By Jessica Scott
He sees her across the street sitting at an outdoor table of a restaurant. He sits on a step leading to the art museum. He’s been there for about ten minutes. He first noticed her as he got his cup of coffee to go. She was coming in as he was leaving and he had held the door open for her and her friend. She had come in last and looked at him as she said thank you. Her arm had brushed his by accident as she passed by him, and he could still feel the area where her skin had met his. He watched as the women walked to a table outside and took note of where they sat. That was when he had walked across the street to the museum steps. Something about this particular woman had captured his attention. He wanted to watch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She laughs at something being said by her friend. At least, he thinks the other woman is her friend. Both women are pretty but there’s something undefinable about her. He can’t quite decide what it is that has attracted him. He can’t stop watching her. Every so often she pushes a lock of her long, dark hair out of her face because it keeps falling forward, getting in her way. She seems unconscious of having to do it so many times. He’s already counted six instances of it. What is it about her that holds him spellbound? He continues to watch her to see if he can find the answer.
Her laugh is genuine, her smile lights up her whole face. She seems to glow in the fading sunlight as if she’s absorbed the sun’s radiance and has trapped it inside her body. He smiles in response to her laugh. Who wouldn’t smile with that much joy being unconsciously released and shared? It’s infectious. He takes a sip of his coffee.
Every so often he catches the sound of her voice. Gentle, well-modulated, she has a voice made for listening to. It’s a soothing voice, he thinks. He’d love to listen to her reading in bed at night before falling asleep, or whispering those soft sounds lovers tend to make to each other in the depths of the night. Does she even have a lover to make those sounds to? How could she not? If he can’t keep his eyes off of her how could any other man?
Suddenly, she turns her head and looks at him across the street. Is she actually looking at him? From this distance it’s hard to tell but he thinks she is. A small smile graces her face. She lowers her head in a gesture of shyness but then looks back at him again. A pink blush colors her cheeks. He smiles at her. She smiles back. He dares a small wave. She lifts the hand on her lap just a little, her fingers waving in response. She is looking at him. His heart beats faster. Her friend continues to talk to her, unaware of the silent communication going back and forth across the street. He bows his head briefly, the smile on his face growing larger. He remembers her eyes from before when he held the door open and she had looked at him. They were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He had felt as if he could drown in them and not care at all. They had looked at him and he’d felt as if she had seen through to his soul, as if she had seen both the dark and the light of him, the end and the beginning of his life. And now she had those soul searching eyes trained on him. He had never felt more alive, or more like dying, than he did then.
© 2014 Jessica Scott.
All Rights Reserved.