A handful of years ago I worked in a hotel/restaurant as a front-desk clerk. Since the lobby cafe didn’t have its own cash register, I worked closely with whichever waiter or waitress was on duty at the time.
Off season there were long, quiet stretches, so I found ample opportunity to chat with the extreme uber-hottie-waiter who shared a lot of days on my schedule.
Uber-hottie-waiter had all the essential uber-hottie qualities. He was nice in a non-commital way to most everyone he met. His hair fell across his forehead just so. He seemed to know exactly when to kick into aloof mode; that is, shortly after you were just positive he liked you.
One day I was sitting at the desk staring out of the big, cafe windows, and he walked up to me and said, “You have the most beautiful eyes.”
Woah! Woah! Ka-ching. I am a goddess. I have drawn an unfished for compliment from the uber-hottie! I felt myself start to blush, and a smile, the really uncool, giant, dopey kind, threatened to crack my face in half.
“Can I have them?”
“Can I have your eyes?”
Call me imaginative, but when an uber-hottie asks for a piece of your anatomy, I mean… maybe he wasn’t asking for my heart, but that was sure to follow, yeah?
“Yep. You can have them.”
“Cool. I’m gonna put them in a jar.”
Smile gone. Heart-fluttery gone. This wasn’t what I had in mind. In fact, I was sure the compliment had just been completely negated. Add to this the sobering revelation: Uber-hottie is a FREAK.
“Yeah, well, you can have them when I’m done with ’em.”
“You let me know.” he called over his shoulder, already walking away.
And I go back to my work, shoulders hunched around the banked ashes of a cooling heart.
I had to write this for my eye-changeling. He knows who he is. It was more than freaky when a couple years later the movie ‘Minority Report’ came out with all it’s eye-ball scanning, and black-market eye replacement. Glug. I kept an eye out for the image, but I didn’t see any eyeballs in a jar.