Eyes of the Soul

A blanket of stars reflected in her amethyst eyes, like sparkling crystals among a rippling body of water at sunset. I’ve never experienced a woman more stunning than the beauty that haunted my dreams.

Amethyst. What an odd color for a woman’s eyes. Odd… yet absolutely breathtaking. I couldn’t get her stare out of my mind. They were the most captivating eyes I had ever seen… or dreamed about. I didn’t actually see them, although my dreams had every feeling of reality.

Each emotion, image, and sensation of my dreams over the past six years had been nothing short of lifelike. Every morning, I woke up feeling torn with such a mixture of sensations… hope, love, sorrow, loss. But the amethyst eyes of my nightly obsessions kept me in a constant stupor throughout my high school and college years, and continued to entrance me during my days and nights.

Not only did she haunt my dreams, but also my every waking moment was captivated by the memory of her gaze. She was in everything I did. Everything I created had a piece of her. Whether blatantly obvious or humbly subtle, she was the foundation of all my thoughts, decisions, and creations. Her beauty was my constant. And even though I didn’t know her name, I was determined that one day I would find her. I had to.

At first I thought I was pathetic. Thriving on the possibility of finding the love of someone I only dreamed about seemed juvenile and weak. Yet, I had grown to realize my determination to seek out the one thing I desperately wanted and needed in my life made me stronger than any man who just settled for normalcy. I was now strong enough to know I didn’t want to be another sheep in the masses of conformity.

I wanted her. I wanted to know she was real. And keeping that goal active in my mind proved to be more challenging than anything else I ever had to face in this trial we call life.

At the age of twenty-four, I was hurdling through art school, completing my final and most brutal semester of the prestigious sculpture program at the university. I was a favorite amongst the professors and most of my classmates, yet I had never felt so conflicted. My sketchbooks, all full of beautiful amethyst eyes, were like keys to my essence… as if the purple irises could see right through me. I was certain she could dig deep into my soul.

Even though I was still studying, I managed to land several locally commissioned jobs throughout the years and began making a name for myself. For the past several months, I’ve been working on a commissioned job for the nature museum. It took all the strength I had to deviate away from the color purple. It’s as if nothing seemed complete without it. The color had unintentionally become my signature throughout the years.

So, with my plans in hand and the sculptures ready to glaze, I began to brainstorm over how I could somehow incorporate amethysts into my pieces without making it blatantly obvious and still adhering to the specifications of the museum director. I needed to use amethyst to mark my work somehow, but it had to be subtle.

Closing my eyes to think, I saw her staring at me, expectantly. As if she was waiting for me to come up with a plan to somehow incorporate her into my work.

Totally whipped. Whipped by a woman I didn’t even know. Forget that. I knew her. I may not have known her name, but I was not ashamed to say that I knew the woman who had consumed my every thought for the past six years.

I had an idea. Even though this idea was likely going to drain every cent I would make on the job, it would also bring me the unique reputation I was working hard to build and desperately needed as a new artist.

And not just for my reputation, but to represent the color that hazed my vision. Amethyst.

The entire sculpture was made up of dozens of frogs, some large, some small, which would then be arranged in various groupings across the wall adjacent to the museum entrance. It would start off with a large grouping, then the frogs would spread further apart as they scattered away from each other. The wall would become their playground. I could just imagine dozens of tree frogs slapping their weight against the heavy structure as they hopped along their haphazardly planned path.

The museum director wanted the frogs to look almost bronze in color… as if they were old, tarnished, and antique. Even though my specialty was clay, I seriously considered making bronze bas-relief sculptures. My instincts told me to stick with clay and I’m glad I did. Turns out the museum director picked me specifically because of my clay sculptures and experience.

I knew by her thoughts that she was fairly lenient with how I would arrange them throughout the wall, but I wondered what she would think about every frog having a pair of amethyst eyes. The eyes would be small and hardly noticeable unless you looked closely. Or, unless the sun happens to shine directly upon them, which, in my opinion, would make the entire wall look absolutely stunning.

An entire wall full of glittering amethyst eyes. Just the thought was enough to make me jizz in my pants. I was that far gone over her.

Luckily, my dad has been very supportive of my line of study. He had seen the outcome of my art and the demand already put upon me by local businesses wanting to commission my work. He felt the need for me to have my own studio and I quickly realized how many other students needed the freedom away from school to work on their art as well. Not long after, we started a community ceramics art studio, at which I spend most of my time.

