Blue Eyes

Music: "Origami Airplanes" by Jesse Chui (Songs for Cinema) 

We encounter new people every day, yet we rarely get to know them. What if we took a chance to create a memory? Can we see the words that are not spoken?

-

As usual, the subway station is teeming with crowds of people in the early morning. Hugging my bag against me, I gently nudge my way through the throng, uttering apologies. Finally, I reach the subway and step inside just before the doors are about to close. I look around for an empty seat and finally spot one available near the aisle. Hurriedly, I walk over and sit down, putting my bag on my lap. I sigh, relieved that I had made it on time today, although barely.

As the train rumbles and begins to move forward, I pull out a sketchpad and pen from my bag. My eyes wander across the train, observing the people around me. The train is slightly stuffy with an assortment of pleasant smells, and I breathe in the faint aroma of coffee mixed with the tinge of a variety of perfumes. Lightly gripping the pen in my hand, I set the point down on the clean sheet of white paper. My hand seems to have a mind of its own as it glides across the paper, filling in the blankness with the figures of people. An old man sits across from me, his bony fingers clenching a newspaper as he reads intently. Two seats away from him, a young boy sits on his mother’s lap and the father pulls a book out of his briefcase. In the next seat over, a little girl is kneeling in her seat, her nose pressed up to the glass as she looks through the window while her grandmother sits beside her, clicking her knitting needles.

The train abruptly stops and my sketchpad slips off my lap, spilling all the loose papers on the floor. Hastily, I lean down and begin gathering all the sheets before the leaving and boarding passengers can step on them. As I reach for the last one, another hand brushes against mine and plucks the paper off of the dirty floor. I straighten back up as the hand extends the paper toward me, and I nod politely at the stranger.

“Thank you.”

He smiles at me and I notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. The train begins to move again and I realize I am still staring. Embarrassed, I quickly turn my head the other way, but I can still feel his eyes on me. I risk a fleeting glance in his direction, and sure enough, he is looking at me. He gestures toward the papers in my hand, silently asking if he can take a look. I don’t know why, but I hand him the crisp sheets of paper and watch as his eyes rove across the black drawings inked onto the pages.

As he looks through the papers, I discreetly study him. He looks to be my age, in his late teens. He has light brown hair, sweeping across his forehead and ending above his neck in the back. His cheeks are smooth and slightly tanned, and his lips curl into a small smile. But I am drawn to his eyes, a beautiful pale blue, like the calm ocean or a cloudless summer sky. They look as if they hold a secret, eyes that are ancient yet young. He suddenly looks up at me and my heart skips a beat. Smiling, he silently flips to a blank page in my sketchpad before handing it back to me. He points to the pen in my left hand and then to himself.

“You want me to draw you?”

He nods, his blue eyes sparkling. A small smile appears on my lips as I turn my body to face him. He sits completely still, yet relaxed in his position, as I begin to sketch the outline of his head. It comes easily to me, and I continue to draw, occasionally glancing up at him to make sure I note every detail of his face. My hands create the curve of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the softness of his lips. Light reflects off of his hair, making it seem almost golden. I save the most difficult feature for last—his eyes. I sketch a few lines before looking back up at him, gazing into his eyes for a little longer than necessary. I bend my head down again, spending the next minutes trying to recreate their perfection. When I finish, the drawing doesn’t seem to do him justice. I don’t have any colored pens, and his eyes don’t look as beautiful on my paper without their striking shade of blue.

“It’s not very good,” I say apologetically as I give him the paper. But his face lights up when he sees my drawing of him. He studies it for a moment and smiles at me. The train halts again, and I look around to see that this is my stop.

“No, keep it,” I say with a smile as he begins to hand the paper back to me. I put my sketchpad back into my bag, minus the drawing I had given away.

As I stand up to leave, a hand lands gently on my arm and I turn to look at him. He places his fingertips on his lips and extends them toward me, mouthing the words “thank you”. I don’t know why I hadn’t realized it before, but I understand now that he has not said anything because he can’t. He is mute.

I smile. “You’re welcome.”

With one last look at him, I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk to the doors, stepping off the subway and into the station. As the train begins to pull away, I stand on the deck, watching it as it heads off to its next destination. Through the window, I can see his figure, looking down at the drawing in his hands. I stay there until the train is no longer in sight and I am left standing amidst the swarm of people. As I turn around and begin to walk away, I have the feeling that I will see the boy with the silent blue eyes again.