Eyes--the windows to the soul--the tool to perceiving our surroundings. My father’s...deep brown and inviting, warm and alluring. They’re the same color as the Birkenstocks he wore holes into. They’re the same color as the toast he makes himself for breakfast on Sundays. They’re the same color as the soil that nourishes the garden he tends to each summer.
My mother’s eyes are icy blue and gray. They’re cold and discomforting. They make my stomach wrench in uneasiness and distress when they’re full of rage and disapproval. They’re two ice cubes that melt when she dwells on her past pains.
My sister’s eyes are two brown caterpillars with yellow dots in a perfect circle. They’re small and beady, harsh and judgmental. Her left eye drifs off into the abyss. It looks left while her other eye stares me down. They disappear under chubby cheeks as she bursts into a booming giggle.
My brother and I have different eyes. Our heterochromia iridum grants us two colors instead of one. A light brown and fiery orange radiate from the pupil. The rest of our eyes are a blend of graceful green, beautiful blue, charming charcoal gray, and bewitching brown. The hue of our eyes fluctuates like the weather over the course of a week in Wisconsin.
Eyes--the windows to the soul--the tool to perceiving our surroundings. My family’s are warm and alluring, icy and cold, small and beady, colorful and radiant. They are fingerprints… one of a kind.