It’s funny how a pair of eyes can mesmerize you; keep you lost in their deepness, their serenity. I still can’t quite fathom the spell Jesse Rothstone’s eyes have over me...or maybe I should say had. He didn’t even have to glance in my direction for me to be short of breath, or to flush red uncontrollably. Just seeing his aquamarine gaze fixed on something in the same vicinity as me was almost too much to handle. A force I wasn’t ready to reconcile with just then.


To the average person his eyes were just normal, a C on an algebra test. You had to really take them in, like a child studies a dinosaur exhibit. Make sure to take in the clarity of the light blue, the sanctity of the tiny green dabbed in the middle. It’s a trunk of treasure hidden in the deepest of all woods.


The last time I saw Jesse Rothstone was a time I will never forget. I spotted him from the stone bench I was reading from, the wind blew his blonde sandy hair gently. He was on the shores of the beach wading his feet in the icy water. The sun shone down infiltrating his eyes, making them shine like the brightest star you could ever imagine. He looked in my direction and for a split second his eyes penetrated my own. I shivered and quickly turned my attention back to my book. Now I wish I would have stared a bit longer. Wish I would have taken advantage of our pupils crashing together like the waves he was dipping his feet under. That would be the last time I would ever see Jesse Rothstone’s eyes. The treacherous thing keeping me from my guilty pleasure was a funeral, his to be exact.


The Sunday after our moment at the beach there was a car accident. I wondered what the last thing his incredible eyes got to gaze at before he passed, the bright lights of the thirty thousand pound semi about to ram his bright yellow Jeep was most likely the culprit. However, I hope that his eyes caught something in the distance, the perfect distraction. Maybe he glanced over to the large field right next to the highway and got to witness something truly great. Perhaps he saw a deer walking for the first time, his eyes fixated on the wobbly legs of the doe instead of the tragedy of the sight in front of him. Got to witness life before he realized the crash would be the death of him.


At his burial the pastor gave a speech on how great of a person he was, what types of charity work he did, even his views on life. He was a son, a brother, a nephew, a grandson, and a wonderful friend. People sobbed over his casket, his motionless body clothed in a simple black tux, his eyelids closed hiding his best quality. Once it was my turn to say goodbye up at the casket I froze. To him I was just another faceless classmate, couldn’t even be labeled under acquaintance, doomed by the words I hadn’t the courage to speak. I wanted to tell him everything I’ve told you. I longed to tell him he had the most beautiful eyes in the entire universe. I yearned to ask him if he could see the world as a better place with such perfect round eyes. Questions that would never be answered, a message in a bottle lost out at sea.


But now that I’m thinking about it, finally letting my thoughts and feelings out, I will be able to see Jesse’s eyes whenever I like. He’s in the rivers and streams, that light blue still as piercing as ever. His eyes inhabit the riches of the forests. He’s the green ivy trailing down the gigantic tree. I can look up at the sky anytime I wish and know that his precious eyes are watching over me, maybe even protecting me with their beauty. That's twice as true at night, the sky being the only true place the sparkles in his eyes really belonged. He gleams out from behind the 8x11 picture by his casket, the foam green background making his eyes pop out even more, if possible. Beautiful. Proud.

To this day I still have no reasoning as to why this tragedy shaped my views the way it did, or why his death meant a rebirth in my life. All I know is that nothing will ever be as beautiful to anyone the way Jesse Rothstone’s eyes were beautiful to me.