Okay, so I may have lost my brains. Suddenly I am overcome to write about something lovey-dovey. This story is fictional. Any resemblence to living persons, bla bla bla. The usual. Agh. Don't ask, okay?
Lovesick. That’s how I would describe my situation right now. Her eyes blink; once, twice. She rubs her fingers over her eyes, as if she could rub away the image permanently plastered at the back of her eyeballs. Sleepy eyes, a slight overbite and long, tapered fingers. A slightly loping gait and an easy smile.
Her breaths came in little puffs as she tried to warm her cold fingers. It was a bitterly cold day; one she rarely enjoyed and never delighted in. Perhaps I should just go ahead; maybe I shouldn’t be waiting like this.
She sighed; a sigh of a thousand unspoken words and a million concealed feelings. Her eyes scanned the surrounding area, waiting, hoping to see the man whose laugh could create flutters in her rather large stomach. Her feet stamped the ground a little; waiting is indeed cold business.
She amused herself by crossing her eyes in front of the window of a small stationery shop, looking and laughing at her own reflection. A few young people passed by; giving her strange looks. She knew they were looking and further amused herself by turning around and looking back; eyes crossed and everything. They immediately scuttled away hastily. Giggling with perverse delight, she covered her mouth with her hands.
Maybe that’s why I will never have a normal relationship. I resemble a large fruitcake. She laughed a little; a short, snorting sound.
Ah well. I’ll just hang around for a few more minutes and see if he shows up. Meanwhile, I shall go ahead and indulge in my stationery fetish.
She entered the shop with a feeling of slight foreboding. What if I stay here too long and he turns up and I end up missing him? She shook her head and muttered to herself, eliciting a frightened look from the Malay shop girl.
No, no. I am hardly that unlucky. But she made her excursion in the shop a quick one, just in case. She looked down at her handphone; it declared that he was exactly 15 minutes late. She sighed again. Wearily, she pulled out her MP3 player from her pocket and began to choose a more upbeat song than the dismally sad one she was listening to.
Her rather toothy smile spread across her face as she found the song she was looking for; an upbeat and ridiculously catchy number he had sent to her. That song always did remind her of his strange and appealing sense of humour.
She stared hard at the scene around her. A group of skinny, well-dressed girls in the nastily expensive bakery across the street. A string of schoolchildren crossing the road. A few old ladies clutching shopping bags and gossiping hard. Several young men loitering. A dressmakers there, next door to a bustling stall selling mixed rice. A strange little boutique with a mannequin on display; half-dressed in only a pair of blue short pants and a floppy hat.
No sign of him. She sighed again, heavier than before; this time with a tinge of worry. Is he alright? What if he’s lying bleeding somewhere?
Then her eyes saw him. Nay, rather, she sensed him. She knew he was coming; just around the bend. Her eyes brightened as she recognized his rather scruffy brown jacket, his slow, ponderous steps. And she smiled.
* * * * * * *
I hope I don’t smell bad, he thought to himself. I am pretty sure I had it all cleaned. Maybe I should have showered again.
Shaking his head, he continued towards the ridiculously expensive stationery shop she frequented. Anything more than 2 bucks for a pen is madness, he thought in a self-righteous way. I can never understand girls and their pretty but un-functional pens. Smiling, he continued to swing his free-of-charge, multi-coloured-ink pen around on its’ strap, humming a little to a song he had got from her.
He narrowly missed decapitating a little old lady with her equally as old friends. She shot him a stern look as he apologized profusely, but her gaze softened when she saw his obvious sincerity. She sent him off with no more than an indulgent ‘hmmphf’ and a gentle half-smile.
He continued on; now dismally aware that he was late, not sure by how much, but late for sure. He hoped she hadn’t left.
He wished he could tell for sure how she felt. He wished he knew how he himself felt. He knew her; knew her odd ways, her clumsy movements and her too loud laugh. He knew her; knew her little quirks, her silly sense of humour, her lame jokes. How she always was too friendly, how she laughed often, and how she always seemed to have a word for everything.
We’re friends, he told himself firmly. Nothing more.
His mind wandered as he passed by a dressmakers shop. Do I really want to know how I feel about this girl? This crazy, fun-loving, clumsy, oddball of a girl?
Then he spotted her across the road, staring at the window of the stationery shop, making those funny faces to herself again. He saw her giving a few people a good scare with her cross-eyed look. Suddenly overcome with the mad desire to laugh; he ducked into the mixed rice stall and went straight to the toilet, where he burst into raucous laughter for a good 4 to 5 minutes. Leaning weakly against the wall, he gasped for breath as he heard somebody knocking the door.
“Hello? Are you okay?” “What’s wrong ah?”
He hastily opened the door. “No, I am okay. Sorry ah,” he amended. Slipping out of the shop (followed by numerous puzzled looks) he crossed the road and headed towards her. He opened his mouth to call her name, but as if by magic, she turned around just in time and saw him, a big grin on her face.
She was wearing that plain black button-down shirt again. Her favourite because she claimed it was slimming. Without realizing it, he hastened his steps to get to her. And he smiled.
* * * * * *
“You’re late, you know. You’re lucky I didn’t walk away. I think I may have terrified some people by making faces, all while I was waiting for you. I may get arrested.” “I know.” He laughed; the laugh she loved. “I saw.” And grinning up at her; he took her hands. “Come on, you weirdo, or we’ll miss the movie.”
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