The Girl with Lost Eyes By
Steve Aman
The crowd raged like some rhythmic battle as the last band ruled the stage. People bounced and swayed, hands expressing their gratification with a fist or single digit. The sound of it was grand and over powering, it was a constant, pulsing thunder of pure rock adrenaline. All around, everyone seemed pleased. I could see that most had been within the chaotic mass for the previous nine hours, yet still the energy was high. It seemed that in this festival, at this moment, anarchy and order merged into one. They became something pure and uninhibited. They became something extraordinary.Jon and I were a part of this great thing, always finding our place near the front, the stage never far. The day had flowed, and we let the waves carry us, riding from band to band, from song to song. For today, this place, this Estacada Timber Bowl, was our whole world and we were everyone and anyone. I watched the faces, so diverse and ever changing, as young wilds mixed in with old wilds. The facade of the crowd was a jumbled blend of long hair rockers and baldheaded Gen-Xers, yet sandwiched in the middle was indefinable, the classless music lover. Still the diversity was not present, the barriers were dissolved, for every climate of life, every division of style was here, and all for one singular reason, the music. Quickly, though, that reason transformed into something more, and then it wasn’t just about the music anymore, it was about the energy. It was an unseen energy; one that burned through the crowd as if each person was part of a conduit. It seemed that everyone felt it and knowingly channeled it.
To me, one of the finest expressions of this power was the crowd surfing. Throughout the day, Jon and I had tossed what seemed like a infinite number women and men up on to the crowd. Once there, we would watch as arms reached and pushed the surfer’s body, tossing it about like a stuffed doll. The sight was incredible, each body seemed to float on a bed of hands, and no matter where they went this bed stayed beneath. So many palms and fingers raised, all reaching out for one purpose, to keep the surfer up. The vision of it was like watching some alien rite to passage, strange and powerful.
As cloudy, booming rock played, we continued to fling girls and guys onto the crowd, creating new surfers with each toss. So many bodies, so many faces; after a while we stopped paying attention and just catapulted them upward, our bodies feeling like part of some bizarre assembly line. It went the same way each time, the would-be surfer taps Jon or I on the shoulder, we turn and calculate a weight to velocity ratio in our minds, throw them up, and then let the rest of the masses take over, fueling the surfer onward. This whole process usually went in spurts, we would launch about five people, then there would be a break, then another four. And through that whole time there wasn’t a moment I didn’t love. Beyond that, there wasn’t a second the fierce energy wasn’t there.
About halfway through the last band’s set, with the shadow of dusk pushing down on us, Jon received a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned, as I did, to gaze upon a very striking girl. She stared at Jon, giving me only a glimpse of her face, but the profile alone was enough for me to know smoothness of her features.
“I know you,” she said, her voice sounding unsure. “You were there.” Even as she spoke the words she seemed to want to take them back. I could hear the confusion in each sound.
Jon stared back at the young girl, his high brow creased, obviously a bit baffled. He answered with a noncommittal, “okay.”
She turned from him and began to look around, still I received no clear sight of her face.
“What did she say?” I asked Jon, thinking I hadn’t heard it all.
“I was there,” Jon said, raising his tanned shoulders in a shrug.
I gave Jon a crooked smile and turned back to the stage. A few seconds passed, and I felt a jab at my shoulder, it was Jon and the girl. This time I stole a better look at her, and she was indeed as I thought; very beautiful. My eyes also found something disturbing about her, but before I could place it Jon pointed into the dark sky and mouthed the word ‘up.’ So, with an easy heave we put her on top and watched.
She leaned back and let the crowd take her, trusting fully in the strength of the people. Her bright white T-shirt allowed me to keep her floating form within sight at all times. The girl rolled and turned, riding the mob, bathing in the power of it. I cringed when I saw her drop as she neared the front, but my relief arrived as I saw her reappear and reach the metalwork of the stage. Once close enough, one of the yellow clad event security pulled her out of the crowd and onto the walkway bordering the stage. As her feet touched a solid surface once more, the last band began an acoustic version of ‘Slight Hint.’ Languidly, she began walk back toward the audience, when the lead singer said something and motioned for her. The security obliged and put her up on stage.
“She’s on the stage!” I said dumbfounded, my blue eyes wide with astonishment.
Jon nodded, his thin lips hiding a large grin as best they could.
We watched as she began to get into the music, her feminine body feeling each beat and each note. With her arms, hips, and head, she created an intimate motion that swam in the loud rhythm. I stared as if being hypnotized. She moved like a gypsy temptress, as if the music was a strong wind blowing her body into motion. Each flicker of movement was relaxed and fluid, her dance like something from forgotten times that few remember.
