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“I First Saw You in My Mother’s Eyes” is a short story written in prose by Karina Melencio for the I Love To Write Day call for submissions.
I first saw you in my mother’s eyes.
The way she told me I would marry someone with a suit and tie and a desk job, maybe something for accounting, but you’d have the heart of gold, say the sweetest words, and have the softest look of love. You’d be silk against raven feathers and I’d be wrapped in them like a goddess because that’s how you’d treat me, she said.
But I was in rebellion. I hated the thought of loving someone so typical. I didn’t want to love someone that had copies everywhere else, I wanted my person to be different; continuously defiant even when faced against a world that made them believe they could not reach beyond the stars and birth a hundred rays of sunlight. Because I knew I would be like that, too. I’d want to be special. Not on a desk, with a suit and tie. You wouldn’t catch me dead with a solemn smile on my face because I would never be content; I’d be one of the extremes.
When I saw you, it wasn’t love at first sight.
You were familiarity at first sight.
My recognition of you felt real, from the eyes of my mother to the qualities I found from each and every person I’ve ever loved before, and from the things they lacked. Like I had known you before you even looked at me.
I’d tell you a story about how I almost set my school on fire and you’d laugh not just to be polite, but because you genuinely found it funny. After that, I’d tell you about my mother’s seemingly supernatural abilities and how she knew I’d be bound to someone like you. And when I said that, you didn’t laugh. You smiled, solemnly and with content, looking into my eyes like your mother had told you about me when you were twelve, too.
Maybe she told you about me through your first heartbreak and described me like I was a painting of hope.
“You’re going to love this girl that you’d meet in a café. You’re going to talk to her about fires and books and movies and in every single word through, you’d laugh, because you’d love how honest and strong she’d be. With stories of embarrassment and heartbreaks you’ve been through, you’ll make her laugh in return. And then, it clicks, you figure it out. Like fizzing soda, unstoppable but too sweet to refuse: ‘I’m going to love this girl for the rest of my life,’ and you’ll forget about this heartbreak. Because she’ll give you so many more cracks in your heart, but she’ll always heal them back to life.” She said.
And I’d see your eyes, darkened by a few more heartbreaks after that, but it’d light up at the sight of me. I’d see your wilting hands, so soft and gentle in the hold of mine. I’d see hours of you, ticking away as you look into a computer screen and think about me during lunchtime. During the ventures of your day, you’d think about how you’ll tell me all about it in a quiet voice with your quiet smile once you’d get home.
You don’t reach beyond the stars nor do you birth a hundred rays of sunlight, but you’d always look at me like I was the one that did. You didn’t even have to ask. You’ve never once questioned it.
And that is when I fall in love.
I could hear my mother say, while you tell me you loved me, too:
“Told you so.”
