Upon entering the small, elegant restaurant on the corner of Main Street and Luxembourg Avenue, I took note of the dusty quality of the Persian rugs that rested on the floor. Stepping around them carefully, I nodded in the direction of the business partner I was meeting on that cold, crisp December day. December always reminded me of the cemetery: empty streets outlined the skeletons of lonely skyscrapers, which blended into the gray sky that bore down on us. It seemed to stretch out clammy, feely hands, only to withdraw them as it realized no one was reaching back. For some reason the moody sky always made me delightfully giddy; it seemed to look down all the common folk, but it's gloominess never got to me. I always was very observant of my surroundings; I had to be. I checked my watch twice before I shook the hand of Wolfe, the man whom I shared my fortune with. It had been a long, gritty business that Wolfe and I started up five years ago. We had both gotten our fair share of beatings and police reports and screaming, rotating sirens, but both he and I agreed that it was worth every bawling baby. We were filthy rich, and we were proud. Our money was dirty, and that’s exactly how we wanted it.
I remember feeling slightly unsettled as I took my seat. Something was off, that much I knew for sure, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. Ignoring the foreboding sensation, I ordered a drink without looking the small, plump waitress in the eyes--I could feel her admiring smile pouring over my Italian tailor made suit, but I made it clear that she would have no chance with me. I, the Beautiful Buckingham, took only the fairest of ladies. As that thought crossed my brilliant mind, I took a deep glance around the room to scope for a vulnerable goddess. It was then that I locked eyes with the personification of my darkest nightmares.
He sat alone at a table, dressed from head to toe in the most exquisite material that I had ever seen. Feeling greed bubble up inside me, I tore my eyes away from his luxurious suit to examine his face. I felt the color drain from my complexion as I blinked rapidly--no, it couldn’t be true. Closing my eyes shut tightly, I pleaded that I might wake up, but alas it was no dream. Reopening my eyes, I took in pale skin which rivaled the purest of ivories. I found myself trapped in the deep, dark pools that rest in the middle of his face. They were not eyes, no--they were crystal balls looming out from under his forehead. Inside them, intuition paced back and forth as God’s wrath supervised. I saw the deepest, darkest horrors of the human soul by looking through those eyes. Not even I, the Brilliant Buckingham, can begin to describe to you what it is that I saw. Suddenly, I was falling, spiraling into a dark, deep pit, screaming a garbled script. This can’t be happening. He opened his mouth--no, it was no mouth, it was a black hole sent to destroy all humanity--and I passed out.
Waking up, I noticed that the chandelier on the ceiling at which I was staring had one single burnt-out lightbulb out of the two hundred and seven which illuminated the grand hall. I was laying on the filthy, disgusting Persian rug, and with a grunt I picked myself up and dusted myself off. Hmph, I hmphed. Disgusting.
“Buck, you okay?” inquired Wolfe. “What happened?”
Peering around cautiously, I saw no sign of the phantom that had startled me, and so I replied with a simple, to-the-point nod of the head. I turned my gaze slowly to the spot in which The Man had been sitting. In his place, dressed in the finest material that I had ever seen, sat a sophisticated young fellow with spectacles and a nametag that read, “Dr. T. J. Eckleburg.” The doctor gave me the creeps. I could almost feel his eyes inspecting me.
Shaking my head to myself, I realized that I was being crazy. The Man had only been a delusion; I hadn’t gotten much sleep lately. It was just a young doctor, sitting at a round table by himself.
I grew angry with myself for thinking that something supernatural had been watching me. I needed to get some fresh air; I was feeling dizzy. My Italian leather shoes clacked across the wooden floors as I quickly stomped out of the restaurant, cursing the entire staff for the disgustingly piggish and unkept decor.
From that day forward, the unsettled feeling never left me. I felt as if I could still feel those giant black saucers penetrating my thoughts. I was being followed. I was sure of it.
The Eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg
The Eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg