“I'm doing some last minute shopping for the trip. Keep an eye on your brother. He's inside watching TV,” my mother says as she walks to her car parked on the sidewalk. It's a hot, sunny day, so I've decided to wash my car in our driveway. My stepdad is paying for my school, but daily living comes out of my pocket, and I save money in every way I can, including car washes.
“Sure, mom,” I reply unenthusiastically. Not because I don't love watching Johnny, no, he's my world. It's because he doesn't seem to be hers. I know all about that. I've pretty much raised myself, but Johnny has handicaps. He was born with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and, as a result, has cerebral palsy and a few other issues. He needs her. But she just came back from the Caribbean two weeks ago, and now it's off to Egypt with my stepdad for another two weeks.
She's oblivious to my tone, or she just doesn't care because she's already driving away. I drop my sponge and go inside to see how Johnny's doing. He's sitting crossed-legged in front of The Electric Company, bouncing up and down, and moving his good hand to the rhythm Easy Reader's signing. Johnny moves his lips, but nothing comes out. He's almost entirely mute. Sometimes when he's angry or elated, incoherent sounds escape his throat, but for the most part, he's silent.
“Johnny. I'm washing the car outside. Do you want to help?”
He either ignores me or is too enraptured by the show to hear me. “Hey,” I say, walking in front of him to block his view. “Did you hear me, sweetie?”
He leans to the side to look past my legs. Clearly I am an annoying distraction. “Okay. Well, if you need anything, I'll be right outside. Okay?”
He nods without making eye contact, still rocking to the song. I ruffle his hair up, open the curtain so I can see into the living room from outside, and head back out.
It's blazing, and the cool, soapy water is a refuge for my hot arms as I dip my sponge into the bucket. I turn on my little radio and catch a Donna Summer song that's already halfway through.
That's when I feel it. I'm being watched.
The feeling is instant and it's certain. I stand up and turn to the street. It's a typical Friday afternoon. Kids are playing down the street, a few people are mowing the lawn, but it's the dark car that catches my attention. It drives by slowly, the driver's side facing me. The window is tinted and open just enough so that I can only see his eyes. And while he's far away, they are vivid. In fact, they are some of the clearest turquoise eyes I have ever seen. This is not the first time I have had this feeling. And this deja vu tells me maybe it's not the first time I have seen those eyes. I don't look away. Instead, I meet his gaze, trying to focus on those eyes. My stomach rolls with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Eyes like that can only be part of something beautiful. And yet, that should be irrelevant. I should scoff at anyone showing interest in me, particularly in this manner. I'm already taken. And I am above random gawkers.
There's something else though, something familiar, but he's too far away for me to be sure. A few days ago, I was at the library studying for a test, and the same feeling struck me as I looked through the quiet basement level for nursing books. I had pulled out a book from a shelf and gasped when I saw a pair of eyes on the other side. They were just as clear as these staring back at me, with a distinct marker: in his left eye, there was a fleck of golden brown. In eyes that clear— like when the water at the beach is so pristine I can see my feet—golden-brown flashed like gold leaf. Just as fast as I caught sight of those eyes peering through endless rows of books, they were gone. A chill came over me and I quietly walked over to peek on his side of the shelves, but there was no one. I didn't even hear his footsteps. He was so quiet, I even wondered if I had imagined him due to the sleepless nights of studying that preceded the encounter.
Are those the same eyes? They can't be. Before I can assess any further, the window is rolled closed and the dark car turns in the distance.