During her time on stage, some one threw up a worn Dodgers hat, almost like a offering. The girl snatched it up and wore it well, her thick curls draping down out the back. Not a moment after, another worshiper tossed up a pair of dark glasses, again she snapped them up and put them on, her face partially hidden but still alluring. My eyes stood glued to the girl, a clear connecting truth flashing before me; she belonged up there; close, but out of reach. She fit, her place so obvious to me. There was more too, I admired her, but not in a dark way. I longed to be in a similar state of being, the state in which she dwelt so easily.
The girl continued her magnificent ballet until the song ended. She was then escorted off the stage and vanished into the crowd. That was the last I thought I would see of her.
Then she came back.
A few minutes after she vanished into the roaring fans, she appeared beside me, the hat still resting on her midnight curls. I turned, this time not just looking at her, but really seeing her. Her smooth tan face laced with soft perfect features, was even more beautiful than I had previously thought. The thin brows were like dark horizons above her starry eyes. Her slender neck drove my eyes downward for a moment, parading lightly across khaki shorts and down her muscular legs. Raising my head back up, I stared at her, and she stared back. It was then I saw what had disturbed me earlier, her eyes. Her deep brown eyes were so lost, so utterly lost. They would look from side to side as if searching for answers which continued to escape her. The crowd raged and she pushed her body against me. My hands found her slim waist with a gentle smoothness that was rare for me, the girl didn’t pull away. She opened her mouth exposing a gleaming silver stud, as if to say something, but losing it before it could be spoken. Still, her eyes searched. I felt her confusion, the complexity of it burrowing deep within her. Lightly swaying within my hands, she looked so fragile and yet so strong, as if her mind was upon some great journey far away from this world. Finally, a thought cleared her haze and she pointed a finger up into the sleeping sky.
Acknowledging her without speech, I motioned Jon over. The girl dropped the hat onto my head, as Jon and I began to raise her up. There was something dancing in her eyes in that moment, something swimming within those lost seas, something that seemed to plead with me, carefully saying, ‘be here when I get back.’ After that look, she turned her head and we pitched her into the ocean of ready hands. Again, I watched her, pausing only to shoot another body on top. When she reached the stage, I began to hope for her return, but inside I knew it was a foolish wish. My gut felt odd, twisting with a strange longing for her. The feeling was foreign and different, I tried unsuccessfully to dismiss it.
Then she came back.
The girl with lost eyes came back.
I turned to see who had decided to plant themselves next to me and it was her. My chest contracted as it never had before, the sight of her filling some part of me I never knew was alive. I was lost in quiet amazement.
With the help of the crowd I pulled her close to me and looked into those lost eyes. I could feel a growing need to help her, an urging that I was suppose to help her. Again my hands were upon her, resting firmly on her hips. We stood face to face, her body still swaying gently in my grasp. Those eyes of hers still exploring, although I now understood there was no destination for them to find. Her brown eyes just searched in confusion, connecting with mine every other glance. I felt mesmerized by her. My lips longed to kiss her softly, to hold her tightly in my bare arms. I wanted her in a deep and different way, a way understood only by warm oceans and cool winds. It was a love, that wasn’t love. A lust, that wasn’t lust. The feeling was an indescribable energy, circling within me. My hands slid about her waist in a more protective fashion, holding her a fraction tighter. Still she did not speak, her mouth opening only when she tilted her head back to the canvas of stars. I spoke no words either, somehow knowing it would spoil the moment. My emotions were flaring like fireworks, but I made no move. I just held her, relishing the warm feel of her form.
Finally, as one song ended and another began, she raised a slender finger and pointed to once more to the twinkling heavens. I gulped a breath of night air, staring again at the girl’s wandering eyes, watching the cold uncertainty of her face. Standing there with her outstretched finger, she seemed almost afraid, as if she had ventured too long out of her element. Tender worry filled her face, until that last sad moment when Jon and I began to raise her above. Once upon the bed of finger tips and sweaty hands, she never looked back. For a third time I watched her, my insides begging for her return. She continued on though, finding the stage as she always had. The girl with lost eyes had made it again.
For the remainder of the rock festival, my blue eyes hunted for her, always awaiting her reappearance. She never came back, though. I only caught a short glimpse of her as she weaved her way through the crowd. At that moment, she was probably only fifteen feet away, and I burned to chase after her, to hold her once more, but I didn’t. Something within, something that dwelt far deeper than the strongest emotion, held me back, its fierce grip calming me, telling not to tempt such matters further. I did as it wanted, hating myself intensely for letting this girl I was so drawn to, just slip away. Still, the night went on, and the end finally came. Yet as I discovered, endings do not always mean that everything is done. Some things are never done, and some memories never fade.
I will never forget the girl with lost eyes.
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