Friday, August 31, 2012

Those Eyes

I went to work with my dad when I was five. He drove a blue Buick Century. We were on Airport Road. I stared into the sun. My first pair was Oakley Frogskins with purple frames and orange lenses. The last pair I lost is at the bottom of the North River near the rope swing. I don’t remember the view from behind them. I looked good. Then I found a pair of Ray-Bans on the counter at the Paperback Booksmith. I worked there. They looked like stretched out Wayfarers. I threw them down on the stairs outside Clark Athletic Center. I was ineligible to play soccer. Their hue was dark. I looked good. I owned Oakleys, Arnettes, Diesels, Black Flys, and a few off the $2 to $20 rack. 

I own three pair of sunglasses. I keep one pair because I didn’t lose them. This pair has a silver frame with maroon arms and maroon lenses. I wanted to look good. That’s the worst. Another pair is Arnettes. These are my shooting glasses. They have a silver frame with blue lenses. Their shade makes a blue day happy. I bought Oakleys to go skiing at Stowe. They hurt my head. I wear them when I ride the bicycle I borrowed. My eyes water at 13 miles. My head hurts at 14. This pair has a dark orange frame with an orange lenses.

Clark Rockefeller
They have a limited function. I hang them on my collar. I push them up with my pointer finger. I take them off in tunnels. Inside too. And at night. I take them off when I talk to you. My look doesn’t need them. I don’t wear sunglasses anymore.

The handsome devil is responsible for the Ray-Ban Wayfarer trend.

Tell me about your favorite pair.