| Hers is beauty |
I am tired of trying to be clever, I just want to tell the damn story the way I remember it. It's about space and timing although some of you will think it is about a man and a woman. I guess it is about that too, but mostly it is about space and timing.
It doesn't start the way great stories start. It wasn't raining and I don't think it was that cold outside either. I didn't have my poncho or my umbrella. I just had me. I was wearing flip flops one size too large. Blue and worn, I don't think anybody ever noticed they were just a bit too big for me. My jeans were ripped near my heel from dragging on the ground and my shirt was beginning to fade from too many washings. I didn't think about meeting her that night but like I said, this story is about timing.
And space.
She was pretty. She had brown eyes and they were something to look at but you wouldn't stop breathing if she looked at you or anything. I liked the way she dressed, in jeans and some shirt of some sort. For whatever reason it didn't seem fake on her, she wasn't trying to be what she was, she was just being it. You have no idea how attractive that was to me at that moment. How many times do we meet people who just slither around in their own skin trying so hard to project some fantasy image they have of themselves on to you. As if you care. As if you would give a damn that they really can't afford that watch or that those shoes. I don't know maybe it's just me. Maybe it's because I wear flip flops from Reject Shop that are one size too big.
So we started talking. How that came to be isn't so important. We started talking about football and life and she had opinions. Not your everyday opinions like "I don't like Arsenal because they sucks" or "French are divers." No, she had real reasons for her opinions, like something about the quality of the players Sir Alex was bringing in in the transitional season and she rattled off some startling information about the problems of 4-5-1 formation. It wasn't in that huffy puff way that some people do things. You know that way when people know something they get loud and excited and slam down the information upon your ears with triumphant arm waving. She did none of that.
The movements of her lips were nice and full formed they moved comfortably on her face. Sometimes I have noticed women speak quickly as if speaking were a crime or that their lips can only be perfect in the position they were in when the final bit of lip gloss was applied. She had such a beautiful slight smile that enchanted me a good four feet away. What if it was raining and I had an umbrella to protect her? I wonder. |
|
|
|
|
|
posted by Afnie at 
