"Those Damn Round Eyes" by Albina Haque ('25)

“I am telling you – Get. Rid. Of. The. Bangs. I know you don’t have the most beautiful eyes but one should not be insecure about their physical appearance; be comfortable with what you have,” said Erin while putting lipstick on her plump lips which, mind you, were not plump a year ago. I am not saying anything. In fact, I am not even facing her. Every day, after work, I take the elevator to the roof to smoke cigarettes and stare down – see the pathetic beings going about their mediocre lives. But I don’t have it in my fate to enjoy this little moment as this insufferable woman always follows me here. As my eyes are fixated upon the ants on the cement, she continues her frivolous blabbering. “Hey Aquila? Hello? Talk to me. What are you thinking?” I am thinking how much time will it take for you to reach the pavement from this seventh floor given that your body mass is around 125 lbs and gravity is 9.8 ms-2. Definitely it will be less time than a free fall as external force will be applied. “I am just thinking how my mother would turn in her grave if I no longer had bangs. Trust me, that woman was the inspiration for Poe!” I replied making my way to the elevator. If anyone’s listening, they will probably be confused by our conversation – “What bangs? What eyes? What mother?”

I am obsessed with eagles – aren’t they magnificent! All other birds foolishly chirp away but the eagle has its own aura, its own demeanor. Now, let me educate you with some interesting facts about eagles.

Fact number one: An eagle’s eyesight is so good that it can see ants on the ground from the top of the tenth floor.

We get out of the building; I look down and see the ants are still there, on the pavement. I take one final drag from the cigarette and drop it right on the ant line. “You know the salon I go to has these gorgeous eyelashes that can make your eyes look, you know, less circular. They don’t charge…” Erin’s plump lips are still moving but I have already started walking towards the station at a quick pace. All of a sudden, the wind started blowing which is not good news when the roads are dry and there is sand piled up on the sidewalk for construction purposes, I guess. I can hear Erin screaming, “Aqiii! Wait up. Ugh! All in my eyes! I can’t see a damn thing!” My face twisted upon hearing the word “Aqiii”; the nerve of her! Anyway, I put my earphones on and immediately, Erin’s ear-bleeding voice is replaced by an electric guitar: I’ve been living my life in a cage/Freedom spits in my face … I don’t slow down my pace because you see, it is “not good news” for them, not for me.

Fact number two: an eagle can see even with its eyes closed because it has a second pair of eyelids that are transparent.

I scan my card on the turnstile, walk up to the platform. The smell. Ugh! The platform is packed with people waiting to go home, to their meaningless lives. I am feeling vicious/and so outrageous … The train comes. I get in, stand by the door.

Fact number three: Eagles’ eyes look hideous on a human's face.

“Stand clear of the closing doors please.” Ding! I increase the volume: The monster’s loose/and now you know the truth/ tell me you can feel it/ as you hit the wall…

“Hi! This is Aquila, calling from APEX Trade. I am wondering if you have five minutes to spare for a chat about your trading habits? … Great! How’s your condition in your trade market lately? … Oh! Rest assured – it’s not only happening to you; in fact, you’re in the median. … Listen, I am one of the top stockbrokers in the whole United States – not bragging, just laying out my credibility – like, with a success ratio of 98.87 percent. … Oh, you’ve already heard about me! So no reason to blab my biography!  Umm, so basically, I inform my customers about any profitable trading opportunities I see in “buy” or “sell” and if they are comfortable with it, I just place the trade for them. But here’s the catch – I have my eyes on the market 24/7; that’s why, any hint of a new opportunity appears, I can snatch them before anyone can comprehend. So, would you be interested to see some of my trading results? … I love the enthusiasm! That’s the spirit you need to win the market, especially when everyone’s just playing safe. I have just sent you the document. Read and feel free to contact me via email or give a call to this number. … Okay. Have a nice day! Bye!” No sooner than I proceed to slam the phone, Erin barges into my office with the “hot news” of the day. I can’t help but let out a groan; no, actually, I can help but choose to visibly show my displeasure about her presence. “I heard Mr. Jones telling the new guy to prepare a presentation for THE pitch meeting. Darling, I am warning you! This guy has everyone around his finger, including your client!” Erin frantically whispers. “And I have my client in a death-grip. And it doesn’t matter what Simon Sullivan –” what a stupid name “– does, my contribution to the company is unmatched; the promotion is mine,” I say matter-of-factly. To my pleasure, Erin’s phone beeps which indicates that Mr. Jones is calling his secretary, most probably to prepare the conference room for the meeting. Erin leaves the room, giving me a look which says that she doesn’t have much faith in my “grip.” Normally, girls use their mothers’ things – be it jewelry, clothes or any other objects – in their daily life. But for me, I parrot the word “grip” now and then. I turn my chair around to face the window; damn, the UV rays are worse in the city, much worse than in Alaska.

