Bedroom Eyes

No one looked up when he left work on Friday afternoon. They never did.  He walked home that night; better than being squashed onto a malodorous bus with what seemed like the entire city.

“I’m home!”  Without waiting for a reply he went to the kitchen and poured himself an orange juice, throwing his worn briefcase onto the dining room table.  “That jerk Edwards was on my back all day, just wouldn’t leave me alone,” he called through the ceiling, yelling to make himself heard over the TV he had left blaring that morning.  “And that cow Margery from accounts?  The sleazy one I told you about?  She was practically throwing herself at Edwards; I mean honestly, it was obscene.”  As he drank his juice he wandered back to the front door and collected the mail from the floor beneath the letter box.  Flipping through he saw nothing but bills and flyers.  He noticed the red light on his answering machine was blinking and stopped to listen to the message: a reminder from his dentist that his cleaning was overdue.  He finished his drink and, leaving the glass on the bottom stair, headed up to the bedroom.

The bedroom door was just as he had left it.  He opened the lock and stepped into the room, listening.  After a moment of adjusting to the darkness he smiled and turned on the overhead light.  “There you are.  Are you glad to see me?”  Moving about the room, he quickly changed from his work clothes to something more comfortable.  It was the weekend after all and he planned on relaxing.  He sat on the edge of the bed and faced the dressing table.  “How was your day?”

Her eyes stared back at him, mahogany brown with light flecks of gold.  Unblinking and non-judging, they were always there for him when he felt like reflecting.  “Why are things so hard?  It shouldn’t be this hard.  It’s not fair.  I’m a good person, I pay my taxes and my bills on time.  I hold doors open for people and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, why do I have to struggle so?”

The eyes continued to stare, the pupils somewhat by the thick glass of the Mason jar.  The man continued.  “I work hard, put in a full day and keep my head down but does it get me anywhere?  Does it hell!”  Bits of tissue and viscous matter floated past the eyes, softly gliding through the water in gentle sympathy with the man.  “You’re very quiet tonight.”  He frowned but continued.  “Maybe I should just quit and look for something else.  It’s not like I’d miss any of them.”  He sighed.  “But then I’d just have to deal with a whole new set of idiots, wouldn’t I?”

Brown Eyes remained silent.  The man frowned again.  Maybe he should have spoken to Blue Eyes.  He shook his head; no, he wasn’t feeling happy and reminiscent at all.  And Hazel Eyes only spoke to him when he was feeling horny.  Perhaps Green Eyes?  He turned to his bedside table and saw that she had the same problem as Brown Eyes: motes of flesh clouded the water and pulp had started to cling to the edge of the jar.  He turned back to Brown Eyes and understood.  He had wanted to put up new blinds this weekend but now it looked like he had other plans.

Copyright Kelly Evans

%d bloggers like this: