There is something not quite right about his eyes, something unnerving. They seem slightly too close together. Though that is not what’s triggering my urge to flee. They are just a tad too big for his face. Yet that isn’t it, either. His eyes are confounding, hypnotic, and full of feeling: mesmerizing. I can’t look away from them. I am keen to discover their secret. I want to know. Those eyes are calming, captivating. My heart races. My interviews are never like this: I feel like he’s absorbing my very being.
When he smiles his eyes show off the crows feet of a few decades of life. When he’s intrigued they widen to ovals. The whites of his eyes look pristine, like freshly glazed porcelain: moist and on the verge of tears. Yet, there is still something there, hidden in plain view. It nags at me.
When he speaks, his voice is melodious. He tells tales like a radio commentator of old, with inflections and pauses not quite modern. He tilts his head to look at me askance, as if he finds what I say to be just beyond the reach of reason. Not that I lie, but that I elaborate too much. His charm disarms. My doubts diminish.
This man, new to the country, has an old world charisma. When he listens he looks at me with an unblemished eagerness. His eyes dart about my face as I speak, taking in every nuance of unspoken communication: a lip quiver, a tucking in of hair, a nervous laugh. The whole world could be swept away and he’d not know it. That’s paying attention. It’s flattering, and uncomfortable.
He asks me a question. It’s precise and penetrating, like a scalpel to the heart. His words pierce and pry, making me feel like I’m under the spotlight of his large eyes. I divulge more to those hungry eyes: secrets and desires long kept hidden. With each answer to each question he leans in closer and closer. Until all I can see are his eyes. All I can hear is his deep breathing. All I can feel is his teeth. In this moment, I only think one thing: this is what I’ve wanted my whole life.