Watching her
An entry for therealljidol topic 18: "Adored"
It's 12:47 pm, and I haven't seen her yet. I wonder if I've missed her. She's usually here by 12:41, and almost never late anywhere she goes. I worry about her, though. Every once in a while she gets distracted, or is held up by some friend or another on her way to the student center, and I fret until she appears.
Ah, here she is. She does have that distracted look on her face - of course, she must have gotten caught up in a book, as she so often does. I don't know what she's reading right now, but I'm pretty sure it's in her bag, waiting for another free moment at lunch.
She hasn't noticed me yet, so she doesn't see me looking at her with the adoration only she inspires. I gaze quietly as she pushes her glasses up on her nose, those sturdy librarian frames that barely conceal big almond eyes the color of dark chocolate. A girl from her dorm passes with a quick word, and she smiles a sweet, brilliant smile in response, tucking a shiny lock of dark, dark hair behind one ear.
All these little gestures layer over her, making her even more beautiful than she already is. Serene, classic features; a gorgeous, curvaceous figure, modestly dressed; neither very tall nor very petite. Quiet and demure, yet confident and intelligent. So ideal, so genuine.
She pauses a moment now, fishing in her purse for the ID card she has so much trouble keeping track of. Look in the outside pocket, I think, and she finds the card immediately as she does. I grin privately; I know her so well.
Certainly I know her well enough to know how she'll react to what's next. Some Mr. Nerdy Perfect she's got a crush on has walked up, just as I was about to speak to her. He's the same as all the others, all the ones that are nice to her, maybe even kind, short dark hair, glasses that turn them from Superman into Clark Kent, at least three inches taller than she, slightly athletic. They actually seem to be friends, a step above the politely dismissive attention most of them throw at her.
They stop to chat for a moment, and sure enough, those gorgeous eyes widen, that sparkling smile returns. I watch her blush as he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately. It's genuine - he really does care for her, I can tell - but it's not in the way she would hope, though she's choosing not to look at that right now. He doesn't have a girlfriend - never will - and she won't realize that until ten years down the road, maybe when she inevitably runs into him at a restaurant and gets a chance to meet his husband.
She'll feel stupid then, I know, because she can be down on herself that way. But she can hardly be blamed for choosing to see adoration where she can find it, and at least he doesn't laugh at her behind her back. That's something she knows far too much about.
I'm pretending to study as I watch her watching him walk away. She sighs, and her eyes go wistful. She never seems to understand why it is that she's unsuccessful with all of them. I'm sure she thinks it's because she's too heavy, too bookish, too smart, too independent.
Only I know the truth. It's because she deserves better than what they could give her, because they can't appreciate all that she is. That's my one job in life, I think: to let her know that not every man will ignore her, that there's one who would treat her like the princess she should be...that she's adored.
I've gathered my nerve again and I rise to walk toward her, just as she settles in to her usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday table, arranging books before she heads to the food line. I wonder if she'll choose a chicken sandwich or a hamburger today.
As she wanders back to the table, I can see it's the chicken on her plate next to a glass of iced tea. I count two minutes carefully as she tucks in to lunch, flipping through her textbooks.
When the two minutes are up, it's time to approach. My beautiful girl tends to be a little dreamy, and is too sweet to respond to anyone negatively, so the odds are in my favor. So I cross to the opposite door, where her back is facing me, and she won't see me until I'm at the table. I rake fingers through my hair and tug at my shirt a little, then amble in her direction.
Maybe today the element of surprise will work to my advantage. It always has before, and you know, I can be quite charming when I decide to be. The way I figure, it's only a matter of time before she turns that gorgeous smile on me, instead of the polite one she usually gives. Once she understands that I can give her all the affection and attention she craves, all without begging to even be seen, how could she resist?
Her hair is so pretty, lying thick and shiny down her back. I see she's folded one leg beneath her as she studies, just like always. 3...2...1...and here I am.
"Hello, my lady," I say, a little too loudly, making her jump. "I'm sorry, did I startle you?"
"A little," she says politely. "Hi, how are you?"
"Quite well, thanks. Enjoying your lunch, then?" I smile and run my fingers through my hair again; maybe I should have washed it today.
Her face has a vague look I've seen before. She's really good at hiding her feelings when she needs to, and she probably doesn't want me to know what kind of thoughts she's having about me.
"Yes," she says simply, with a slow blink, still maintaining her politeness despite the intense feelings I must be inspiring. "I have a lot of reading to do for British lit."
"Oh!" I say brightly. "Well, that's my specialty! I could perhaps find a way to be of assistance?"
It's then that I decide to take a chance. After all, it worked for Mr. Clark Kent earlier. I reach out to squeeze her shoulder the same way he did, gently and firmly.
But this is odd. Now her face is different, and she looks at my hand on her, briefly up at my face, then back to my hand - and shifts away from my touch.
"Carson," Dina says, her voice sounding strained, "haven't I asked you not to touch me?"
