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Cynosure

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Angie had a way of looking through you. She could peel back layers of your skin, exposing the most tender and vulnerable parts of your soul. She had a knack for making it effortless, chiseling away any facade without pain, without fear. Her only tool was that tranquil gaze, but it was all she needed.

She gave me one of those looks when I asked her to the fair with some friends. There was no hesitation to it, no judgement. She simply scanned my face as though my asking was a poem for her to analyze. Still, it was no sonnet, a coarse limerick at best, and she did not take long. She agreed.

She gave me one of those looks when she showed up at my house where everyone was meeting first and found me wearing a sideways snapback cap. I ended up taking the thing off, uncomfortable. I knew it felt alien. She knew that. She was wondering why I wore it anyways, and frankly, neither of us could really understand why.

She gave me one of those looks when I butted into her conversation with Hale. They were discussing the parabolic nature of stress in high school, the pros and cons of anarchism, the plutocratic class divide of modern North America... Nothing I cared much about. So she examined me and asked me for my input on the plutocracy. I didn't know what a plutocracy was.

She gave me one of those looks when Jack dragged everyone to the ride that was essentially a circular rollercoaster, speeding backwards so fast you couldn't force your eyelids down to blink, and I sat in her car. So I asked her what a plutocracy was. She got the bulk of it out by the time the ride started up.

She gave me one of those looks when twilight was upon us and I asked her to join me on the Ferris wheel. I swallowed a mosquito accidentally, but she didn't notice. She was too preoccupied with peeling and peeling. She had to know why.

She gave me one of those looks when I put my arm around her on the ride. Surely she knew why by then, but she still looked at me intently. She smiled lightly, and it was a gentle, sweet smile that outshone the swirling fair beneath us, full of night and light and the bright colours of a thousand people with lives just like ours. I didn't care about those lives. I just saw Angie's eyes.

“Your arm's around me.”

“Is it weird?”

“No. The weird thing is that I don't mind.”

And when she turned those eyes up at me, they saw all of my raw emotions, but no longer did she have to excavate my face to get to them. I gave her my hope and my nervousness, my fears and my dreams. She could stare through a brick wall, but I would not be so unyielding again.




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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

Chrall said...
today at 8:31 pm:
i love the characters in this piece. the narrator is almost a foil of angie, and yet they have such natural chemistry. i love it!
 
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ShadowPenThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
May 15 at 12:32 am:
i absolutly aodre this! Your writing is amazing. Please keep writing!
 
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