Brits abroad that we had met, I felt my world would crumble. It was already Halloween. He would have to go home soon
‘Yeah, you?’ he smiled, and I resolved to look down at the table instead of directly at him, at least until I could relax.
‘Yep, but I’m looking forward to going home for Christmas. Just not finding the accent appealing. I need to talk to some English men.’
‘What am I, Scotch mist?’ he asked.
‘No, but yours is crooked, remember?’ I practically coughed my answer out. He was having a bizarre effect on me. I just didn’t get like this around men; I was always the one in control. Jake was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, with horror, as if I had morphed into a pigtailed, giggling schoolgirl freak in the space of an evening. I tried to fight it as best I could.
‘It isn’t crooked at all actually, it’s straight as a pool cue – that was just a game.’
‘Oh right, well you would say that, who wants to be crooked?’ I managed.
‘Are you going to make me prove it?’ he asked, trying to catch my eye as I looked sternly at a knot in the wood of our table. I coughed slightly.
‘Maybe later,’ I mustered, and looked up, and into, those eyes. Which is when I saw that they were different colours – one darkbrown, the colour of old wood, almost dull, one bright blue, the colour of Greek pottery, a bright summery glistening blue, seeming to reflect sunlight that wasn’t even there.
‘Your eyes are different colours,’ I said, without thinking. I’m sure he hadn’t realized, and was grateful to me for pointing it out.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he replied and looked away. And suddenly I knew I had blown it. It’s not as if it was a disability, but it was very possible that he was sensitive about it, or defensive, and I had just thrown it out there. I may as well have called him ‘freak.’
Except it wasn’t freaky; it wasn’t unattractive at all. Even the smallest defects aren’t tolerated these days. The beauty is in the details, the flaws, the imperfections that make us different, somebody once said, but it isn’t true any more. If you have a problem, in this plastic-coated world, just fix it. Have your teeth straightened, your nose fixed, your ears pinned. The surface should be pretty, almost bland, even if underneath there is a mess of scars and emotional tears. If you had told me previously that I would find somebody with different-coloured eyes attractive, I would have been surprised. But with Charlie, it just seemed right. It stopped his face from being completely perfect, but made it so at the same time. I had to correct my outburst, I had to rectify my massive faux pas.
My cheeks suddenly burned with the blood rushing to my face, and I bit my lip and tried to maintain eye contact without getting embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, well, you don’t see many like it!’
I was making it worse, he sounded like the bearded lady at the circus, or the smallest man on earth.
‘It’s fine, your eyes are brown, one of mine is blue, one’s brown. It’s nothing.’ He shrugged, but with a serious lookon his face. He looked away, and I looked at the table, at the graffiti that had been etched in with penknives over the years, and swore in my head. Charlie adjusted himself in his seat, and I prepared myself for him to get up and leave. He stood up, and stretched his legs. I turned to talk to Jake, to mask my crushing disappointment, and suddenly heard Charlie’s voice in my ear. I moved slightly, to face him, as he leaned in and whispered,
‘So, what halls are you in?’
‘I’m over in Toulouse. You?’
‘Just opposite – Parker Hall.’
‘I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you before … and not because of the eyes or anything.’ Jesus! What was wrong with me? I sounded like a Nazi!
But Charlie ignored it and carried on talking.
‘Shall I walk you home?’ He cut straight to the chase.
‘Okay, I think there’ll
‘Yeah, you?’ he smiled, and I resolved to look down at the table instead of directly at him, at least until I could relax.
‘Yep, but I’m looking forward to going home for Christmas. Just not finding the accent appealing. I need to talk to some English men.’
‘What am I, Scotch mist?’ he asked.
‘No, but yours is crooked, remember?’ I practically coughed my answer out. He was having a bizarre effect on me. I just didn’t get like this around men; I was always the one in control. Jake was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, with horror, as if I had morphed into a pigtailed, giggling schoolgirl freak in the space of an evening. I tried to fight it as best I could.
‘It isn’t crooked at all actually, it’s straight as a pool cue – that was just a game.’
‘Oh right, well you would say that, who wants to be crooked?’ I managed.
‘Are you going to make me prove it?’ he asked, trying to catch my eye as I looked sternly at a knot in the wood of our table. I coughed slightly.
‘Maybe later,’ I mustered, and looked up, and into, those eyes. Which is when I saw that they were different colours – one darkbrown, the colour of old wood, almost dull, one bright blue, the colour of Greek pottery, a bright summery glistening blue, seeming to reflect sunlight that wasn’t even there.
‘Your eyes are different colours,’ I said, without thinking. I’m sure he hadn’t realized, and was grateful to me for pointing it out.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he replied and looked away. And suddenly I knew I had blown it. It’s not as if it was a disability, but it was very possible that he was sensitive about it, or defensive, and I had just thrown it out there. I may as well have called him ‘freak.’
Except it wasn’t freaky; it wasn’t unattractive at all. Even the smallest defects aren’t tolerated these days. The beauty is in the details, the flaws, the imperfections that make us different, somebody once said, but it isn’t true any more. If you have a problem, in this plastic-coated world, just fix it. Have your teeth straightened, your nose fixed, your ears pinned. The surface should be pretty, almost bland, even if underneath there is a mess of scars and emotional tears. If you had told me previously that I would find somebody with different-coloured eyes attractive, I would have been surprised. But with Charlie, it just seemed right. It stopped his face from being completely perfect, but made it so at the same time. I had to correct my outburst, I had to rectify my massive faux pas.
My cheeks suddenly burned with the blood rushing to my face, and I bit my lip and tried to maintain eye contact without getting embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, well, you don’t see many like it!’
I was making it worse, he sounded like the bearded lady at the circus, or the smallest man on earth.
‘It’s fine, your eyes are brown, one of mine is blue, one’s brown. It’s nothing.’ He shrugged, but with a serious lookon his face. He looked away, and I looked at the table, at the graffiti that had been etched in with penknives over the years, and swore in my head. Charlie adjusted himself in his seat, and I prepared myself for him to get up and leave. He stood up, and stretched his legs. I turned to talk to Jake, to mask my crushing disappointment, and suddenly heard Charlie’s voice in my ear. I moved slightly, to face him, as he leaned in and whispered,
‘So, what halls are you in?’
‘I’m over in Toulouse. You?’
‘Just opposite – Parker Hall.’
‘I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you before … and not because of the eyes or anything.’ Jesus! What was wrong with me? I sounded like a Nazi!
But Charlie ignored it and carried on talking.
‘Shall I walk you home?’ He cut straight to the chase.
‘Okay, I think there’ll
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