Vocabularily Adventurous
from the mixed-up files of E. G. Morgan
A Chip of Glass | Prose
Monday, September 8, 2008
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Her breath was coming in white, wispy bursts as she walked, boots scraping against the wet concrete as if she didn't have the strength to pick up her feet. Hands shoved in the deep pockets of her sweatshirt, navy-blue hood hiding her long hair, dark-wash jeans clinging to her legs, she blended into the night sky behind her. Only the scuffing of her boots gave her away.
He watched her walk closer, watched her hips sway and her shoulders move. Her eyes were trained on the ground, and he knew she wouldn't see him. Quickly he judged how long it would take for them to meet, and calculated how many seconds he had to grab her attention before she passed and disappeared into the dark like some casually beautiful specter. Carefully he chose the proper moment to speak. She was six feet away, close enough for him to see her face amid the shadows cast by her hood. Close enough to see how her eyes stole light from every nearby source and reflected it in the most graceful way. Close enough to be absolutely terrified. But it was time.
"If you're going to he party at Kappa, I wouldn't recommend it."
She slowed, then stopped, boot-scuffing finally reduced to nothing. He waited for her to say something--anything, just as long as he opened that perfect mouth. She sniffed.
"Thanks, but I'm not really going anywhere. Just for a walk."
At 12:30 on a Friday night in November? He watched, fascinated, as her whole body shivered and her shoulders seemed to swallow her neck. Nothing covered her pale throat, and he saw her swallow, then cough conversationally.
"Listen, do you want to borrow my coat? You look freezing." He made to shrug himself out of the sleeves, but she smiled with a frown and held out a hand in protest.
"Being freezing leaves less room for being unhappy. At least, it takes your mind off it for a while."
With the red rims around her eyes, the sniffle in her nose, the slump of her shoulders, and the dejection in her low voice, she attacked his sensitivity. There was a whooshing sound as his heart broke and plummeted into his stomach. He let the silence fester for a moment, wishing he knew how to fix her, or if she'd let him. Then she spoke.
"I guess there's a moment in every girl's life when she finds out her boyfriend is an asshole. I just wish mine hadn't come right now, when I'm so far from home and without friends. You know?"
He didn't. But he resisted the urge to lower his eyes, nod and sigh, or make a profound statement about life. Instead he gazed at her, stared at her, took her in more than he ever had the hundreds of other times he had taken her in before. He decided it would be perfectly acceptable to take two more steps toward her, wrap his arms around her, and send her all the fierce emotion that had been layering itself inside him for weeks. He'd use telepathy, or osmosis, or something equally wordless. Then she spoke.
"So if you want to take advantage of the fact that I'm on the rebound..." She chuckled sardonically and waved a hand: "Please, go ahead."
Was this it, the proverbial "moment" that would save him from his own silent and tempestuous thoughts? Just to be sure, he asked, with the suavity of a fifth grader, "Really?"
She smiled and rolled her eyes, clearly embarrassed that she had said such a thing. "Why not?"
He took one of the two steps closer, stopped, and focused on her glimmering blue eyes. With all the courage he could summon, he breathed in and stated, "You are... breathtaking."
A moment passed with no reaction from the breathtaking girl before him. Then she replied, "What?"
"You're breathtaking." His car had passed the summit of the rollercoaster and there was nothing to do now but pick up speed. "Everything about you. The first time I saw you, I wondered how someone could be so beautiful. And then I met you, and talked to you, and I wondered how someone so beautiful could be so nice, and smart, and funny, and like everything I liked. I think you're perfect."
Again, no reaction. Or rather, a stunned silence served in its stead. He kept going.
"I just wanted to take advantage of the fact that you're on the rebound, because if you're feeling bad about yourself, it's easier to take compliments without thinking I'm some creepy stalker."
Her mouth opened, and a voice came out slowly like old honey. "That's a huge risk to take--to tell someone something like that."
With a grin, he responded, "Anything to keep you from being unhappy. Your smile is the best thing about you."
She was looking at the ground, and he couldn't tell if she was speechless or just chose not to say anything. Then something moved by her mouth, and the muscles bloomed, forcing her pink lips to spread into the smile that everyone loved. And she said the only thing she could:
"Thanks, Nick."
