In the end, it is only the eyes that matter. A thousand years might pass, and he would still remember the moment when the questions were gone, and she was his alone, it would have been in her eyes, and everything else would melt away.1
All the answers were hidden there. Those blue eyes that had seen too much, that had lied, and in the distant past had loved, before it all went wrong, before the evil had made a glaze that hid them in a dark place that for all his efforts he could not see. They were blue, with little flecks of gold that stung him when she was cold and angry, when she didn’t get her way. When she was irritated with the world, or with him, then they would flare like twin fires and push him back, but because she was alone the fire was only brief, a quick fierce lightning, a bright flash of light, frightening but quickly gone. When she desired they would melt and draw him into her world of darkness and lies.2
So sincere, but from the very beginning there was no truth in them, it made him wonder after a while how something so beautiful could have so little good in them. She had knocked on his door, and when he opened it in the cold Fall night, she was standing there in the faint light, her eyes opened big and wide and the lies began tripping from her tongue, he smiled. Even then he knew there was nothing but ruin there within those eyes.3
She needed three bucks, she needed a ride. He obliged, took her down the road a couple miles to an old motel on the side of the road, “Go round the back,’ she said, touching his elbow, her eyes catching a spark of light from the street lamp as she looked up at him. He dropped her off at an old trailer and watched her walk away.4
Beauty seldom walked through his door, and when it finally left, it left no forwarding address. All the days in between filled with those eyes that lied and stole; all those days that he held on tight and tried to believe. All those things he came to know,the crack houses, the other men, the kids, and the streets of Baltimore. Her life and past leaked out in between the lies in bits and pieces, always filtered by those eyes, all the pain that through all those days he was not allowed to touch. He became just another switch to turn on and off when she came into the room, an appliance that would not be missed when it came to the end of its useful life.5
He had always been a bottom feeder, a scavenger, living on the fringes of things, he had always hoped but nothing much changed, and no one care much where he drifted or what became of him. He had no ties, and very little reason to believe in anything, since it didn’t matter anyway, just another day you know. He went to work and came home. He paid the few bills that he incurred. He ate and slept. When she came into his life, those eyes became a reason, the light he’d always been searching for and the lies were temporary things, a small price to pay if she would only stay. So he waited for the spark to light within those eyes and the price began to climb.6
One summer day, leaning on the car, on some back street in Baltimore waiting on a score, she said her first husband had come home and shot himself and she had found him on the bedroom floor. Those eyes got very far away as she talked some more, as she spoke about how it was between them, and how she didn’t know. How happy she had been, that nothing could possibly have been wrong.7
She didn’t know about the deals he’d made, the lies he told. She just spent the money, took care of the baby, she wasn’t even twenty yet, and everything was gone. She came to believe that it was her fault, that it was she who caused it all. She came to believe that she was evil, and that was the way it was supposed to be.8
Those eyes flashed, daring him to disagree, the gold flakes in the summer sun sparkling like diamonds, all the selfish hope he had, and the anger washed out of him, looking at the ground he stumbled for some words, something that would mean something; something that would fit into that void. Her contact drove up then, and she skipped away falling back into her emptiness back into that place that he could not go.9
He hung on for a while, and she used him mercilessly, and then he lost his job, and she moved on. He still, despite it all, remembers that first night and those blue eyes opened wide, three dollars and a ride.10
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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A few things stick out here --
1.
A thousand years might pass, and he would still remember the moment when the questions were gone, and she was his alone, it would have been in her eyes, and everything else would melt away.
Attempting to speak to Beauty's immortality, I think. Reminds me a bit of that Temple Dancer poem over at Gaz for some reason.
2. Beauty seldom walked through his door...
Can Beauty really walk this earth? or is it only a desire a dream?
3. When she came into his life, those eyes became a reason, the light he’d always been searching for and the lies were temporary things, a small price to pay if she would only stay.