I named the studio Lavendine, although I found out quickly that not many people know the meaning behind the word. All the better. As much as my art screamed differently, I honestly desired anonymity in my life. No one needed to know why I was fascinated with the color purple. No one needed to know my secrets.

Only the people who were close to me, or had seen my sketchbooks, would know of my addiction.

She was my addiction. Like a drug habit I didn’t want to shake.

Walking into my apartment after a twelve-hour stint at Lavendine Studios, I looked forward to crashing in my bed and never emerging again.

Glazing eight-dozen frogs with a tarnished-bronze coloring was methodical and rather tedious. I had to burnish and rub at each one just right in order to get the look I desired. I had been working tirelessly on the unique glazing application for several days now, but today was the longest I’d spent in one sitting so far. My neck and shoulders ached after being hunched over the workbench all day.

Sluggishly dragging my ass into the door, I dropped my bag on the coffee table and immediately headed for the kitchen. Damn, I was starved.

I received a few text messages from my father today, asking me if I had eaten and telling me to call my mom. I did neither.

“Dude, you’re finally home. I was wondering when the zombie would come out of you. Did you finish?”

I turned my head listlessly and looked at my roommate through my foggy vision. Jay was a good roommate and a cool friend, too. Not only was he in most of my classes with me at school, but he also worked for me at Lavendine, helping keep an eye on the place and helping members while I wasn’t there.

“Ahh, yeah. They’re all in the kiln. Although, I’ll be lucky if I remember anything by tomorrow, I’m so fucking tired,” I said as I turned back around and headed for the fridge. “It would be great if you could peek in on the kiln in the morning. Make sure it shuts off and all. The cone sitter has been acting wonky lately and I’m worried it may not shut off automatically when the cone melts.”

“You sure it’s the sitter and not the cones?” Jay asked, making me realize I was more tired than I thought.

“Shit, you know what—you’re right. That is a new box of cones. We should check and make sure it’s properly bent once the firing is complete. I’ll keep documentation over the next few firings so we can see what’s up.”

Opening up my fridge and praying I had some sort of edible food, I noticed a small plate with a sandwich, wrapped in clear saran wrap. A handwritten note stabbed with a toothpick said:
I figured you would be hungry and I know you’re not taking care of yourself. Don’t make me come over and treat you like a child. I love you. Mom.
The toothpick was embellished with a purple star at the top.

Her note and thoughtfulness made me smile. I quickly grabbed my phone and, noticing it was now eleven at night, decided to text instead of call her.

“Yeah, your mom stopped by about two hours ago with dinner for both of us. Makes me wish I grew up in your house,” Jay said as he lightly clapped me on the shoulder and ambled over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Well, I guess I should thank you for saving me some,” I said with a light chuckle. It was all I could manage with how tired I was.

Jay laughed loudly and said, “Shit. Don’t thank me, thank your mom. She threatened that she would never bring me food again if I ate your sandwich. So, you better let her know I was a good boy.”
I totally would have eaten it if she didn’t threaten me with food deprivation.

I definitely know from experience he would have eaten my food had my mom not scolded him. I nodded at his request, while shoving a heap of yumminess in my mouth, as Jay said his goodnights and headed to his room.

After shoving my face and sending my wonderful mother a thank you text, I received a text in return, but it was from my father instead.

I would like to talk with you, but I know you are probably tired. Please set aside some time tomorrow to meet with your old man.

I responded with a quick,
yes sir,
and headed off to take a well-deserved shower.

Looking in the mirror, I saw a dreadful excuse for a man. My eyes were sunken in and bloodshot. My chin was covered in scruff. I definitely needed a haircut.

Then I imagined her standing next to me, gazing at me in the mirror. I really needed to get my act together. What would she think of a scruffy, hollow of a man like myself? She probably wouldn’t give me a second glance with my appearance being so desolate.

As I waited for the water to warm, I thought about how sexy she would look with her silky skin covered in suds as they trailed slowly down the curves of her perfect body—tiny little bubbles popping as they skimmed around every sleek curve and crevice. That line of thinking was going to get me off rather quickly. My languid muscles were saying I was too tired for any sort of physical exertion, but my lustful mind was arguing that I needed the release.

