Preface: I want feedback, as I want this first chapter to make you beg for the second chapter, or else I'm not doing my job.
Warning, it is the first chapter of a novel. So it reads like one also. Not much "action", but I feel like it makes up for it in psychological awareness.
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Chapter 1: On my way to work
The walk from my apartment to the hospital is one of my favorite times of day. As a 4th year surgical resident, I don't get much consistency in my days, due to emergency surgeries, extended shifts, and so on. But on my walk to work, everyone rushes, and rarely looks up from their phones. It is rare that someone walks by me on the sidewalk that I haven't seen at the same time each morning for the past 4 years.
Throughout my life, I've found that the only quality more important than consistency, is control. Has any war been won, any disease cured, without someone spending their life aiming to control what is around him, whether that is the enemy or a disease? For me, I'm not entirely sure when I developed this desire, or even this need, for the utmost control of my life. It has laid its possessive hand in every aspect in my life. My career, my routines, my relationships. As for my career and daily routines, I believe control is the reason I thrive at what I do. But I have found its role in relationships to be more troublesome. That is, for others, not for me. The thing about control, is that there are no lines drawn. The ends seem to justify the means, as long as the goal is desired strongly enough. And this is where my need for both consistency and control begin to conflict. When I become surrounded by consistency, the uncivilized, unpolished part of me begins to seek out ways to control things (or people) that seem out of reach. Which leads us to my route to work this morning.
As I walked along, I noticed someone I had never seen walking out of the corner coffee shop. She wasn't dressed in the greys or blacks like most of the women on my block headed to work. The woman on the sidewalk was wearing a colorful dress that seemed more for her enjoyment than for the people around her: a rare quality, especially at 6:30 in the morning on a busy street. The dress reminded me of an Ingrid Michaelson song. She is about 20 feet from me and I try reading the name on her coffee cup, but she is too far away and the ink looks smudged. I see her eyes meet mine, then hers turn to the man in front of me then back to me before the ground in front of her. I watch as she glances back and realizes that I haven't looked away from her. She quickly takes out her cell phone and does a decent job pretending to be distracted. I know this game. She is going to look at the screen until she is 5 feet from me, when she will then feel socially safe enough to quickly glance to see if I was still looking at her. She did, and I was.
I meant to take another look at her coffee cup, but I was more intrigued with her expression as she looked up. I could tell that I made her uncomfortable, and I loved it. Instead of looking back down, we kept gaze for about 3 seconds, which is probably 2.5 seconds more than she usually allows herself. Green eyes with tan olive skin. When we were past each other, I considered looking back to see if she was brave enough to do the same, but then decided to avoid the cliché. I had to get to work, so I left it alone and continued on.
The next morning, I saw her again leaving the same coffee shop, and she saw me. This time when saw each other, she looked away so fast that it was obvious I had caught her. It was like she was looking for me, and was embarrassed when I knew it. People say first impressions matter most, but I've found it depends on your intentions. My first impression of her only fairly intrigued me. It wasn't her short dress or her figure, but my interest came from watching her own surprise that she'd allowed herself to make eye contact with a strange man for so long. However, I could already tell this morning that she knew she may see me again. This means that she could prepare, and that's where second impressions become more telling. If she wished to pretend yesterday morning's encounter didn't happen, she could merely walk by me, and we'd both know it was the end of our brief thirty-second sidewalk acquaintance. But this was not the case, and she made it more obvious than she knew.
As I said yesterday, the purpose of her dress seemed to be to keep her mood light and cheery. It was colorful enough for her to not be taken seriously, and she seemed fine with it. But this morning, whether she meant to or not, she was dressed for me. Instead of appearing bubbly and innocent again, her dress told me she wanted me to look, and I knew she was going to try her hardest to hide her intent. She was already prepared with her cell-phone and coffee in hand, doing a fairly convincing job of seeming occupied. But I was waiting for the millisecond-long look she was planning on striking me with to see if I was going to do the same. But I'm not interested in this nervous-appearing social ritual. My eyes didn't leave her face. When the moment came, I made sure she saw the whites of my eyes. This way, she could see my smirk that portrayed that I knew what she was trying to do. I also made sure that her eyes watched mine move slowly down her body. Then at last second before I passed her, I brought my eyes up back to her nervous and blushing face.
I wanted her to know that whether or not she wore that body-tight dress for me, I slowly and greedily enjoyed it. But nowhere in this morning's encounter did I smile. A smile is friendly, but I have no interest in becoming friends with her. It wouldn't be fair for my face to portray good intentions when the rest of me clearly was somewhere else. After seeing her face respond to my gaze this morning, I think she understood this. Her response, well, that would come tomorrow.