Beauty or beautiful -- you present a desperation and appreciation despite the calculation and has caused me to once again think about Beauty
Is Beauty cold and cruel? Is Beauty the reason to live? Certainly Pound seemed to believe so all his questing life -- and at the end he realized perhaps something different. Truth? Are they one in the same? No matter the outward appearance?
Does the N succumb here at times to the hologram? or does he recognize that this woman's Beauty is her Ugly Truth.
What is Beauty?
Desi says "makes all the girls after her pay..."
I say -- no but no one after her is able to see him whole without seeing her. She didn't take from him -- except material things. No. She leaves everything she was with him and he must contend, in the dark recess of his mind, with her for 1000 years.
and no one care much where he drifted or what became of him.
I'd get rid of that.
Some expansion might work to make this feel more about Beauty and Truth -- perhaps some dialogue or reflection from the N himself. This is old but sometimes there is stuff inside even the old stuff worth rooting around...
Lisa
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I am so glad that I did not comment before ...
for: I first needed to lose all, in order to be able to understand the depth of enduring lies.
Then there is no evil in knowing truth.
Love
Myra
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We fall in love with our hope, don't we?
That glint of light in the darkest of persons. We hope, we are worthy of drawing the curtains back...and showing them who they might be, without the world's soil on them.. on us.
This is beautiful. I like that it wasn't a poem but poetic. I appreciate the way you think.
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Awesome
I love this. I love the narrative effect. It needs a little tightening, just a little. i especially liked the line: "Beauty Seldom walked through his door, and when it left, it left no forwarding adress." -
Can't remember if I read this before or not. Hmmmm. Well such is life in the city of Baltimore or so it is in this story. Hey, I lived in Baltimore for 12 years, well not Baltimore really, Towson, which is a suburb of Balto. Yep Pop made big bucks and kept us sheltered from the hookers and drugs (dirty drugs anyways after all we were in Towson where even the drugs were upper crust) and the grime and muck.
Anyways, interesting story. Poor guy, used mercilessly by lying teen lover, lost his job, got ditched yet still remembers, and probably quite fondly, that first night. So now he will wander the streets of Balto or some other city, doing unto others before they can do him, making every woman after her pay. Eye's swollen still. Other than that life is grand.
Desiree
Edited on Jul 09, 12:38 because 'nunya'. -
short-story voodoo
Crap. Another bunch of strangers for me to get myself worried about and wrapped up in. (It isn't Lisa is it?) No you'd have told us that. Lute why oh why do you pour salt on the wounds of your most sensitive readers. Is it because you are a shrewd and calculating writer? Or is because you are as sensitive as some of them are? -
Great short story, looks like I will look for the Lute elsewhere to see where the music is.
Jules. -
Lute write stories too? Yes indeedy he does....
Thanks for sharing this with us lute... -
Sweet Little Lies
This truly spectacular. I rarely read stories on here because it is hard to find a good under all of the piles and piles of crap. This however is fantastic. I know about eyes and what they can do, how they will twist you and lead you. This is a marvelous glimpse at the inside and the outside. The things that drive us. Loved it. -
This was excellent. Completely enthralled in the story as you were with her eyes. You did a great job, you are certainly a wonderful storyteller.
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Awesome!
Magnificent, I like your writing style. It's very elegant and has an almost dreamlike quality to it. I wish I could say all the things poetryality said, because they're very true, but... I think that'd be some form of plagiarism ;-) But for what it's worth, I too could see the eyes you were talking about. They entranced me almost as much as your words. Keep up the wonderful work, Lute.
~Falling~ -
Great!
Wow! This is quite a story Lute. It is so real, and vivid, and I can see the eyes you speak of. They seem to be hypnortic, drawing in those who dare to look...The scurge of crack has affected so many people, it is a demon that has it's way with the person(s) that keep it's company. Some survive it's awesome clutches, some... I was there with you Lute, and I have been there. I am grateful to the God of my understanding that I can look back and know to just take a peek. That is what you have done here, given the reader but a glimpse of what is...Well done, sir, well done.
Much Love,
Renee
Edited on Sep 18, 5:23 p.m. because ''.
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