The Power of a Look

         Absurd, how something so simple, possibly insignificant, can turn a good day into a bad one. In my case, it was a look. The look itself was not the culprit; it was what did not accompany it. No smile, no “hello”, not the slightest hint of acknowledgement at all. It’s as if, since that day, I’ve become no more than another indistinguishable face. I remember that day; it was the last time we spoke. Though, in retrospect, speaking was not the wisest decision.


         I had the choice. I didn’t have to tell him. We passed each other on the sidewalk, exchanging friendly smiles and a swift greeting, and I should have continued walking. But something, perhaps it was hope, impatience, or love itself, would not let me move forward. I stopped, turned, and with a soft voice called after him.

         “Charles?”

         My voice was unexpectedly steady, yet it hung dead in the air. In an instant I regretted my decision, hoping that the whisper that escaped my lips did not reach his ears. However, he turned slowly, his eyebrows raised in curious surprise. His eyes rested upon me heavily, making each breath a struggle. He was waiting.

         I swallowed my fear and began. “I ha—ahem, I have something for you.”

         “For me?” he asked, surprised.

I nodded. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to him. He took it without hesitation or questions, and simply continued to look at me. “Well... I suppose I’ll see you around then,” I said. I turned quickly and took a few more steps before stopping again.

         “Charles!”

         He still stood where I left him, clutching the letter in his hand. His lips wore a bemused smile. I couldn’t believe myself. I promised myself I would never say these words, especially not to him, not like this, yet here I was.

         “I—I hope you have a lovely Christmas and, um, a wonderful New Year...” My voice trailed off. I could tell he knew I had more to say, because he continued to look at me with his penetrating brown stare. I was trapped.

         “I love you.”

         There it was. It fell out so simply, yet it held so many complications. My fingers pressed my lips in horror and my eyes grew wide. I did all that I could. I ran.

         After returning from the holidays, the tension had only grown. My mind would not stop running over everything that letter contained. But what it did not hold was the statement I had so clumsily spilled on that snowy day. Things could now go two ways: acceptance or rejection. I couldn’t decide if I dreaded or longed for the moment I would see him again.

         Suddenly, there he was. Hurrying down a busy corridor, our glances met for only a brief moment, yet it was enough for me to see the uncertainty in his eyes. Moments like this were common over the next few weeks, as if he made an effort to catch my eye. However, we exchanged no words. But slowly, through the next few months, these occurrences diminished and almost became extinct. I would still see him walking past, yet it seemed as if he made an effort to avoid me.


         Ages passed since I last saw him, and I felt great. As long as I could keep my thoughts away from him, I could continue with my life as if that event six months ago never happened. I was working late that night, and the building seemed deserted. After finally finishing my work, I collected my papers and headed down the now deserted corridor.

         There he was, walking towards me. It was too late to turn, too late to run. Our eyes met in the silence. There was no longer any trace of uncertainty in his eyes. He was now certain that things could never be as they were, nor could they be as I wanted them to be. The mere absence of acknowledgement told me that. I was no more than a ghost to him now. As soon as we passed, I ran. Papers fell behind me, but I didn’t care. I would need them no longer.

         I scarcely remember the drive home. It was simply a blur; as was locking the door, climbing the stairs, and running a bath. Yet, I was completely conscious of my actions by the time I sat down at my desk and pulled out a piece of stationery, the kind I hadn't used in six months. I wrote him another letter. This one was not long and elaborate like the previous one; it contained only five words: You could have prevented this. I folded it and placed it in an envelope, sealing it slowly and placing it on my pillow. Steam was now pouring generously out of the open bathroom door. I stood up walked towards it, making a quick detour at the kitchen. My steps were slow and deliberate; quite a contrast to the wild beating of my heart. My legs brought me across the linoleum, growing weaker with every tile crossed. I climbed into the bathtub fully clothed with a knife in hand.

         Absurd, how something so simple, yet overwhelmingly significant, can turn a good day into one’s last.