“…an artist he’ll be
creator in word, thought, deed
-he’ll set this world free….” 

Someone who knows how to notice. For whatever reason she decided she may be able to trust him if he’s an artist. Trust that what’s going on inside will always be painted, written or played out on his sleeve -where such things belong damn it. Not that there’s anything leading her to believe that she’ll ever be in a position to need to trust this now relative stranger. It’s likely she’ll not learn anything of him. “Him,” Cressida breathed, wanting to hear herself say his name, but not having the courage to speak it. What difference does any of this make? It’s been months since she said hello to Victor for the first time, and he’s seemed to have vanished from the building, never to be seen again. Maybe intentionally, Cressida entertained. 

Besides, how could she find out whether he’s an artist, an astrophysicist or whatever else? Cressida has a deliberate aversion to people who ask others what they “do” for a living. As if that’s what defines whether the conversation should proceed. People actually do that. She won’t do that. And it dawns on her then, she never has to ask. She just talks and people seem to naturally share their fire with her. People let her learn who they are and what they enjoy almost right away. She can’t stop it. I won’t have the opportunity with Victor, will I? she thinks, sadly but flatly resigned. Amazing all strange thoughts I think in the bathroom, Cressida marveled and shook her head. 

Walking out, she noticed the poster on the wall at the doctor’s office. She noticed the girl in it. She noticed her stare. The image of the girl looking at her friend so deeply in an expression of lighthearted, far-away wonder captivated Cressida. What is she staring like that for? What’s in her head? Cressida contemplated. Ten minutes later, with lines and lines of poetry and analysis having run through her brain, she emerged from being lost in these thoughts and wrote, finally, “I cannot complete life properly without that stare.” Cressida had the brief notion that she must’ve once looked into the eyes of someone with that stare. Her mind wanted to wander again and notice new things, but before it did, she had the fleeting thought -for sure I’ve seen that stare, that deep gaze, that look of happy amazement before.