I don't understand, and I'm not sure I heard her right. "What do you mean?" I say, confused. "I'm just being a little friendly, dear lady." I smile again to emphasize my point.
Dina shakes her head. "No," she says, "you're going against my wishes. I'm sorry, but it makes me uncomfortable when you act this way. And we've talked about this before."
Now I can feel my smile pulling tight. Why is she saying this? I thought surely she'd relented by now.
"Well, that was before," I say, the tone in my voice expressing my confusion. "I was hoping you'd changed your mind. Of course I don't wish you any harm."
"I'm sure you don't," she says, but I'm not at all sure I believe her any longer - "but when someone says no, you should assume they mean it unless they ever tell you otherwise."
I'm thoroughly taken aback now. How did this happen? I've done everything right so far - I've never done anything wrong but adore her.
"Why is it so awful if I want to be nice to you?" I ask, trying not to sound upset. "I thought we were friends. You don't want to talk to me?"
Now Dina looks troubled. Oh, I didn't mean to play the friends card so quickly. "Carson," she says, sounding uncharacteristically impatient, "I have a lot of studying to do. Please just let me be. And please don't sneak up on me any more." By her tone, I can tell she wants the conversation to be over.
"Of course," I say, shaking my head and sighing. "I'm sorry to bother you. I really did just want to help." She still looks skeptical. Why doesn't she believe me? "If you need anything," I continue, bowing a little, "please don't hesitate to let me know."
She shakes her head, her mouth tightening into a line as she turns back to her book, giving no further answer. The studying must really be getting to her. I finally turn away and leave the cafeteria without another word.
It's time to rethink, I guess. The element of surprise doesn't please her, so I've lost that advantage. And I guess only the Clark Kent guys get to touch her. I should get a haircut, then; maybe that will help.
I turn back to look at Dina one last time through the front window, and discover she's watching me, a perplexed look on her face. Ah - she was just uncomfortable with me being so close, but now that there's a little distance, she can have a better look at me. Her eyes snap back to her book when she sees me turn. Funny how we can all get embarrassed in this odd little dance.
Next time will be better, I'm sure. I went to high school with a girl in her dorm, and I'm sure I could find a way to hang around over there a little more. Plus, if I remember right, she doesn't have a roommate - no obstacles to being invited in, and she'll be much more comfortable in her room.
Look out, Clark Kent. Arriving unexpectedly at her door with a bouquet of roses is exactly the kind of romantic surprise she'll love. When all else fails, bring flowers.
Hurting her really is the last thing I want to do. I just hope that she finds a way to adore me back before I get to the end of that list.
It's 12:47 pm, and I haven't seen her yet. I wonder if I've missed her. She's usually here by 12:41, and almost never late anywhere she goes. I worry about her, though. Every once in a while she gets distracted, or is held up by some friend or another on her way to the student center, and I fret until she appears.
Ah, here she is. She does have that distracted look on her face - of course, she must have gotten caught up in a book, as she so often does. I don't know what she's reading right now, but I'm pretty sure it's in her bag, waiting for another free moment at lunch.
She hasn't noticed me yet, so she doesn't see me looking at her with the adoration only she inspires. I gaze quietly as she pushes her glasses up on her nose, those sturdy librarian frames that barely conceal big almond eyes the color of dark chocolate. A girl from her dorm passes with a quick word, and she smiles a sweet, brilliant smile in response, tucking a shiny lock of dark, dark hair behind one ear.
All these little gestures layer over her, making her even more beautiful than she already is. Serene, classic features; a gorgeous, curvaceous figure, modestly dressed; neither very tall nor very petite. Quiet and demure, yet confident and intelligent. So ideal, so genuine.
She pauses a moment now, fishing in her purse for the ID card she has so much trouble keeping track of. Look in the outside pocket, I think, and she finds the card immediately as she does. I grin privately; I know her so well.
Certainly I know her well enough to know how she'll react to what's next. Some Mr. Nerdy Perfect she's got a crush on has walked up, just as I was about to speak to her. He's the same as all the others, all the ones that are nice to her, maybe even kind, short dark hair, glasses that turn them from Superman into Clark Kent, at least three inches taller than she, slightly athletic. They actually seem to be friends, a step above the politely dismissive attention most of them throw at her.
They stop to chat for a moment, and sure enough, those gorgeous eyes widen, that sparkling smile returns. I watch her blush as he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately. It's genuine - he really does care for her, I can tell - but it's not in the way she would hope, though she's choosing not to look at that right now. He doesn't have a girlfriend - never will - and she won't realize that until ten years down the road, maybe when she inevitably runs into him at a restaurant and gets a chance to meet his husband.
She'll feel stupid then, I know, because she can be down on herself that way. But she can hardly be blamed for choosing to see adoration where she can find it, and at least he doesn't laugh at her behind her back. That's something she knows far too much about.
I'm pretending to study as I watch her watching him walk away. She sighs, and her eyes go wistful. She never seems to understand why it is that she's unsuccessful with all of them. I'm sure she thinks it's because she's too heavy, too bookish, too smart, too independent.