“The guests are coming in an hour. Don’t dare to come out!” Mom says, shoving me to my room, one hand fixing my bangs and another hand having a strong grip on the back of my neck, “And, how many times do I have to tell you not to push your bangs aside!” “But it’s poking my eyes and I can’t see properly; just cut an inch off; even one centimeter would do,” I wail in vain. “NO! What did I say about your eyes? It’s better this way. And I don’t understand,” mom spit with irritation, “Why you need to see properly; you are always in the house; besides, I have told you thousands of times to see as WE SEE,” she says while giving me a pointed look. I was fuming inside. “I am always at home because you don’t let me get out like you let Angela,” I scream, angry tears flowing down my cheeks. My mother takes a deep breath, lifts my chin up. “When people see you, they focus on your hideous eyes. They will always think how abnormal you are whenever your name comes up.” My chin is hurting. She continues in a monotonous voice, “Stay focused on your studies, increase your skills, reach for higher goals, hold on, grip on to every chance as if there won’t be another. Don’t waste your time on people; it won’t do any good. Again, Angela is normal, which you are NOT!” My breathing becomes heavy as I am desperately trying not to cry: it is a weird feeling of sorrow, anger and hopelessness.

With a sigh, I get up and take the elevator down to the conference room – feeling giddy as I realize that I’m just a day away from the position that I’ve had my eyes on for so long! Nobody will focus on my eyes! Nobody will say, “Oh, your eyes are so round, spooky!” They won’t dare. I pass by the cubicles. There is Simon sitting on top of one of the desks chatting away. And the people gather around him as if he was preaching the Bible; so charmed by him. I put my earphone in one ear — one ear is enough to listen to the useless things they are going to go over again in the morning. As Erin said – of course she reminded me with a “told you so” –  my boss included Simon in the pitch and told us that the client would like two people to present two different perspectives. Bullshit!

Now I am standing in the break room, waiting for my coffee. “We’ve never really got the chance to talk to each other.” I spin around to find the source of the words. Simon is standing behind me with a smirk on his face which he is trying very hard to pass off as a cordial smile. “No, I can’t say we have,” I say, curving my lips slightly upward. “It’s just your office’s way up on the fifth floor; don’t you feel left out or are you the silence-preferring kinda person?” he wriggles his eyebrows in a playful manner. Something about his eyes is bothering me; I find myself getting distracted by it; almost like hypnosis. Not just the eyes; he pronounces his s-es with more pressure, like a hissing sound. “I like high places. It gives a good view,” I promptly add. “I see, I prefer places that are closer to the ground; I am acrophobic. But I have to tell you how much I admire you: not only do you dig up the best trade opportunities for your customers but also your skills at trade analysis are top-notch; you always have your keen eye on the market,” he says while his finger circles the cup-mouth. Someone has increased the volume of the speaker in the break room: 2Leave your weapon on the table/ Wrapped in burlap, barely able/ Call a doctor, say a prayer / Choose a god you think is there. How his finger starts from one point on the cup and smoothly circles back to it …

“Just get down here, so many shells!” Angela screams from the valley, her small feet sinking into the swamp under the water that touches her ankle. I am standing on the cliff which, much to my dismay, is not that high. It’s 22nd November, the fall breeze is blowing my bangs away from my eyes. I don’t like hanging out with Angela anymore; the more days pass, the more I resent my sister. Her ignorance – ignorance about me, my situation, how we are growing up in two different worlds – get me the most. Suddenly, something catches my eye: a snake! Yes, a snake is approaching Angela. I am intently watching the reptile slither its way to her. I should scream, let her know. But, mom says to see how they see; they can’t see a snake from up here. So, it's better if I don’t see it too. … “Why? Why my Angela?” my mother is wailing cupping my sister’s white still face, “Didn’t you see it COMING? HA?DIDN'T YOU SEE?” I just shake my head. “WHAT’S THE USE OF YOUR EYES THEN!”

The bloody music’s getting louder and louder: Good for you, you fooled everybody / Good for you, you fooled everyone/ Good for you, now you're somebody/ Good for you, you fooled everyone. The way his eyes are boring into my soul; sending a chill down my spine.

The pitch meeting ended twenty minutes ago. My head is throbbing. I gave my best trade report, statistics, realistic predictions, everything – but that silver tongue started talking about kids, wife, dogs, cat, tiktok: “Yeah yeah, you’re right! My kids are constantly in need of that, after the pandemic its demand sky-rocketed and my personal experience says there’s no going back for it … this … that … blah blah blah.” And that gullible fool of a client bought into that.

As if losing a client in eight years was not enough, Mr. Jones announced that my desired position – the one that I deserve – would take into account everyone's choice too as they are going to work under the person. I want to rip all my hair out; my body is on fire, partially because that dim-wit Erin is blasting my ear, “What are you? Blind? He has been working the crowd for months. Months! You stayed at your nest and he snatched your food from under your nose.” I will be replaced by him; it’s inevitable in a couple of months. All years of effort – done. I see Simon here and there, basking in the light of sure victory. I swear I’ve caught a sight of his tongue –  kinda long and thin like a strip, disgusting!

I take out my phone to turn on music. My eyes fixate on the date: 22nd November.

Suddenly I hear a hiss in my ear, “Bet you didn’t see that coming …”