Love this, Billie. You really have a way with words!
Thanks for reading and giving me feedback. Cool to hear from you.
Thanks, Sandra. Nice to hear from you. I do miss Alford.
What a lovely “essay.” As one who has owned dogs it really brought home what wonderful creatures they are.
Hope you are well.
I LOVE YOUR MIND, billie best
Thanks, Catherine. You know my mind better than most people. xo
WOW, WOW, WOW…
I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks for reading.
Truly is beyond inconsolable with this news of Moon’s wandering eyes and nose.
Moon is a randy guy. No commitment, no promises. A real heart breaker.
As usual: wonderful! I love your writing!!
xxoo, eeoo, robby
Cool. Thanks for letting me know.
i know this story, Billie: the real thing
we had a silver blue Weimeraner named Boo (after Boo Radley). he had yellow eyes and a sweet disposition that was unusual for his breed. most of the ones i’d met were high strung bugged-eyed and scrawny. Boo was on the mournful side. maybe because we had his balls cut off. what was left was an embarrassing prune that everyone could see under his clipped tail. and he hated being observed doing his business. he’d crane his neck around in the squat position to see if we were watching. ‘go away’ he seemed to be saying under concerned eyebrows. he also had a serious fart problem. they would hiss out of his ass like a steam iron and he’d look more world weary than ever, staring at his behind with an ‘oh God what WAS that?!…’ expression, rise and lope to another room, repulsed by his own stench. as a kid i remember they would issue forth under the card table where my Grandmother played bridge with her friends. tap, tap, tap she’d drum her forefinger waiting to snap down a card. Boo would erupt, get up and leave the room, with a left-behind odor so overwhelming it seemed to ‘appear’ under the table, wafting into the nostrils of Granny and Co. she was a Yankee stalwart with a no nonsense reaction: a single raised eyebrow. Boo’s best friend in the world was a neighborhood Dachshund named Mopsy who was as diminutive and ladylike as Boo was substantial. copper brown with tiny sharp teeth and clickity-clackity toe nails, she lived down the hill, across a skirt of lawn, over a stream and up a slope in a big brand new millionaire’s mustard stucco mansion. every now and then she’d wander out onto our field, a nearly invisible spot against the grass. one afternoon, when my dad and his pals were driving golf balls off an imaginary tee near our house, one of the balls hit her in the ribs. she blew up like a balloon, small black eyes in the middle of a ‘basketball’. (she had a habit of getting in the way.) one time i was painting a 4×8 foot ‘Picasso’ rip-off for an art show at high school. it had to be laid on the floor for me to work on it. Mopsy castanetted her sharp black nails across the painting i suppose in an effort to satisfy her curiosity or just to fuck with me. the paints were made from egg whites. (the fresco materials were a mix of pigment powder and egg) weren’t yet dry and Mopsy added her ‘art’ to the project. i picked her up by the skin on her back, heaved her across the room and out the door. i didn’t feel good about it, but Mopsy didn’t need human love. she had Boo who visited her every day. he’d befriended Charlie the milkman, who’d toss him a milk bone, let him hop into the truck and drive him down to the Mopsy Mansion. there they’d hang out, go on a garbage hunt, get their fill and walk back up the slope to our house where they’d sit, side-by-side, just off the flagstone porch and stare down the hill like a couple of old ladies in rockers. to us they were romantic lovers. when it was time for Mopsy to head home, Boo’d walk her the whole way down. he was dark after she died (at 17) and was never the same. left himself not long after.
Love you, Kinscherf.