A Different Oedipus Complex...

My eyes have always gotten me into trouble.

In second grade, they decided that they wanted to follow in my Great Grandmother's footsteps and without my consent, they allowed my vision to become blurry. No amount of carrots could change their minds. It was an ocular mutiny.

I chose the brown frames that my mother liked. Well, they were more of a tan-ish color, but I remember putting them on in Opti-World in Melbourne, Florida and realizing that there were glasses on racks where before it was just fuzzy beams of light. My mother's eyes wept.

My next pair of glasses that owned me were of blue plastic frames and they swallowed my entire face. They allowed me to see how cute the boys were, but in turn, they were a shield to them. Boys didn't like girls with four eyes, no matter how pretty the color.

When I discovered contacts, I felt that surely the boys would see my blue eyes. Sometimes they were bright blue. And at others they were a slate grey. Occasionally I received compliments on them and they grew a little more blue.
Around this time, my eyes became bigger than my stomach. And I hid behind food to mask their inquisitiveness. They practiced their flits and flutters--their doe eyed gazes to imitate Oliver when he pleaded with the beadle, "Please Sir, I want some more." As my body swelled, no one bothered to look at my eyes anymore. They're always getting me into trouble.

My eyes vigorously trained themselves in the art of Irish Smiling, the Dramatic Roll, and Irish Ice. But once they challenged my stomach to see who could be the better box office smash, they cowered away to learn new tricks. They practiced the best judgmental looks, the Bette Davis, and despite the loneliness, the bedroom eyes. They even cooperated with my underachieving lips; they smirked at the chance to work with the Blues.

To help them out, I learned make-up tips to make them seem bigger, brighter, and more glamorous. Black eyeliner, liquid or pencil; color popping shades, thirteen dollars a shade...but they'll pay me back, once they got the love and respect they thought they deserved.

And then one day, when my eyes weren't paying attention, they caught the interest of a pair of brown orbs. But because my eyes were so in love with each other, no other pair stood a chance. They still don't understand why they're so lonely. They blame my stomach. They blame my lips. They grow tired at the endless reasons why--never looking at the real culprits in the mirror.

My eyes are always getting me into trouble. So much that sometimes, I think I'll go blind.