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Her Smile;; My Borderline Obsession
j woo
17 Nov 2002
The smile did it. That's what finally hooked me. It might have partially been her jeans that were so tight I could read the date on the quarter in her back pocket, or the amount of silky smooth skin I could see, but on that morning it was her magical smile.
Sure she had stood me up the cold, lonely night before and since that is the third time I should be exasperated with even the slightest thought of her. I planned to really give her the ol' dreaded silent treatment but once I saw that perfect smile it was all over. She was a master fisherman and I was the stupid trout that she's reeled in and thrown back before. That smile illuminated my whole world as I levitated across the rowdy QSA to settle where she was sitting too involved in her insignificant conversation to even notice me.
"Hey", I sheepishly said, almost begging for her attention.
"Hey"
That was all she said, "hey", but that simple "hey" meant so much more because she showed me her dazzling smile after she said it. That heartfelt smile, composed of perfect dimples and pearl white teeth, not only said "hey" but also said, "Justin I'm sorry we didn't get to hang out last night, and I feel terrible about it and want to make it up to you and love you forever." The common, untrained and unenlightened individual cannot behold it, but that smile silently lectures me.
So I sat next to my high queen and listened to her and her friends casually yammer on and on about the unimportant details of the teenage girls odyssey: her classes, her practices, her overbearing parents, and how she didn't blow-dry her beautifully flowing hair this morning. All the while she talked to me, it was like a secret conversation between her smile and I. Every so often I would catch a glimpse of her smile and know that she had smiled only for me. She had saved that sacred special smile for only when she knew my gaze had fallen upon her.
Then came the shriek of the school bell; time for her to leave and take her smile with her. She stated that she'd talk to me later, and like a ballerina spun to walk away. With that turn her supernatural smile vanished and I was left looking at her caramel-candy-blonde hair and her jeans that where so tight they might have been painted on.
With out that smile all I could ponder was, "Why did she stand me up last night?"
But then she turned to torture me with the magnificent view of her smile one last time. After that I couldn't figure out why I even cared about last night.
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