Steam rose from the heated shower and I sighed in sheer bliss as I positioned myself directly under the spray. The hot water cascading down my body definitely made me feel more alive, if that’s even possible.

Every time I closed my eyes under the surging water, I saw her face. Her eyes were more vivid at this moment than ever before. Maybe it was my exhaustion. Maybe it was my lust-filled imagination. Whatever the reason, I didn’t want to open my eyes ever again and run the risk of losing sight of her beauty.

Touching myself while thinking of her touching me, I knew I wouldn’t last long. Within mere minutes, my visions of her had me climaxing.

Once sated, my body began to lull to the side and I caught myself on the cold tile wall. Falling asleep while standing in the shower was not a good idea. Startled by the sudden jerk of my head bobbing, I quickly finished up.

After I was clean and my belly was full, I let lethargy take over me. Lying face down in my pillow, I quickly created a rather large pool of drool as I lightly snored myself to sleep.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, which never surprised me but still had me gasping for air. Golden blond curls sprang around her face as she smiled, while riding a sleek, brown horse through a thicket of trees. The muscles of the horse tensed and flexed beneath her as she maneuvered the animal with affluence, causing its brown coat to shimmer in the moonlight. She guided the horse along the path with power and ease. Her splendor knows no bounds. What I wouldn’t give to be the one to put that smile on her face.

As much as I tried not to be the typical hungry male, I couldn’t help but notice her large, perfect breasts beneath the tank top she wore as they lightly sprang with the rhythm of her riding. Her heart-shaped backside in her tight jeans glided effortlessly against the saddle, bouncing in sync with the horse’s gait. Her taut legs hugged around the belly of the beautiful creature, controlling each and every move and holding on as if the horse was her life raft.

Wispy, amber waves danced behind her as the wind caught the locks. With grace and precision, she commanded the horse to stop, allowing the creature a moment to prance around before finally coming to a halt and settling into a powerful stance. When she turned her head to look at me, several curls wrapped around her face, causing her to flip her head back before looking in my direction again.

My vision quickly zoomed in to view her striking amethyst eyes. The shimmering purple irises delved into my soul, learning every secret, knowing every thought. Her eyes smiled and beckoned me to follow as she turned and urged the horse to trot forward again. I didn’t have a choice. Nor did I hesitate as I trailed behind her, unexpectedly on a horse of my own. I would follow her anywhere.

Suddenly, we were in front of a lake, glistening in the light of the moon. The way her silhouetted figure contrasted with the bright, shimmering reflection caused me to stop and take a deep breath. Even in the darkness, she was breathtaking.

Although she slowed the horse to a walk, she didn’t stop. She kept riding beyond the banks of the lake and further into the water. I watched her slow some more, thinking she would soon turn around. Instead, she unhurriedly, steadily, walked deeper into the lake, never turning back for me or to see if I would follow.

Within moments, her head sank under the low, lapping waves and her golden curls disappeared in the black water, like she had never existed. Not even a ripple disturbed the consistent crests of the water. The only light was the moon reflecting off the shimmering caps.

Desperate to see her again and frantic to save her from the cold, dark depths, I leapt off my horse and ran into the icy water after my heart. My love. My life.

Shock radiated through my bones and I was suddenly pulled back to reality. I woke up drenched in sweat, yet cold and shivering like my skin was covered with ice. My arms flung the sheets from my naked body as my teeth chattered in rhythm with my heart’s every beat.

I sat up and dangled my feet over the side of my bed, burying my face in my hands and attempting to calm myself.

A tear threatened to slip down my cheek and I immediately wiped it away, completely denying the fact that a dream caused me to lose control of my emotions. The fact was, though, she did this to me on a nightly basis. I was totally fucked up over a girl that didn’t even exist. Hell. I was in hell.

I sprang from bed and yanked my sweat-drenched sheets onto the floor in frustration over being so goddamn sensitive. The clock read four in the morning and unfortunately, there was no way I could get back to sleep now.

Turning on the lamps in the far corner of my room, I made my way to my easel and quickly turned my large drawing pad to a new page while simultaneously grabbing a piece of charcoal. Vigorously, and still without a stitch of clothing on, I scratched the charcoal all over the blank sheet until I could see her again.

My hand worked feverishly over the surface of the paper. Charcoal dug into the tooth of the Bristol, smudging only when I deliberately pressed the side of my hand and fingers against its surface. Little specks of coal rained down on the easel’s lip and onto the floor, turning my already soiled white drop cloth even more of a dingy gray color.