He nodded. "Let me walk you home." She turned back the way she came and leaned into him, begging him to put his arm around her. "So who is he? Can I beat him up?" A thrilling laugh escaped from her bare throat, and the rhythm of their feet synced up as they scuffed along the wet sidewalks of the quad.
He watched her walk closer, watched her hips sway and her shoulders move. Her eyes were trained on the ground, and he knew she wouldn't see him. Quickly he judged how long it would take for them to meet, and calculated how many seconds he had to grab her attention before she passed and disappeared into the dark like some casually beautiful specter. Carefully he chose the proper moment to speak. She was six feet away, close enough for him to see her face amid the shadows cast by her hood. Close enough to see how her eyes stole light from every nearby source and reflected it in the most graceful way. Close enough to be absolutely terrified. But it was time.
"If you're going to he party at Kappa, I wouldn't recommend it."
She slowed, then stopped, boot-scuffing finally reduced to nothing. He waited for her to say something--anything, just as long as he opened that perfect mouth. She sniffed.
"Thanks, but I'm not really going anywhere. Just for a walk."
At 12:30 on a Friday night in November? He watched, fascinated, as her whole body shivered and her shoulders seemed to swallow her neck. Nothing covered her pale throat, and he saw her swallow, then cough conversationally.
"Listen, do you want to borrow my coat? You look freezing." He made to shrug himself out of the sleeves, but she smiled with a frown and held out a hand in protest.
"Being freezing leaves less room for being unhappy. At least, it takes your mind off it for a while."
With the red rims around her eyes, the sniffle in her nose, the slump of her shoulders, and the dejection in her low voice, she attacked his sensitivity. There was a whooshing sound as his heart broke and plummeted into his stomach. He let the silence fester for a moment, wishing he knew how to fix her, or if she'd let him. Then she spoke.
"I guess there's a moment in every girl's life when she finds out her boyfriend is an asshole. I just wish mine hadn't come right now, when I'm so far from home and without friends. You know?"
He didn't. But he resisted the urge to lower his eyes, nod and sigh, or make a profound statement about life. Instead he gazed at her, stared at her, took her in more than he ever had the hundreds of other times he had taken her in before. He decided it would be perfectly acceptable to take two more steps toward her, wrap his arms around her, and send her all the fierce emotion that had been layering itself inside him for weeks. He'd use telepathy, or osmosis, or something equally wordless. Then she spoke.
"So if you want to take advantage of the fact that I'm on the rebound..." She chuckled sardonically and waved a hand: "Please, go ahead."
Was this it, the proverbial "moment" that would save him from his own silent and tempestuous thoughts? Just to be sure, he asked, with the suavity of a fifth grader, "Really?"
She smiled and rolled her eyes, clearly embarrassed that she had said such a thing. "Why not?"
He took one of the two steps closer, stopped, and focused on her glimmering blue eyes. With all the courage he could summon, he breathed in and stated, "You are... breathtaking."
A moment passed with no reaction from the breathtaking girl before him. Then she replied, "What?"
"You're breathtaking." His car had passed the summit of the rollercoaster and there was nothing to do now but pick up speed. "Everything about you. The first time I saw you, I wondered how someone could be so beautiful. And then I met you, and talked to you, and I wondered how someone so beautiful could be so nice, and smart, and funny, and like everything I liked. I think you're perfect."
Again, no reaction. Or rather, a stunned silence served in its stead. He kept going.
"I just wanted to take advantage of the fact that you're on the rebound, because if you're feeling bad about yourself, it's easier to take compliments without thinking I'm some creepy stalker."
Her mouth opened, and a voice came out slowly like old honey. "That's a huge risk to take--to tell someone something like that."
With a grin, he responded, "Anything to keep you from being unhappy. Your smile is the best thing about you."
She was looking at the ground, and he couldn't tell if she was speechless or just chose not to say anything. Then something moved by her mouth, and the muscles bloomed, forcing her pink lips to spread into the smile that everyone loved. And she said the only thing she could:
"Thanks, Nick."
He nodded. "Let me walk you home." She turned back the way she came and leaned into him, begging him to put his arm around her. "So who is he? Can I beat him up?" A thrilling laugh escaped from her bare throat, and the rhythm of their feet synced up as they scuffed along the wet sidewalks of the quad.
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