“Hey – your eyes!”
“Mm? What about them?” she instantly looked back in the bowl, where she mixed the flour.
“They were green yesterday, now they’re blue…”
She had to be stupid to think he wouldn’t notice in this shady place. Forget the obvious was her weakness – he had to be used to seeing things in dark.
“I wear contact lenses.” She dismissed him fast. “I have poor eyesight.”
“And that’s why you wear those pointless pieces of plastic that have no optical need?”
“People don’t usually wear colored lenses because they just have poor eyesite.” He sounded pleased from catching her from such simple lie.
She didn’t comment, wrinkled her nose instead and pressed her lips together, forming a straight line.
He smirked – that was interesting to see her rattle up on something so trivia.
“Ok, what’s the story with the contacts?” he folded his arms and leaned back on the chair, waiting.
She stopped stirring the dough and let out a slow sigh.
“You’re not the only weirdo around, alright?” That didn’t gratify his appetite, only made him grin wider. “I have freaky eye color. People tend to call me names when they happen to look in my eyes, they want it or not, so I don’t…”
“What’s so freaky about having odd eye color?” he didn’t get her problem. He thought it was fascinating to have different eye color, but she didn’t seem to agree.
“They are…” she searched around until she found a glass and filled it with water, placing them on the table in front of him.
“See the color of the water?” she asked. He stared at the glass, then her eyes, then back on the glass.
“That’s my eye color.” She said bluntly.
“Water grey eyes?”
“Not exactly. Look through the glass. Water has no color, see? It takes up the color of the glass.” She waited for him to say something, but as he did nothing more than stare her blank, she turned and searched out the eggs, smashing one after another in the bowl.
“You’re telling me you are an albino?”
“No,” she corrected, “I just have so light irises, people think I must be one.” She smashed the last one in the bowl and started stirring again. “Actually, the usual references are a zombie, evil eye and – oh, and I love that! – demonic possession!”
“Oh yes! Happened to forget lenses one time I went to the church and some true believer picked me up for being possessed. She even convinced the priest to have exorcism and I gotta tell ya, this was no amusement park for an eight year old! Sure cured me from religious decease.”
He stared at her open eyed.
“You don’t believe in God?” he asked, shocked.
She frowned. All that babbling about her eye color and that was all he took out of the conversation? She didn’t answer him, but turned to search out the pancake pan instead. Her religious beliefs were her own problem, she thought, she didn’t have to explain them, especially now when she wasn’t in good terms with them. She still believed in God, only she had no trust on the system praising him.
“I have priest come here on every other Sunday to give me communion – I hope it won’t be against your belief.” He explained.
She stopped her fussing and sighed, looking at him. “I believe in God. I just… I don’t get involved with congregations anymore.”
“You’re not very religious then?” he continued prickling the subject, before she snapped.
“I don’t know, what world you live in, but those same people, who live only few blocks away from here, belayed me to my bed, yelled at me, spat on me, whipped me and all that in the name of freeing my spirit! I will not take communion from a priest, who sent me to hospital with broken hand and then said he did the right thing! I was tortured by this flock of sheep they call themselves mild mannered Christians! Just because I have white eyes! God has no place in this parish and if you try to turn my faith back on track as they did, I swear that is the last day the church will stand on its ground, ’cause I’ll burn it down!”
Her voice had grown into a roar of pain and she suddenly gasped, tears flowing from her eyes. Promising to burn the church down before a man, who just talked to you about a communion was bad.
She sagged on the chair against him, avoiding looking him in the eyes.
“Brother Thomas is a good man from Lawsonville, who has been employed by my overprotective mother to take care of my soul and has been my friend more than five years. He was eager to meet my new ‘chaperon’, but if you don’t feel comfortable near religious man, you may have a day off on Sunday.”
“I’m sorry.” She whispered quietly.
“You are forgiven and to get you started – you don’t have this Sunday off as I wish you to meet him.” He nodded. “Now, I may be an idiot in making pancakes, but as far as I know, pans don’t have brains of their own, yet that pan is giving me smoke signals.” He changed the subject and laughed as he watched her wake from her misery, let out a yelping scream and turning back to pancakes.