My hands were soon covered in black charcoal and smudges covered my face and arms as I occasionally wiped the sweat from my brow.

Once I felt she was nearly complete, I thumbed for a deep purple pastel and made the finishing touch.

“There,” I whispered as I wiped my hands together on a nearby rag.

Never taking my eyes off my new masterpiece, I backed slowly toward my bed and curled up on my pillow, continuing to stare at her magnificence and not caring that I now soiled my sheets with the coal that still lingered on my hands.

The horse was a truly majestic creature, but ever more resplendent was the rider. Even my rendition of her attractiveness took my breath away, although it didn’t do her beauty justice. I continued to lie there, staring at her loveliness, until it was time to get up for class.

Classes were of the norm the next day. I enjoyed going to school. So, overall, my day was fairly agreeable.

A girl in my advanced pottery class seemed to be enthralled with the new, commissioned job I had going, but unfortunately, I couldn’t tell whether she was attracted to the “reputation” I would gain from such a project, or if she was truly interested in me. Although, it really didn’t matter. She had no chance.

Her thoughts were a muffled state of disordered confusion, causing a headache to form in the base of my skull as she babbled on both verbally and mentally. I was thankful when our teacher told us we could spend the rest of the class working on our projects… which meant I could get the hell out of dodge.

Just as I was planning my escape, Miss. Blabber stopped me by grabbing my hand and asking if she could write her number on my palm. Totally against anyone marking me, I attempted politeness and handed her one of the Lavendine Studios business cards, which had my name and number displayed professionally on the front, stealthily avoiding the intrusion of ink on my skin.

“Thanks! I’ll call you later today,” she chirped as she turned and bounced away excitedly toward one of her girlfriends.

I rolled my eyes. Throughout all that, I didn’t even get her name—probably because I didn’t really care to.
I guess I will be screening my calls today.

The glaze firing I started last night had already shut off that morning, but would take several more hours before it was cool enough to vent. So, I camped out at Lavendine in order to keep an eye on things and crack the kiln lid when necessary.

I spent my idle time searching the Internet for decent prices on small amethyst gems. They wouldn’t do her eyes justice, but they would still be a great addition to the museum’s wall. Finding some that were a perfect size and a decent price, I didn’t hesitate as I placed the order and even paid extra to have it overnighted to my apartment.

Pressing the order button, I felt accomplished. Well, at least one thing got accomplished today.

Just as I got off the phone with the museum director about our upcoming meeting, my dad came walking into the studio with his mind wide open for me to read, which was odd for him to do. However, there were several other members in Lavendine that day and I imagine he was here for a reason other than to shoot-the-shit with me… He was here to talk about something important, I was sure.

I know you are busy, but I really need to talk to you
, he projected. The problem was that this would end up being a completely one-sided conversation if I couldn’t talk back to him out loud. My dad was very talented, but he was not able to read minds like I was.

“I’m just hanging out here to watch the kiln, which should be ready to vent within the next hour or two. You’re more than welcome to keep me company,” I said in an attempt to let him know I wasn’t purposefully trying to blow him off. “I’d actually like to tell you about my current project and an idea I have that I want to run by the museum board.”

“I would like that,” he said out loud as he pulled a stool up to my desk and sat across from me—a smile of pride spread across his face. Then it dawned on me… my father had never been here to watch me work. He came for the opening over a year ago and that was the last time he had stepped foot in this place. I knew he was proud of me, which caused me to wonder what his reason was for keeping his distance.

I gently closed my laptop and began rambling. “Well, you heard my plans for the sculpture… with all the frogs, right?” He nodded, so I continued. “They are in the kiln now. Should be cooled enough by late tonight,” I said as I gestured over my shoulder toward the firing room with my thumb.

I continued, telling him about the amethyst eyes and how I hoped the museum board of directors would approve it. The museum had a huge, octagon-shaped skylight at the very top of their foyer’s vaulted ceilings. The way the light would hit them through the windows in the vaulted ceiling would be breathtaking, for sure.

“Sounds magnificent, son,” he said with honesty as he continued in his thoughts.
I actually wanted to talk to you about the very same subject.
Once he ended his thoughts, he placed my most recently filled small, tattered sketchbook onto the desktop, propping his fingers atop the cover as an emphasis towards its contents.