why do i stare at you?

the first partner i ever had, in high school, only ever noticed me because i was "staring at her", during the lunch period we shared. i didn't really understand what she meant when she, early in our relationship, told me this. while i probably had been asked by others before why i was "staring at them", this was the first time i felt compelled to explain myself.

i can put myself back in that lunch room, on the day that snowballed into a relationship. i was sitting in the north side of the cafeteria, north side of the table, by the cinderella staircase, one of the nicer features in our recent-build school, one designed by a prison architect. circular tables, divided into hemicircles, flanked by 4 round seats on each side. each seat maroon, the table tops a flakey, granite-like grey. these tables were designed to fold in half -- our "cafeteria" sat in an atrium, with plenty of natural light filtering from above. that day was sunny, later in spring. i don't really remember who i was sitting with. but i do remember to the southwest, she was there. she was sitting with some other folks i would eventually become acquainted with throughout my studies, only one face i can picture, the rest a blur. i remember the southern part of the atrium with its own dueling staircases, that wrapped around themselves a bit, leading up to the second floor catwalk. the ground floor was tiled, likely a vinyl or linoleum, but the second floor had commercial, short pile carpeting -- both easy to clean, both commodity you'd likely see in any fixed-purpose buildings constructed in the mid 2000s. the ground floor walkways flanking the atrium, their walls composed of yellowish and cream painted brick clashing up against natural, tannish-orange brick (this is a bit hazy to me, could be one or the other), would be enshadowed on this kind of a sunny day, and almost gloomy on a grey one. i was likely eating a chicken sandwich, though i couldn't tell you where that certainty comes from. i was likely drinking a diet mountain dew, and that is a certainty, as i remember very well my caffeine dependence in the days before amphetamines changed my life. i remember the quiet roar of conversation, dozens of voices blending together into a congealed mass, filling my ears. it made it hard to think, to form words (let alone sentences), to be present. so i'd let my eyes dart. that corner where the brick was mildly damaged, the bright colors of some student's trapper keeper as she hustled by, the raised hand of another student as some physical reaction to their conversation, the way the light fell on her face, the gap in the wall where no one lied, that brick again, my paltry presumed sandwich, the half empty bottle of diet dew, her face again.

if i was staring at her, she was not alone. i was staring at that brick, my bottle, the way the light fell on everyone, the tile pattern of the floor. i was not present in that moment, or at least whoever i was, but my senses were there, ungrounded. the noise not loud enough to hurt physically yet loud enough to paralyze, that was unhelpful. i can only touch so much, the smooth texture of the tabletop, the fabric of my jeans and flannel, my hair likely a bit oily and unkempt, my acne ridden face, before running out of novel things to ground with -- and taste is similar, even more restricted. these senses are one dimensional, sort of like a volume knob -- you can increase the presence, even imagine what might not be there, but there's no depth to it.

sight is nothing like this. around you is a full 360 degrees of things to see. you might be in a room, where your surroundings are mostly static, save for what might change through your window. if you're on a train, the terrain of your city flies by, the people you may be sharing your car with come and go, flick on their phones and books, converse, gesture, idly wiggle. you are surrounded by things to see, but you can only see so little of it. nominally, we have about 180 degrees of "sight", as in things that are present in your field of vision, but you have a much smaller cone of "real sight", that which you can actively process and "consume". unlike sound, which is a mostly passive physical process (albeit one that requires active mental work), sight is active both physically and mentally. touch, smell, and taste are the opposite -- largely a passive mental process, but one you must physically opt into. and unlike all the other senses, sight by far is the least consensual.

if i don't want you to hear me, i do not speak. if i dont want you to taste me, i don't let you put your mouth on me. if i don't want you to touch me, i stay out of reach. but if i don't want you to see me, i must remove myself entirely from our shared space -- i must run, i must seek shelter, some object to hide behind. but that only breaks the visual connection. a hunter looking for prey is actively searching with their eyes, and once prey knows they are seen, a break in line of sight does not break line of perception. that crawling sensation, under the skin, alerting your brain that you are being Perceived. no matter how much you try, you cannot stop someone from looking, from noticing. to an extent, one cannot even deprive themselves of looking. if you close your eyes, the darkness soon becomes filled with false amorphous patterns of color, floating around your sightline. those of us who can, may involuntarily create images in their head, even if their retinas are free from a photon invasion. one of the fundamental development stages in a child's life is object permanence -- the idea that just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there. the lesson goes both ways.

if i wanted to come across as defiant, strong, and capable, i'd say that my staring is act of rebellion. it is exerting as much agency over the abyss of sensation, spitting in the face of unconsenting perception, telling the world "i will see what i wish to see". but that is not me. i am not that strong of a woman. i stare out of a desperate attempt to anchor me in surroundings that overwhelm me. if i let my gaze stick on one thing for too long, it amplifies the amorphous blob of sound, the texture of denim, the blandness of my sandwich, the flattening soda. each prey-like darting of my gaze is like that of an antihunter, looking not for her next game, but for her next respite from the the hunter Sensation. it is a rope flung out to the docks from my raft, hoping to wrap around something, anything, that might keep me from floating adrift. it is a constant redirection of my most overwhelming sense, to trick my brain into calm.

it's not limited to times of distress or ennui, either. in moments where i feel calmed and happy, i still notice the way a tree's leaves gently sway with the wind, how light from a warm bulb bounces off glassware onto the table, a bee rolling around in the pollen of a flower. when i lay eyes on the beautiful people i've had the privilege of being in bed with, what i see is overwhelming -- not that their presence hurts me, but that i'm so flooded with positive feelings that i can't help but avert my gaze and shut my eyes, for otherwise i'd explode from the building pressure. it looks the same to the observer, feels the same to me, save for the distinction as to why i feel overwhelmed.

so why do i stare, then? well, i'd still take issue with the idea i'm "staring". i hardly ever keep my gaze on one subject for very long. anyone who's ever tried to make eye contact with me knows the instinctual flinch i do -- dart left, then right, then focus on their nose... but for each moment i hold my gaze, there's a chance yours locks with mine. and in that moment, emphasized by unlikelihood, i am staring at you. for a brief, intimate moment, you have become an island of solitude for my broken, tired, overwhelmed brain. if it is uncomfortable for you, just wait -- like midwestern weather, my gaze is bound to change. if i keep coming back to you, it's a compliment -- maybe you look pretty, maybe you carry yourself with an interesting aura, maybe you're in the right place at the right time, maybe i want to speak with you but can't possibly bring myself to start, maybe i'm scared of you. if you ask me to stop, i'll oblige, and probably replay the moment in my head in the wee hours before i rest that evening, cursing myself for being this way. but most likely, my gaze will drop from yours, and i'll move on to the next island, looking for a home that will never come, and we'll both dissolve into the entropic void of each other's memories.