A short look into the people watching scene.
By Peyton Pitman, Co-Editor-in-Chief
The first time I had the pleasure of seeing you, I was lost. In a single glimpse you showed me what it would feel like to be extraordinary just by your presence. But you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Yet, somehow you have dug your way into my subconscious, and I can still remember your existence.
I know I’m quite dramatic, but I fear simpler terms cannot describe that moment in time. I remember it well. You were standing outside of your car with, presumably, your little brother inside. You swiftly raised your hand up to your mouth with a cigarette and inhaled the smoke.
I was taken aback by your actions.
Was it your smoking in general, or that you only looked a mere 16 or 17? You looked unbothered. The continuous noise of the city and it’s people seemingly unable to reach you. Your dark eyes raised, scanning the endless sky and then landing on us.
A smile played on your lips as you heard my mother’s attemps to make my sister laugh. A world of expressions, speaking loudly all your hidden thoughts. As we traveled past you, I could not seem to distinguish exactly what you were thinking. You took a few more glances at us, and we locked eyes. It almost felt as if you were trying to understand me too.
As the sun’s rays beat down on you, you took off the shirt you had on, only leaving you in a tank top. The simplest movements, yet I was mesmerized. I then wondered if anyone else was so captured by you, and looking around, I wondered what they were thinking. How would the middle-aged woman with her husband trailing behind her describe you? Tall, slim, young, about 5’6, with dark clothes and a cigarette?
I’m wondering how anyone could walk past you and put you into a generic box, like you were simply part of the every day Indianapolis life. How could they walk past you and not see these stories in your eyes, or the occasional sadness to your smile, and wonder if your here to escape or to discover?
I finally had to get into my car and drive away from you. The moment still eched into my mind. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But for a moment there, I did know you. And maybe that’s enough to remember: you are not always put into a generic box of everyday life. Occasionally, there is someone who really sees you.