Every Tuesday and Thursday I walk to class with Aurora and Summer. We walk together on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday too but only for a disappointingly short period of time. We only get across the street and into the ROTC parking lot, just getting the grease into the cogs of our conversation when we offer our awkward hugging-while-walking goodbyes and go our different ways across the parking lot. I often look over to see if they're keeping pace with me but they never seem to care about our unspoken race. Its a depressing aspect of my Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
But on Tuesday and Thursday we walk together all the way to their building. The point of departure is more certain and so we stop and share a real squeeze-and-don't-pat-I-care-about-you hug. We've even decided that we're into saying "I love you" in a friendly non-threatening way (funny that love can be and often is threatening) and share eye contact as we walk away that sometimes seems to linger just a little too long, to that point where you wonder to yourself, "do we mean anything by this eye contact?" but don't know the answer for yourself and won't ever ask them. Then they're gone. Well...not gone. Just in a different place. But gone for me. Consumed.
And now for the first time every Tuesday and Thursday my attention is finally directed toward the world around me. And here, at the break of my day, I sometimes see him. In my mind he's always wearing the same clothes. If I next see him wearing something different than his red plaid shirt and those tight gray jeans that seem intent on squeezing on down his shins I'll be a little crestfallen. But I'll still recognize him. Assuredly. Because of his mustache.
Its really a simple mustache. Thick and droopy, etching his face in a permanent mournful frown. And its a generic brown. Not the type of brown that you some people have on there driver's licenses that apparently has no bearing on reality. His Brown is the kind of brown you imagine when you think of brown bears or brown crayons, the brown that you were taught to recognize in kindergarten.
Okay, you need to do something. To get the same experience I just got, type "mustaches" into the URL in Firefox 3 and squeeze your legs together so you don't pee your pants. Otherwise link.
You should probably squeeze you legs together too.
You are not dreaming. You just experienced that. The song!
Do this for me. Take your fingers and put them on that ridge that connects your nose to the middle of your upper lip (known as the philtrum). Spread them away from each other, following the curvature of you face until your fingers descend below the corners of you mouth. Now picture that entire area as being possessed by a droopy, beast of straight brown hair.
Your probably "ugh"ing to youself. And my first reaction, my break of day turning my attention away from Aurora and Summer, is much the same. But as my astonishment at his appearance has grown into anticipation that I will get to behold him yet again, I've concluded that the mustache is beautiful on him. And I mean this in the full "guy crush" way. It looks right on him. And I'm astonished.
It must show on my face, because I always make eye contact with him and he always seems to be self conscious about my attention. Eye contact that is just a little too brief followed by suddenly darting eyes. And then we pass each other and neither of us looks back. And that's kind of depressing for my Tuesdays and Thursdays.