A little drabble from the other night

Some people have a great sense of hearing. Others can taste a multitude of flavors. Me, I can see faces where no faces exist.

I've always had this odd ability to find faces. A bit of mussed paint on the wall. A crumpled towel on the bathroom floor. Oil in a puddle. Berries in a muffin. For some reason, my eyes seek them out so clearly. While fodder for my imagination as a child, the ability has become quite problematic of late.

See, the faces are beginning to look back at me.

For as long as I can remember there has a been a young man in the folds of my shower curtain. He's always stared forlornly at his reflection in the mirror, as if hoping he could wipe the tiny yellow flowers from his brow. Long ago I dubbed him the Reluctant Hippie, because I fancy myself as funny. Through hot showers and warm baths, the Reluctant Hippie keeps staring sadly. Until recently.

One morning, I walked into the bathroom and the Reluctant Hippie had turned to stare out the window. It wasn't just a tilt of the shower curtain, or a trick of the light. The face had turned. Somehow. This ordinary morning the face in the shower curtain had made the decision to look out the window. I stared for a long moment, wondering just what sort of response was appropriate. Do I scream in fright? Do I run in terror? Do I destroy the shower in a fit of anger? Do I find out just what is so interesting out the window?

In the end, curiosity won out. I edged around the curtain and peered out the window, looking for anything that would draw the attention of an inanimate image of a face. The view was the same as any morning. The same gray blue sky. The same thorny tree. There was nothing extraordinary. No wildly colored birds or floating balloons. Not even a passing airplane to draw the attention of my shower curtain face. I turned to check and from here it was even more apparent that the Reluctant Hippie was staring resolutely towards the window. I bent a little, trying to line up just where his gaze ended and then turned back to the window.

Which is when I saw it. A new face. A smear of paint and condensation which made up the visage of a very angry man. A very angry man who was glaring right at me. I blinked and turned back around to the hippie in the shower curtain. It was painfully obvious now that he hadn't just turned to face the window, he his whole expression had changed. He wasn't sad anymore.

He was scared.