Only I know the truth. It's because she deserves better than what they could give her, because they can't appreciate all that she is. That's my one job in life, I think: to let her know that not every man will ignore her, that there's one who would treat her like the princess she should be...that she's adored.
I've gathered my nerve again and I rise to walk toward her, just as she settles in to her usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday table, arranging books before she heads to the food line. I wonder if she'll choose a chicken sandwich or a hamburger today.
As she wanders back to the table, I can see it's the chicken on her plate next to a glass of iced tea. I count two minutes carefully as she tucks in to lunch, flipping through her textbooks.
When the two minutes are up, it's time to approach. My beautiful girl tends to be a little dreamy, and is too sweet to respond to anyone negatively, so the odds are in my favor. So I cross to the opposite door, where her back is facing me, and she won't see me until I'm at the table. I rake fingers through my hair and tug at my shirt a little, then amble in her direction.
Maybe today the element of surprise will work to my advantage. It always has before, and you know, I can be quite charming when I decide to be. The way I figure, it's only a matter of time before she turns that gorgeous smile on me, instead of the polite one she usually gives. Once she understands that I can give her all the affection and attention she craves, all without begging to even be seen, how could she resist?
Her hair is so pretty, lying thick and shiny down her back. I see she's folded one leg beneath her as she studies, just like always. 3...2...1...and here I am.
"Hello, my lady," I say, a little too loudly, making her jump. "I'm sorry, did I startle you?"
"A little," she says politely. "Hi, how are you?"
"Quite well, thanks. Enjoying your lunch, then?" I smile and run my fingers through my hair again; maybe I should have washed it today.
Her face has a vague look I've seen before. She's really good at hiding her feelings when she needs to, and she probably doesn't want me to know what kind of thoughts she's having about me.
"Yes," she says simply, with a slow blink, still maintaining her politeness despite the intense feelings I must be inspiring. "I have a lot of reading to do for British lit."
"Oh!" I say brightly. "Well, that's my specialty! I could perhaps find a way to be of assistance?"
It's then that I decide to take a chance. After all, it worked for Mr. Clark Kent earlier. I reach out to squeeze her shoulder the same way he did, gently and firmly.
But this is odd. Now her face is different, and she looks at my hand on her, briefly up at my face, then back to my hand - and shifts away from my touch.
"Carson," Dina says, her voice sounding strained, "haven't I asked you not to touch me?"
I don't understand, and I'm not sure I heard her right. "What do you mean?" I say, confused. "I'm just being a little friendly, dear lady." I smile again to emphasize my point.
Dina shakes her head. "No," she says, "you're going against my wishes. I'm sorry, but it makes me uncomfortable when you act this way. And we've talked about this before."
Now I can feel my smile pulling tight. Why is she saying this? I thought surely she'd relented by now.
"Well, that was before," I say, the tone in my voice expressing my confusion. "I was hoping you'd changed your mind. Of course I don't wish you any harm."
"I'm sure you don't," she says, but I'm not at all sure I believe her any longer - "but when someone says no, you should assume they mean it unless they ever tell you otherwise."
I'm thoroughly taken aback now. How did this happen? I've done everything right so far - I've never done anything wrong but adore her.
"Why is it so awful if I want to be nice to you?" I ask, trying not to sound upset. "I thought we were friends. You don't want to talk to me?"
Now Dina looks troubled. Oh, I didn't mean to play the friends card so quickly. "Carson," she says, sounding uncharacteristically impatient, "I have a lot of studying to do. Please just let me be. And please don't sneak up on me any more." By her tone, I can tell she wants the conversation to be over.
"Of course," I say, shaking my head and sighing. "I'm sorry to bother you. I really did just want to help." She still looks skeptical. Why doesn't she believe me? "If you need anything," I continue, bowing a little, "please don't hesitate to let me know."
She shakes her head, her mouth tightening into a line as she turns back to her book, giving no further answer. The studying must really be getting to her. I finally turn away and leave the cafeteria without another word.
It's time to rethink, I guess. The element of surprise doesn't please her, so I've lost that advantage. And I guess only the Clark Kent guys get to touch her. I should get a haircut, then; maybe that will help.
I turn back to look at Dina one last time through the front window, and discover she's watching me, a perplexed look on her face. Ah - she was just uncomfortable with me being so close, but now that there's a little distance, she can have a better look at me. Her eyes snap back to her book when she sees me turn. Funny how we can all get embarrassed in this odd little dance.
Next time will be better, I'm sure. I went to high school with a girl in her dorm, and I'm sure I could find a way to hang around over there a little more. Plus, if I remember right, she doesn't have a roommate - no obstacles to being invited in, and she'll be much more comfortable in her room.
Look out, Clark Kent. Arriving unexpectedly at her door with a bouquet of roses is exactly the kind of romantic surprise she'll love. When all else fails, bring flowers.
Hurting her really is the last thing I want to do. I just hope that she finds a way to adore me back before I get to the end of that list.