At first, she stayed behind, watching them play, having fun. It’s not that she was shy or anything but she felt like she had to watch from afar, that she didn’t have the right to participate in this. So she stayed at the table, coloring her paper, drawing or painting. Her teacher looked at her and her work. “It’s beautiful”, she said with a smile, “but you can go have fun with your friends now.” She lift me by pulling my arms and pushed me to the door. It was at a sort of semi-camp, semi-recreational center. I walked slowly and by the time I was at the gaming point, they were calling for lunch. I felt so weird and ashamed like I had done something wrong. My face was flushed. The teacher came right behind me and put her hand on my shoulder, she looked at me and smiled. I did the same too. “Your eyes look sad, even now.”
That was the first time I heard that sentence. Fast forward, 5 years from now, I’m at friend’s house. I think he has a crush on me. He invited me out many times but since I always declined, he invited me in that fake study group session when apparently I was the only one who showed up. His father was at home so I didn’t feel awkward or anything, I stayed in the living room, doing homework, minding my school business and my friend often went to the kitchen, sulking, probably asking his crew for tips to break the ice. His father came in, asking if everything was fine. I smiled and said yes, he smiled back, nodded and left. At the end of the day, I asked for a phone call and called my parents, there was no way I’d stayed in for the “post study slumber party”. He was so sad, he cried and ran to his room. His father laughed and apologized for him trying to trick me. He also suggested I toned down a bit on the cold side, he wasn’t mean or anything, I could sense he was just looking out for me. I was a bit embarrassed but I smiled anyway.“There’s something about you when you smile, it’s like you can read the sadness behind” , he bluntly said. I stepped back, I was shocked but the phone rang, he answered. It was my mom, she was here. Pretty soon, we heard the doorbell. He accompanied me to the door and talked to my mother. When we went back to the car, I could see she was confused. Her and dad had a long conversation that night.
I then heard that sentence multiple times in many different ways. It seemed that only older people would get that feeling like it was some kind of sense affiliated to the generation before me. I never really understood though. My eyes are pretty normal. My smile is the same as everyone’s. My face doesn’t give out some weird help-me vibe so what was it? My eyes, they all say. But I don’t believe that eyes can talk. I only believe one thing about them and that’s their biological function : vision. But I do feel some cocktail of melancholy, guilt and nostalgia sometimes but I associate it with the blues or some kind of temporary depression. It’s not like it could be anything else anyway.
Memories of my naive love