DARK EYES
Twilight descends, draping its velvet cloak over the campus of Athens, Georgia, and the soft sounds of laughter and chatter float through the air before fading into the background like a distant melody. At the heart of the University where the brick and cobblestone paths weave through campus, an elaborate fountain with statues of the Muses stands proudly behind the classics building. The glimmering waters reflect the pale light of the moon, a place of solace for the dreamers and the romantics. Beyond is a gazebo covered in vines, though in the growing darkness, they look less like vegetation and more like writhing serpents. The night air is warm; it’s the final week of August before school begins again, and, alone, I approach the fountain, the coin heavy in my hand.
Benches and rose bushes decorate the pathways, but I pass these in lieu of sitting on the brick wall. Hopping up onto a wooden bench close to the wall, I use the back to launch myself onto the layered brick. I sit and regard the shimmering water before me. My favourite places to sit are the places one is not meant to.
In my final year of my master’s degree in classics, I have not accomplished what I thought I would. In fact, while everyone else seems to know what they’re doing, I feel lost. My friends have everything figured out. Kate has already completed her thesis, while Theo and Max have already been approved to enter the PhD program. My grades are good enough for such a move, but I no longer know that it would be the right path for me. Even now, I could be doing school prep, but nothing in the world could inspire me to pull out a textbook tonight.
The coin in my hand seems to grow hot, and the bat design on the front stares back at me hard. Tearing my gaze away from the coin and all it signifies, I take in the sight before me. The lampposts illuminate the garden space where benches orbit the fountain of the Muses, all connected by a sea of gravel and segmented by neatly trimmed bushes. It’s quaint and charming, and in the residual heat, the floral scents are living entities as they writhe through the night air. They caress me, and I close my eyes to inhale with more focus; they seem to beckon me, and I lean forward.
“Careful,” a deep voice calls out behind me. Startled, I crane my neck to look behind me. His voice sends a shiver down my spine, and his dark eyes seem to gleam as he ambles up the path. “You wouldn’t want to fall.”
His deep-set, dark eyes, framed with dark, slightly pinched brows, are trained on me with an intensity that seizes my breath. He has high cheekbones, and a strong jaw marked with just the slightest amount of stubble. His skin is as pale as the moon, and raven curls that look like they are spun from silk, curls I want to touch, lazily fall upon his forehead. He must be at least six and a half feet tall; moving fully into view, he enters the light which strikes his face from the side, highlighting the stunning features of his visage. Though he approaches, he keeps a polite distance for a stranger. His black, leather boots make scarcely a sound on the walkway even through the gravel, but the hanging buckle of his leather jacket chinks lightly as he comes to a halt.
“I’ve been known to fall. I’m clumsy at the best of times,” I say, honestly, after a moment of thought as I remember he had asked me a question. The man quirks an eyebrow at my response.
“Is it wise for you to be sitting at such a height if that is such a regular occurrence for you?”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “I am perfectly safe when I am sitting down. It’s when my feet are involved that problems arise.” The man hums quietly in response, his eyes darting to the coin clutched in my grasp.
“Going to make a wish?” he asks, and before I answer, I watch the path of his eyes drifting over my white, cotton dress. If it had been anyone else, I would have felt slimy and uncomfortable in a gross way, sensing danger in the air. But instead, I feel just overwhelmingly seen by the stranger—and admired. I clear my throat.
“They say, ‘Be careful what you wish for,’” I say in way of answer.
He inclines his head, and his gaze tears away from mine to look at the fountain. “Some do at least.” His glinting eyes return to mine. “Will you?” I swallow. “Be careful?” The way he asks it makes it sound like a challenge.
Hands drifting to my throat, I contemplate. “I suppose that depends.”
“On what?”
“What is considered careful as opposed to reckless?” I am breathless, ensnared, while he hums in thought.
“I suppose that also depends.”
“On what?”
“How badly you want change, and how far you’re willing to bear the consequences however unforeseen.”
I see it. I see the life I will lead should I continue on my path, and it’s not a bad life. I will continue my schooling and get a job teaching, whether it be at this university or another. I will marry a nice man, have kids, a dog, a house, and it will be fine. But is that enough? Is an average life what I want? Deep inside, I know I want more—need more. I want to drown in experiences. I want a life where I have stories to tell: captivating tales of my adventures—ones where I dare to say yes to the crazy thing.
“In that case, no.” His smile is a slow thing, but he nods in understanding.
“Ambition? Or dissatisfaction?”
Eyebrows flying high, I regard this stranger. “What makes you think it’s either of those things?”
“That’s the typical reason.”
“Perhaps I’m atypical,” I return, heat rising in my cheeks at the audacity of such a question, and from a stranger no less.
“Somehow, I don’t doubt that. Well, if it isn’t either of those things, what is it? Desire?”
“That would be telling.” I flip the coin between my fingers, and he watches the motion with interest. “And a wish told is a wish that never gets answered.” His smile blooms.
“You’re going to keep me in suspense, then?” I nod, and he chuckles.
“What right do you have to my secrets? I don’t even know your name.”
“Aiden. What’s yours?”
I study him for a moment. I would never normally give out any information to strangers, but the quietest of voices in my head tells me that for change to occur, I must do something different.
“Corey.”
“Corey,” he repeats, and for a moment, he looks as though he wants to laugh. “Well, Corey. What do you study?”
“Classical history and the Mystery Cults.” Nodding, he approaches the fountain.
“I’ll make a crazy wish if you do.” Looking over his shoulder to smirk at me, he tosses a coin of his own into the water. “Sweet dreams, Corey, and may they all come true.” With a nod at me, he leaves me to sit on the brick wall, mouth agape.
Risking a broken ankle, I hop off the ledge to approach the now rippling surface of the fountain. Within, so many layers of coins have been tossed that in certain places, they threaten to emerge from the water. I wonder how many of them, if any, have come true. Shutting down the doubt and pessimism, I close my eyes, trying to be as specific as possible and do the brave thing. I dare for something more. I let the coin fly, and without watching where it lands, I turn away. The coin splashes, and without rhyme or reason, I know my wish shall be answered tenfold.
