Of the Third Eye

He could feel her third eye staring at him. Her other, lower, eyes guided her hands in rolling silverware into paper napkins, but her third eye watched him. He had to remind himself that the eye didn’t know him. It only suspected him. While it’s true that a third eye sees more clearly, truly knowing someone was a tough business and he felt secure that there had not been time enough or effort enough for that.

Still it made him uncomfortable.

She stood there looking to all the world like a waitress - rolling and rolling and rolling silverware - but it was plain to him as it would be to anyone else who bothered to look that she was more than she appeared to be. She was more powerful than that.

He adjusted himself in the booth. He took a sip of coffee. He felt that eye staring.

He had to admit to himself that he was no expert on third eyes. His had only opened once, briefly, at a friend’s apartment. He’d tried mushrooms for the first and only time and had spent the night on the apartment’s balcony overlooking the city. It was quite an experience, but one made cloudy by the use of drugs. She, this waitress, didn’t seem to need drugs How clearly she must see! He had to admit a certain jealousy.

This was surely something he would have to tell Alice. He didn’t know when he’d see her, of course, but he’d remember and he’d tell her. The girl with the black hair and the third eye. Alice would get a kick out of that.

Alice might not believe him, of course, but she’d get a kick out of it. Of that he was sure.

He wondered why it was he out of all the people in the restaurant that drew her attention. He thought it was perhaps because he was alone and everyone else was in pairs or in small groups. He wondered if she was trying, in her way, to be with him. To keep him company. But then another thought struck him. Maybe her third eye could see not only him, but everyone else too. Maybe what seemed to be special attention was not. Maybe she could see...wow...in that case her power was even greater than he’d imagined.

His coffee was cold and for a moment he thought of waving to her for more, but immediately realized she must already know. She knew yet she kept rolling. Oh well, he didn’t take it as a slight. She had things to do. Responsibilities. Plus he’d had enough coffee. She must know that too.

Yes, plenty of coffee. He looked at his hands and saw they were shaking.