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Speaker 1: This is my hand. Do you see it? It’s small. Imperfect. A callus on my middle finger from where my pencil rests. The edges dry so I get hangnails often. The fingers themselves are short and stubby, the nails rounded from the cutters. I wear rings because someone once told me, “You never wear rings.” So many lines on my palms, telling stories that I can’t remember. And the prints on my fingers announce my uniqueness. Singular, individual, special.
Speaker 2: This is my hand. Do you see it? It’s not hard to miss. It can reach beyond a piano’s octave without cramping. The fingers are long and tapered, joints visible and knobby. Palms always dry, hands never shaking, never nervous, the world always at my fingertips. But are these the hands of a worker? a soldier? an artist? So dexterous and capable of so much and yet unable to choose.
Speaker 1: This is my eye. Do you see it? It’s blue and bright, hazel tracing the pupil. Black lashes long and curly, unaided by mascara, always trying to catch one another like the hands of lovers. Dark bruises beneath a testament to my late night. These eyes see, they question, they weep, they rage, they hurt, they glare, they feel. So many depths with so much on the surface. My eyes are a game, a puzzle, Mahjong, Sudoku, Poker. You can find them staring at you from a book or Sunday’s paper or Wikipedia, filled with information and the hope that you’ll be there to listen.
Speaker 2: This is my eye. Do you see it? It’s rich but only with colour. Brown and black, warm and cold. Lids droopy but always awake, always alert, watching and waiting. For what? An answer? To what? No question, just a snarky look here, a sarcastic remark there, hoping someone will look beyond what’s obvious to see what lies beneath. Shifting from one face to the next, shifting and shifting, waiting and hoping. Nothing. No one there. They pass, they smile, I see, I smile. Nothing. No hope, no prospect, no chance. Are these the eyes of an architect? a politician? a philosopher? No hope, no prospect, no chance.
Speaker 1: This is my smile. Do you see it? It’s big, it’s wide. It took seven years to make that smile perfect. But it’s missing four teeth. Four permanent teeth. You can’t see that beyond my rosy, chapped lips which pull and tug away until it’s a lopsided grin. I’m laughing, I’m cheery, it’s a joke, an agreement, it’s sarcasm, it’s a memory. Never forced, always easy. An invitation for your cooperation in the admiration of the conversation.
Speaker 2: This is my smile. Do you see it? It’s toothy, it’s crooked. “You should smile more.” Shouldn’t have to be told. “You smile a lot.” Now this is ridiculous. More, a lot, no difference, shouldn’t care, doesn’t matter. This is the smile of someone sarcastic, someone bold, someone careless, someone without a conscience. Good, bad, angel, devil. It’s not funny, it is funny. I don’t care anymore. I’ll smile at your anger, at your hate, at your lies, at your contempt, at your annoyance. I don’t care what you think.
Speaker 1: This is my heart. Do you see it? It’s spreading before you like a cookie in an oven. Warm, sweet. Chocolate chips, a surprise inside. It aches and burns, thuds and shudders, contracts and sighs. Like an automatic door, notice and I’ll open, ignore and I’ll close. Pounding, pounding, pounding, a fist banging on a padded cell. A call so silent and yet so loud. No help from these depths. No ladder or rope. Crying, weeping. And no one to comfort.
Speaker 2: This is my heart. Do you see it? It’s dormant for now, kinda cold, a weight in my chest. But the blood keeps pumping. Life in my veins that has no purpose. Perhaps someone else’s, a cocktail of so many lives, each without a drive toward one goal. Is this the heart of a musician? a writer? a doctor? Time is coming up short. Decisions are encroaching. And no plan is concocting. No sense of purpose. A cold, dead heart stuck in a living, hoping, desiring body.
Speaker 1 to Speaker 2: What do you see?
Speaker 2 to Speaker 1: A hand, eyes, a smile, and a heart. And you?
Speaker 1 to Speaker 2: Same… But they’re no different than mine. Do you know why?
Speaker 2 to Speaker 1: …I’m trying to think how to answer…
Speaker 1 to Speaker 2: It’s simply love.
Speaker 2 to Speaker 1: …Oh… (smiles, shy, afraid, whole)