Ayoung man on a cruiser bicycle passed me on the street that led to the local high school. I don’t know how old he was, maybe 15 or 17? He had wild black curls, a thin nose, and a dusting of facial hair across the top of his upper lip.
He stared right at me and made eye contact, not because he cared to look at me, but because he wanted me to see him so I wouldn’t run him over.
I was surprised at his gaze.
No one actually looks at me anymore, I’m an old woman, too old to look at, especially for a 15 or 17-year-old young man.