Eye Contact, Or Why Staring is Rude

Vanessa and I have a huge farmhouse table in our kitchen. It’s so long you can catch a bus from one end to the other. When we got it (and Lord knows why we did, as I absolutely hate having anyone eat with us), Vanessa had images of us snuggling up together at one end to eat. Yeah, right.
My preference is for us to sit at either end and, with the centre holding a candelabra, assorted flowers (Vanessa’s idea), and condiments to put a fish shop to shame, we can’t actually see each other when we sit down. (We also light the table with nothing but the candelabra, putting the far ends of the table – where we sit – into deep gloom. Some evenings I’m not even sure what’s on my plate, it’s so dark). That all suits me fine and Vanessa and I have many and varied conversations whilst sitting so far away from each other that we have different post codes for the evening.
You’ll have gathered by now that I don’t necessarily want to look at the person I’m speaking to. Actually, I don’t necessarily want to be in the same room as the person I’m speaking to, but Vanessa has drawn the line at shouting through the walls. It confused the dog.
Most non-human animals don’t stare at each other and, if they do, it means ‘I’m bigger, stronger, and fitter than you are and if you don’t move sharpish I’m going to give you a good pasting’. (It’s called non-verbal communication. See, I’m meant to be hopeless at that but I’ve got this animal staring thing down, no problem.) Not unreasonably, I don’t exactly want all that hassle from Vanessa at the dinner table.
The trouble is, even through staring between humans doesn’t always mean you’re about to lose your teeth, that’s all it means to me. And just to clarify, staring is looking. It doesn’t have to be for long before I feel it like a physical assault.
Apparently, staring at someone with autism stimulates a part of the brain called the amygdala, which controls the fear response. Put simply, staring can frighten the beejezus out of an autistic. Does out of me anyway.
So if I’m talking to you, I’ll do one of two things. If I’m comfortable, I’ll just look away as we talk. It’s polite (to me) and keeps my stress level to a manageable panic. Or, if I’m less sure of you, I’ll obey the rule and lock eyes for the duration of our conversation – a bit like a zombie would do but without the over-the-top menace or rotting flesh, obviously. This can be unsettling I realise but, hey, it’s either all or nothing with me.
I don’t even like magazines with pictures of people that gaze out from the page. I cover them up or draw sunglasses on them to avert their stare. I’m not always the most popular guy in dentist’s waiting rooms as a result of this.
If eyes, as the poets tell us, are the gateway to the soul, then please, keep it covered up. Unless you are sitting at the opposite end of a table so long you become a mere speck in the distance, in which case, you can do what you like. Vanessa could eat dinner naked for all I know, although, just for the record, she probably doesn’t.