Staring Contest

He was dropping her off. The car pulled up by the curb.

”So I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, “I better get out of here before you get a ticket.”

He smiled. They shared half a second of eye contact.

Years before, when they were both fourteen, they would sit in his mom’s kitchen for hours trying to outstare each other. Whoever blinked or looked away first, lost. They would giggle, or say gross stuff, or pretend like somebody was behind the other person. Sometimes, they would just stare in silence, smiling.

Even though she knew it best was when they were both fourteen, he had the same smile throughout his entire life.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk