kafka's eyes


Next week I am reading for a group of senior citizens at a retirement community on the bay in Virginia Beach. I’ve done this at the same place a few times. In fact, last time just before the gig my host and I were eating dinner in the facility restaurant when halfway through the meal a woman at the next table fell out of her chair and died. Or she died and fell out of her chair. Either way, she was dead on the floor feet away, and my friend said, “Oh I hate when everyone stares! Why can’t they just do what they are doing?!”

Well, to be honest, I was one of the ones who looked perhaps longer than I should. When she first fell I jumped up but William said to sit, that the medics on staff would be there in seconds, and he was right. They came out of the kitchen faster than a cook answering a complaint. She was a small woman, at least ninety, and her demise seemed more of a prank fall then a heart attack or choking incident. It was almost as if she were already dead, but a few seconds earlier she had been talking to her friend, who I might add, was polite enough not to stare. The friend sat with her hands folded until the paramedics escorted her to a different table. It felt very much as if upon moving in everyone had been told: “If you are eating with anyone, and they die, do not help, do not get up. Wait for someone to move you to the next available table!” Even the way William immediately protested “I hate when everyone stares” implied this happens often, and people usually, rudely of course, stare. Perhaps the exertion necessary to attend dinner or a function pushes some over the mortal edge. I don’t know, but the way the medics immediately arrived with screens to surround the poor woman and everyone else returned to their meals made me believe I did not happen upon an unusual evening at ye ‘ol facility. I had the salmon and William had the prime rib. I sipped my wine and William watched me, like he was processing the information. Odd.

After the event (which continued without comments concerning the corpse and was well attended by quite jovial people) I thought about William’s expectation that no one should stare. There was a corpse closer to me than the basket of bread on my table; I stole a glance. I looked longer than I should, and while I’m sure there is some etiquette concerning corpse staring, I am equally sure no one in the room was looking at me anyway.

When I was a child, probably about eight or nine, my mother taught me two things: look at people when they talk to you, and don’t stare. This can be a fine line to walk, especially for a kid. She brought me to the library to check out books. We stood in the stacks and I asked the librarian a question and while she answered I looked at the books instead of her. My mother quickly corrected me: “Look at someone when she talks to you, Robert. Look in her eyes when she talks.” I did and clearly I never forgot that lesson. But later that day when I watched a neighbor we visited struggle her way out of her chair, my mother told me not to stare.

I was confused. Look but don’t stare. Timing is everything with etiquette. When someone is done talking, a quick glance away to disengage eye contact is necessary, unless you’re hitting on someone and the chemistry is strong, then holding the stare a bit longer allows the other person to know you were staring, blatantly staring, because you couldn’t look away from her beautiful eyes. The problem there, of course, is if you stare too long you are in danger of crossing that line to psychopath. If she does look away you have to figure out if she looked away because she is completely uninterested or because she is afraid of revealing her deep rooted passion to plow over the table at you. Hard call.

Now imagine one of you is dead. The rules change.

It seems staring isn’t the issue as much as being misunderstood. It is an art form. One thing I always admired about my father was his absolute eye contact when he talked to someone. He was not an intimidating man in the least, yet he somehow commanded respect, and I believe it was because of his eyes which so clearly let people know they could trust him, which was not a small thing for a stock broker. He looked right at you when he talked or when you talked. And he knew when to let it go. He was the master of the look-stare genre. I picked up on some of his ways, but my profession has altered my opinion about the timing of it all.

As a college professor people stare at me all the time, and when I am talking or about to talk, it truly doesn’t bother me. But often, especially on the first day of class before the lecture starts, they just sit there and stare at me. I suppose they’re sizing me up: do I look mean, aggravated, am I an easy A or a piping bastard? But as I watched the years roll past and students have come and gone, they don’t stare as much. Part of it is because they’re looking at their phones; part of it is because the latest vacuous zombie-obsessed generation doesn’t make eye contact at all.

Some people look, some stare, some have a gander, some a look-see, people peak, they glimpse, behold, gaze, and leer; they survey, observe, give the once-over, and keep watch.

Look, I am not so self-conscious that I care what people think when they scrutinize. I just prefer they get their timing down. Unless, of course, there is some cross table-plowing involved. Personally, I don’t ever want to stop staring. There is too much to see, too many faces to commit to memory. I’m glad I stared a long time at my father’s face, my grandmother’s eyes. I can recall them now without the need for photographs.

“Look at people,” my mother said. Absolutely, though she probably didn’t mean the ones on the floor at the restaurant. There are definitely flaws in the whole “look/stare” methodology, but I’m working on it.

2 thoughts on “Etiquette

  1. There are few who could make this story as empathetic and apathetic,
    humorous and somber enough simultaneously so the reader enjoys it and doesn’t wallow in melancholy afterwards. Great piece of writing, in my humble opinion. Now I’m looking away. But only until next week.


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